Lorielle
by Marilyn Granbeck

© copyright by Marilyn Granbeck, October 2000
New Concepts Publishing
First Printing 1985
cover art by Eliza Black
ISBN 1-58608-159-4
Rocket Edition ISBN 1-58608-286-8

Chapter 1

The Windrifter rolled in the swell as the green waters of the China Sea whispered harshly along her hull. Dark clouds cooled the sultry air. Off the stern, a squall closed rapidly on a southwesterly monsoon, raking the surface of the water with a misty haze of rain. The helmsman tacked so that the clipper heeled gently. Her sails billowed under the full force of the wind. Cool rain washed away the engulfing heat as it splashed the holystoned deck with a thrumming sound. Tiny fountains spurted, then mingled before spilling into the scuppers to drain into the endless cycle of sea and sky.

Lorielle Temple huddled in the lee of the bulkhead. She drew the blue madras skirt tightly to her slim hips. Mother would be furious that she hadn’t returned to the cabin. She set her jaw defiantly. Let her be! She would not forgo the welcome freshness of the sharp, clean air. Throughout the journey from Calcutta, she’d been a virtual prisoner in the stuffy cabin. Her mother even had their meals brought by a galley hand then they could have dined with Captain Sager in his cabin or with the other passengers in the mall dining room amidships. Her mother had permitted her only brief strolls on deck, and these, until now, were under her own watchful eye.

Lorielle expelled a bored breath. It wasn’t proper for a woman to wander about a ship to be ogled by sailors—perhaps even approached by some of the bolder ones. Men cut off from civilization lost what decencies they might otherwise exhibit, her mother warned, and she would not allow Lorielle to present a temptation that would stir base desires. She was, after all, an Armier as well as a Temple, and a descendent of the Maharajah of Orissa—a fact Lorielle had never been permitted to lose sight of in her eighteen years. Mandra Armier Temple wore her royal heritage like a subtle banner to be waved before her daughter at any breach of conduct.

LorielIe drove away the somber thoughts and lifted her face to the spray-laden breeze. She shivered and hugged her arms across her high bosom as the dark clouds broke suddenly and sunlight poured through the mist. One squall was past, though another line of clouds was already bearing down on the ship. Sailors scampered to the spare sails that had been set out to collect the rain. No opportunity to refill the ship’s water casks was missed, no matter how close the journey’s end. She watched a frail-looking youth in a striped shirt and faded breeches strain under the weight of the heavy canvas. Suddenly his bare feet skidded on the slippery wood. He scrambled desperately to offset the pitch and roll of the deck and save the precious cargo, but a corner of the canvas slipped from his grasp. Behind him, the bo’s’n lashed out with a length of tarred hemp knotted at one end.

‘Look lively there or you’ll be walkin’ the lower tops’l yard!" The teaser slashed the sailor with a vicious snap. The boy fell to his knees, still struggling to hold the canvas aloft. The born raised the whip again, but before it could find its target, a figure appeared from the end of the bulkhead and stepped between the downed sailor and the threatening lash. He grabbed the canvas and raised it as easily as though it were rice paper, then poured the rain water into the cask. The bo’s’n glowered, and the teaser jerked upward, but the intruder’s gaze pinned it until the mate lowered it slowly. Mumbling, he hunched his shoulders in angry submission And strode away.

The man helped the sailor to his feet. The lad gave him a quick smile, then scurried to resume his duties lest the bo’s’n return.

Lorielle gasped in amazement. The bo’s’n has a temper that few dared broach. His reputation was whispered among the crew and passengers alike, and everyone steered clear of even his lighter moods. He was a demanding, cruel taskmaster who kept a tight ship; yet the handsome blond man showed no fear. Was he brave or simply foolhardy? Lorielle had seen him before, on the quay in Calcutta, where she’d blundered into his path and would have pitched headlong if he had not caught her and gently set her on her feet. It had been her fault—instead of watching where she was going, she’d been gaping and staring like a child at the huge clipper that would transport her to a new life. Flustered, she’d tried to apologize, but his easy, confident mile made her words trail off in confusion. She’d thought him the handsomest man she’d ever seen, with golden hair, deeply tanned skin and eyes the color of the sea under a glaring sun. He was dressed, then as now, in dark shirt, pants and high boots similar to those sailors wore, but his manner bespoke breeding. Me wore no insignia of rank, but it was inconceivable that he could be an ordinary seaman.

She watched as he peered at the line of roiling clouds. How strong his profile was, like carved granite that had been smoothed by wind and sand. His shoulders were broad and strong, and his body lean and supple. Her face warmed as she reined her imaginative thoughts, yet she could not take her eyes from him: He raked back the tousled golden-amber hair that fell across his forehead. His brow wrinkled as he squinted at the dark clouds that once more obscured the sun and he lifted his face to the freshening wind that had veered to blow steadily from the south. A new storm was moving rapidly toward the clipper, churning the sea to murky gray and edging the high waves with white crests. All at once, the clouds unleashed their full fury, sending rain slashing with razor-like sharpness.

Stunned, Lorielle turned her back to the stinging downpour. She wiped blindly at the water streaming down her face. Her gray voile hat whipped from her head in a gust of wind and clung around her neck like a bedraggled bit of jetsam. She shivered and stumbled toward the aft castle where the passenger cabins were, but the ship pitched and rolled so violently, she could not keep her footing. With a terrible lurch, she was thrown to her knees. Panicked, she groped for the safety of the wall-but it was no longer in reach! The deck rose at a precarious angle and she began to slide. When she screamed the sound was swallowed by a shuddering clap of thunder. Lightning blazoned the sky an eerie yellow. Lorielle had a momentary glimpse of a monstrous wave climbing over the ship’s rail.

Again she screamed in terror as she tried to halt her skidding progress toward the rail. If she were near the entry port, she could be washed over the side in one dreadful moment! Her fingers clawed at the slippery decking, but it was no use. Then miraculously, her perilous slide halted as she came to rest against something hard. She felt herself lifted in powerful arms.

Too frightened to be anything but relieved, she buried her face against her rescuer and clung desperately as he stumbled against the wind. An eternity of crashing thunder filled her ears. Then they were in a passageway and he was shouldering the door shut. She shuddered with relief and drew a gasping breath. Slowly she became aware of the faint masculine scent that mingled with the odor of wet wool. As she raised her face, a gentle touch brushed away a tendril of hair from her cheeks. The blond sailor was looking at her with a curious smile. Before she could draw free, she felt his breath feather-soft on her cheek. Then his lips pressed to the soft hollow beneath her ear.

Lorielle was at first too stunned to move, and then a gathering rage filled her. She jerked back, her mouth open in stinging rebuke, but before she could force out any sound, he bent and claimed her lips hotly. She was helpless in his tight embrace. Her breathing was a strangled sound lost in the warm cavern, of his mouth. His pliant, sure lips savored hers until she trembled with waves of emotion so overwhelming they took her breath away. Deep inside her, a core of heat pulsed like the burning sun. Through their sodden garments, his flesh seared hers. She was aware of his breath... his touch.... For a moment, her hands explored his strong muscled shoulders—then she realized what he might think. With supreme effort, she pulled back and tried to free herself from his powerful arms.

"Put me down!" The words she meant as a harsh command fell from her lips in a quavering whisper.

He smiled, and when he bent his face as though to kiss her again, she summoned every ounce of her strength to push him away.

"Put me down!" she Commanded, this time with a measure of the force that had deserted her before.

He lowered her to her feet, still keeping his arms about her. His burning gaze brought a rush of color to her cheeks.

"Would you deny me so small a price for my gallant efforts!" he asked.

Her anger exploded. "Gallant! I would not use that word to describe what you have done! Now let me go, sir. I am no match for your brute force but I am not without defenses!" She was bluffing, but fury drove her to desperate measures. Outside the dim passageway, the storm howled and the beat of the rain was a staccato tattoo on all sides. She struggled against the gentle prison of his arms.

"Let me go!"

He released her so suddenly she staggered back. Her wet slippers skidded in the puddle that had collected at their feet. She yelped with surprise, then outrage, as her feet flew from under her and she sat down hard. Dampness seeped through her skirt and petticoat.

"Allow me—" He leaned to offer his hand. In the mealy light of a swaying lantern, Lorielle saw his amused smile. She sputtered helplessly as she realized he was laughing at her. His glance caressed the length of-her slim figure beneath the wet clinging dress that outlined every curve. Furious, she struggled to her feet, slapping away his hand like a persistent insect when he offered it again.

"Don’t touch me!" Her voice was brittle.

He laughed with a low, throaty sound. "You are a chameleon, audacious one moment and coy the next. Though I must say the former suits you---and me--much more admirably."

Her mouth opened speechlessly: No one had ever spoken to her like this before! Who—I He laughed again and shifted his weight. For a moment she was terrified that he meant to grab her again, and she scuttled out of reach. Realizing how frightened she must look, she tossed her wet hair and lifted her chin. His face was bathed in shadows, but she could glimpse his mocking smile.

"My intention was to help a lady in distress." he said at last. "I fear I was overcome by holding you so close." His gaze challenged her intimately. Her anger faltered at the unexpected gentleness in his voice when she’d been prepared for more of his bold defiance. She tried to remarshall her emotions. "Your conduct is inexcusable! I shall speak to the Captain and see that you are severely disciplined!"

His expression did not alter as he shrugged his broad shoulders. "As you please."

Warmth touched her cheeks. She was already regretting the hasty threat. With effort, she said, "I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me. The storm came up so quickly it caught me unaware." She was not sure why she didn’t escape at once, but now the opportunity presented itself she was reluctant to go. He deserved no explanations or gratitude. She would not admit that she had been watching him or that her interest had been stirred by their first encounter on the quay. She was confused by her churning motions and tried to blot out the memory of his fiery kiss.

He peered at her. "I have already claimed my reward," he said. A smile danced at the corners of his mouth and his gaze seemed to unmask her pretense. She felt color rise along her neck. Before she could answer, he went on. "It would be wise for you to learn more about the monsoons if you are to live in this part of the world, Lorielle. Nature in all forms is unpredictable."

He knew her name! She supposed the crew could be acquainted with the passenger list, or he could have overheard it somewhere. Still it lent a familiarity that irked her. "From an expert like yourself?" She flicked a haughty glance at his sodden garb. "You are as soaked as I!"

He regarded her with amusement. "A sailor is accustomed to braving the elements without mishap." How beautiful she was. Anger ignited sparks in the black depths of her eyes, and her cheeks bore the rosy glow of firelight. Her damp hair was tousled about her face appealingly, giving her a hoydenish look instead of the haughty charm she usually exhibited. There was not a man aboard who hadn’t watched her with lustful eyes, despite her aloofness and her mother’s hawk-like watch.

Lorielle bristled at the veiled rebuke. She was a fool to think him anything more than a common rough seaman! Appearances could be deceiving. She would guard against such mistakes in the future. She was no longer in Calcutta society where gentlemen were honorable and others knew their place!

The hammering of the rain measured her heartbeats as she fussed with a damp clinging sleeve of the blue madras. She glanced at him under lowered lashes.

"Are you so knowledgeable about everything, sir, or is your expertise limited to the weather and the sea?" she asked pertly.

"I’m well versed in many subjects, including the folly of young ladies journeying to a barbaric land such as China. It’s not only the weather you’ll find different there, I assure you."

She forgot her annoyance momentarily. "Do you know China? Have you been there?" Lorielle could not suppress her excitement at the prospect of learning more about her new home. She and her mother were en route to China to join her father who was a Chief Agent with the East India Company there. An ambitious man, Tyler Temple had leaped t the opportunity when it was offered three years ago, even though it meant leaning his wife and daughter behind. His youth had been spent in poverty in London, his young manhood as a tradesman-and neither gave him what he wanted in life. When he eventually secured a post with the Company, he’d devoted himself to the work with an ambition that bordered on frenzy; he rapidly worked his way from a writer in the London offices to factor in Calcutta, and finally to Chief Agent in Canton. His ambition would soon be realized; he would be able to return to London in wealthy triumph. And now that his final goal was in sight, he’d decided his wife and daughter should join him.

"He said Canton was no longer the remote outpost it once was," she declared. "I’ve read accounts by people who’ve been there and I’ve studied my history books well. Besides, my father is with the East India Company. I’ve garnered much of my information from his letters."

"I’m sure you have," he said, "but there is much about China that is not in the reports of men who work for the East India Company. Those in the opium trade divulge only what they want others to believe." He’d read plenty of official reports as well as journals and letters by Company men, missionaries and travelers. All agreed on one point— the Emperor encouraged foreign trade so that gold and silver would flow into his coffers, but all "foreign devils" were kept at arm’s length—they had no diplomatic recognition in his Celestial Empire. Since the opening of the China trade in 1834, unrest had grown, and there had been numerous incidents in which the Chinese demanded an Englishman be turned over to them. Accounts of Chinese justice did not make pleasant reading.

"If your father sees and tells the truth, I find it difficult to believe he would bring you to Canton."

She tossed her head. "It’s perfectly normal for him to want his family with him where he’s stationed. There are a number of English families settled in Canton." Was this man always so overbearing! Did he think himself more expert than her father who had been in China three years?

He narrowed his eyes and gazed at her solemnly. "There are less than a hundred foreigners in Canton, and fewer than a dozen women and children. These live in defiance of the Emperor’s regulations forbidding women to join their men in Canton. Has your father ever written that the Emperor is not well disposed toward the importation of opium? Or that he has repeatedly refused diplomatic recognition to Britain? Or that any British subject may run afoul of laws he does not even know exist and be executed for his crime?" He scowled so his brow drew into the damp curls that had fallen across his forehead. "No, I think he has not, or your mother would not subject herself and you to such dangers."

Lorielle trembled with indignation. "How dare you accuse my father of deceit? If you have never been in China, Mister—Mister--whatever your name is--how is it you know more than those who live and work there? My father is a respected official with the Company and an honorable man. I find it easier to accept his judgment than that of a--a-- fanfaron!"

He smiled arrogantly. "Spencer Raymond," he said with a mocking bow. "And I would pray that I am the braggart you call me rather than see you come to harm. I would also hope that you are more cautious about venturing out in Canton than you are here aboard ship."

Sputtering, she turned on her heel and marched down the corridor. She whipped the wet skirt aside impatiently when it tangled around her feet like a flapping sail. She felt Spencer Raymond’s gaze--and his smile-- on her until she rounded the corner and was out of sight. She halted and leaned against the wall with her heart pounding. Spencer Raymond was presumptuous and too bold for his own good! She’d been a fool to engage in conversation with him. She should have fled at her first opportunity and turned the matter over to Captain Sager!

The haunting memory of his kiss assailed her, and she covered her face. She had never been kissed before. It had been wicked—and delightful beyond imagination--but she must not encourage him. Spencer Raymond. She turned the name over silently on her tongue. Spencer Raymond. She sighed, then drew a deep breath. If her mother suspected what had delayed her, that she’d even spoken to a sailor, Lorielle would be imprisoned in the cabin for the remainder of the voyage. She took another breath and tried to compose herself.

Was China as dangerous as Spencer Raymond suggested? Ever since her father had written telling them to come, she’d looked forward to the voyage and the new life that awaited her. Chins would be different—and exciting, she prayed. Her life in Calcutta had always been circumscribed by tight boundaries set by her parents. It had been a life they considered "proper" for the daughter of an Agent with the East India Company and the granddaughter of an Indian prince. And it had been dull! Tea with Company wives, riding along the Maida, functions at Government House, nautsches, burrakhanas—but all so carefully chaperoned they were as dull as a lesson in numbers. When her father transferred to China, Lorielle hoped her mother would relent in her determination to shield her.

"I’m a woman," Lorielle had insisted, "not a child to be watched over every moment!"

But her hopes were doomed. Her mother doubled the protective cloak as though keeping her husband’s guard as well as her own. Gani, the ayah Lorielle had long outgrown, was kept on, and her loyalty to the elder Temples withstood any amount of coaxing and pleading from her charge. Lorielle gained no freedom by her father’s absence; instead she grew to womanhood shielded from every aspect of life she longed to experience. She had never been left alone with a man, not for so much as a stroll in the garden!

Young men had asked permission to call, but all had been denied. Mandra Temple believed zealously that no man in Calcutta was worthy of her daughter. She was obsessed with the idea that Lorielle would marry into the best circle of society.

And the dullest, she thought now. She did not deceive herself that her mother’s attitude would change because of the journey, but at least Canton would offer a challenging new vista. Perhaps the question of marriage would have to be set aside for a while. There were so few English there, it would be even more impossible to find a worthy prospect than it had in Calcutta. She smiled inwardly.

Mandra Temple had felt the sting of rejection by both the English and Indian sectors in Calcutta for her mixed racial heritage. Much of the coolness was imagined or brought on by her own aloofness, Lorielle surmised, but Mandra saw none of this. She merely strengthened her resolve that her daughter would fare better.

As if it mattered! There was a hint of Indian in Lorielle’s dark beauty, and she was proud of it. Her hair was a shimmering cascade of black, with a touch of wave that softened it about her small heart-shaped face. Her eyes, the sooty black of her Indian ancestry, were widely spaced under delicate brows but had none of the solemn reserve that characterized her mother’s. Instead they sparkled like deep, dark pools, full of the life inside her. She accepted her beauty without conceit—it had been remarked upon often enough. Soldiers with Her Majesty’s Regiment and clerks with the Company had flattered her with glances and smiles. Lorielle learned the art of flirting discreetly when her mother’s attention was diverted, since there was no man among her acquaintances tempting enough to make her risk her parent’s wrath.

Perhaps this accidental interlude with Spencer Raymond was a portent of adventure to come. She pressed her hands to her cheeks and felt the lingering warmth his bold kiss had stirred. She realized she knew nothing about him, yet she felt excitement, not fear. She’d seen him several times aboard ship. He never seemed to be at duties like the other sailors, though he mingled with them with an easy camaraderie that the officers did not command. She’d watched him surreptitiously, intrigued by the rippling muscles beneath his shirt and the careless smile that always seemed to hover at his lips. Once when he turned unexpectedly, she quickly darted back into the passageway from which she’d just emerged.

Cautiously, she’d drawn from her mother information about the other passengers aboard the clipper—and the blond man was not among them. There were few enough to count on her fingers—her mother and herself; two middle-aged men with solemn demeanors and bulging paunches who were being transferred to the China service as factors with the East India Company; and Major General Cedric Milton, a graying military man who’d served in the War and was now enjoying leave in China before going home in retirement. Mandra had collected information about their fellow travelers by some mysterious process unknown to Lorielle, and she told Lorielle firmly that none of them were worthy of notice.

She sighed softly. Was there any man anywhere that her mother would accept? Most girls her age were already settled tied in marriage or off at finishing school in London to assure that wedded bliss was not too distant. London… would she really live there someday? She had been there once as a small child when her father went on leave, but the memory had grown indistinct over the years. She was no longer sure which bits were reality and which were dreams.

She roused herself from her daydreams and tried to comb her fingers through her bedraggled hair and smooth the sodden gown. It was hopeless, and finally she drew a deep breath and opened the door of the cabin she and her mother shared. Mandra glanced around quickly, her expression angry in the light of the paraffin lamp.

"Where have you been?!" She came to pluck at the ruined dress. "You begged for a few moments of air and now look at you!"

"Please, Mother, I’m all right. The storm blew In so suddenly I was trapped before I could reach the companionway. I’ve been soaked before, don’t fuss so!"

Mandra tilted her head to scrutinize her daughter. More and more recently she’d been aware of Lorielle’s rebelliousness. She would breathe more easily when they were with Tyler again. Lorielle needed a man’s firmness now that she was no longer a child. Her father now ... and soon a husband.

"Get out of those wet things before you take a chill," she ordered. She crossed to the hooks behind the thin curtain and inspected her daughter’s dresses. She fingered several before settling on a pale beige cotton that was becoming to Lorielle’s youthful figure and heightened her striking beauty. How the child had blossomed these past few years. No, not a child…a woman. When Lorielle stripped off the sodden petticoats and chemise, Mandra saw the full curve of her breasts, the roundness of her hips. A woman... ready for marriage.

Lorielle took the bath blanket her mother handed her. It was warm and soft on her flesh as she rubbed herself briskly until her blood sang. When her mother brought dry undergarments and stockings, Lorielle donned them quickly. The beige dress was one of Lorielle’s favorites, and she was surprised that her mother had selected it. She raised her hands so her mother could slip the feathery cotton over her head and tug it into place. The dress was far too pretty for sitting about the miserable cabin. The snug waist was high under her bosom, and the spider-web cotton fell softly over her hips. It was unadorned except for the rows of tucks at the bodice and waist. Mandra tugged and fastened the last of the hooks. Despite her determination to adapt English customs, her fingers had never become accustomed to the intricacies of modern fasteners. She clamped her mouth in a hard line until the task was done, then stood back to survey her daughter.

Lorielle caught a glimpse of herself in the small glass above the washstand. She could see only a bit of shoulder here, the swell of a hip there, but the expression on her mother’s face was more mirror than the glass. Mandra Temple’s coal-black gaze swept over her approvingly, lingering a moment at the neckline of the pale gown. After a moment’s consideration, she opened an inlaid ivory and rosewood casket on the table and removed a gold brooch set with a sparkling topaz. She gathered the soft material at the neckline of Lorielle’s dress to expose more of the smooth rise of her bosom, then pinned the brooch to hold it. Satisfied, she stepped back.

Lorielle was baffled by her mother’s actions. Ever since they’d left Calcutta she’d been hidden away and guarded like the Maharajah himself, now all at once she was being primped for display. But she knew better than to question. Her mother would tell her in her own good time, if she felt Lorielle should know at all. It was obvious that something had happened to alter their pattern of life aboard the Windrifter. Her mother handed her a silver-backed hairbrush set with ovals of precious stones. Lorielle began to work the snarls from her hair. The toweling had all but dried it, but damp wisps still clung to her cheeks and neck. She leaned so the moisture would not spot her dress. The heavy brooch weighted the cloth and a shadowy vale appeared between her honey-colored breasts. She would have to re-member not to lean forward if she were going to be on display; as she suspected.

But where? And for whom? The clipper had not paused in its journey since taking on water and fresh fruits and vegetables at Singapore. With the wind aft and the studding sails set, the Windrifter had driven steadily and swiftly northward. Captain Sager estimated that the Ladrone Islands would be in sight by the tenth day after their passage through the Strait of Malacca.

Today! In the excitement of the storm and her encounter with Spencer Raymond, Lorielle had completely forgotten her purpose in going on deck The hairbrush caught a snarl, and she winced as she worked it loose. If the storm had not come up, she might have seen land. The Ladrones were the entrance to China, with Macao only hours away and Canton less than fifty miles beyond.

She glanced sidelong at her mother, who had undone her own long black hair and was brushing it smooth before winding it to a knot at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a persimmon-colored dress that highlighted her skin so that it shone like burnished brass and emphasized her dark hair and eyes, eyes that were veiled now with some knowledge she was not ready to share. Lorielle suspected it had to do with the reason they were both dressing so carefully.

But Lorielle did not have a clue as to the reason. Her mother had long ago eliminated every person aboard the ship as unworthy of attention, with the exception of the Captain who took pains to see that his two female passengers were comfortable; he’d invited them to dine with him several times, but Lorielle’s mother had refused with one excuse or another. Why did she now seem full of anticipation? Was the ship putting in at port? It was not scheduled to stop until they reached Macao, where it was necessary to secure a pass from the Chinese customs office before proceeding north.

Lorielle sighed inwardly as she plaited her hair in wicker-work fashion across the crown of her head. It was a style that her mother approved, and it was easy to manage without curling irons. Lorielle preferred her hair loose but wearing it so always brought a reprimand from her mother.

Watching the reflection in the glass, Lorielle saw that her mother had completed her toilette and was seated on a small upholstered chair near the door. Despite the fact that their accommodations were the best any clipper in the China trade offered, the cabin was meager. Opium clippers were designed to carry cargo, and precious space was not wasted on the comfort of passengers. The room was barely as large as Lorielle’s dressing room at home, and it was crowded with a large bunk bed, two chairs, a minuscule table and an ancient sea chest that was put to use as a dressing table. The bed has a stiff straw mattress and an eiderdown quilt that could be drawn up when the nights grew cold. The walls smelled damp and mildewed in spite of their recent coat of whitewash. The tiny skylight and a paraffin lamp hanging by a chain in the center of the mom afforded the only illumination.

Glancing at the skylight, Lorielle saw that the storm was losing its fury. Clouds shredded to let the sun break through here and there, but despite the lightening of the sky, the cabin was murky, and the odor of paraffin hung in the air. Her mother’s face mirrored growing impatience. Quickly, Lorielle tucked the last braid in place and pinned it with a tortoiseshell comb.

Mandra rose. "Come along. I have accepted Captain Sager’s invitation for a glass of sherry."

Lorielle could not contain her astonishment. For her mother to accept an invitation from the Captain was surprise enough, but sherry in the middle of the day! Mandra Temple rarely touched liquor of any kind, and then only when it was rude to refuse.

"The Captain has invited us before," Lorielle said pointedly. "The occasion must be very special."

Mandra’s lashes lowered. She was not one to scold but she could accomplish with a look what others had to express with words. It infuriated Lorielle to be dismissed so easily, but she knew that no matter how provoking she herself might be, her mother would not lose her composure.

"The pilot boat is due from Grand Lemma. The Captain knows we are eager to have word from your father." She reached into the wardrobe for a length of delicate face cloth in a rich wine color with silver threads woven randomly through it. She placed it over her shoulders as Lorielle picked up her own blue and gold shawl. "Since the rain has stopped, it might be pleasant to go on deck to await the arrival of the pilot boat. The Captain tells me its coming occasions a festive air among the crew."

With a final approving look at Lorielle, Mandra opened the door and went out, leaving her daughter to follow in her wake. Lorielle’s astonishment left her speechless. Her mother was almost suggesting that she--they--deserved some diversion! After weeks of being closeted in the dreary cabin, a rainbow of relief was suddenly being offered. Lorielle smiled delightedly and hurried out.

The air was pleasantly cool after the rain. The deck was already drying, the boards whitening under the steady, fresh breeze. Several sailors were gathered at the entry port where a line had been tossed over the side. Amid a great deal of gesturing and shouting a small boat drew alongside the Windrifter. It was unlike any boat Lorielle had ever seen, and she leaned at the rail, unmindful of the stares of the sailors.

The small boat was high at the aft and had a cabin amidships made of woven bamboo. The vessel sported a bright red lateen sail. Huge eyes painted on the bow gave it a comic but cheerful appearance. A Chinese in a conical hat, black coat and trousers—which had been rolled up to expose bare feet and bony ankles—chanted in a high singsong as he grabbed for the line, caught it and fastened it quickly so the boat could be made fast to the clipper. The Chinese shouted again, laughing and gesturing as comically as the sailors did.

"Makee ladda quick, all same English climb." He pranced about the deck, kicking aside a loose end of rope so that water sprayed from a puddle on deck. Two of the Windrifter’s crew heaved over a ladder. From the junk’s cabin, a small bent man with a withered face and thin arms protruding from a jacket too small for him emerged. He squinted at Captain Sager who had come to the rail, then scrambled up like an agile monkey. His straw hat fell back to expose plaited hair that gleamed black. He clambered aboard and bowed to Captain Sager, a large, full-bearded man who greeted him like an old friend, clasping his hand and smiling as he gestured to the mate to escort the pilot forward.

Lorielle was not sure what she expected, but the little Chinese hardly looked capable of steering the huge ship through the island channels to the Macao Roads. But he was indeed the pilot, and Captain Sager seemed to have complete faith in him. Another stir of excitement made Lorielle look back to the junk. The Chinese mate was holding the end of the ladder, chattering loudly and giggling as a stocky man in a dark coat and slim, English-style trousers began to climb. Considering the motion of the two ships and the faltering grasp the Chinese mate kept on the ladder, the Englishman did well, but his progress was accompanied by a great deal of good-natured ribbing from the sailors on deck. When at last he reached the port, half a dozen hands pulled him aboard. One of the ship’s officers quickly climbed down into the junk and the lines were cast off. It was under sail before the newly arrived Englishman had straightened from brushing his clothes. His gaze fell immediately upon Lorielle. She was still leaning at the rail from where she had watched him climb. With a start, she remembered the neckline of her dress. She straightened and drew her shawl around her. The newcomer flushed and turned to greet Captain Sager.

"Giles Copeland, sir, of the East India Company."

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Copeland."

The sailors had returned to their work, and the two men, Lorielle and her mother were the only ones left at the rail. The junk was already a small bright red spot against the deep blue-green of the sea as it skimmed back to port.

Captain Sager smiled at the women. "Mrs. Temple Miss Temple, may I introduce Mr. Giles Copeland of East India Company."

Copeland took Mandra Temple’s hand and bowed over it with the ease of a dandy. "Mrs. Temple... your husband has spoken so often of you, I feel I know you. I am delighted to meet you at last. I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"Yes, thank you…"

He claimed Lorielle’s hand and pressed it warmly. "And Lorielle, you are even more beautiful than your father claimed. I am enchanted." He bowed, and the pressure of his fingers was warmly intimate.

Lorielle extricated her hand from his fleshy grasp. "Do you work with my father, Mr. Copeland?"

"Yes. He regrets not being able to come out to meet the ship, but the Sarret and the White Cloud have made port at Whampoa. It was necessary for him to oversee the unloading." He smiled at Mandra as though apologizing for her husband’s absence.

Lorielle watched the charade with amusement. Why did either her father or Giles Copeland feel it necessary to meet the Windrifter beyond port at all? The arrangements always had been for them to sail directly to Canton, except for whatever stops the ship was required to make en route. They were to disembark at the Chinese port, where her father had arranged a house for them. Yet her mother was playing the charade as easily as Copeland. Lorielle had the feeling that it was being staged for her benefit, that her mother had known all along that Copeland would be here--and had accepted the Captain’s invitation because of his presence. Mandra had professed interest only in the mail, but so far no one had mentioned it.

Lorielle smiled devilishly at the two men. "Mother tells me the mail was to come with the pilot boat. Is there no letter from my dear father?"

Copeland blushed and reached to his vest pocket. "Forgive me!" He withdrew a vellum envelope and handed, it to Mandra. She thanked him with a murmur and held the letter close to her breast as though savoring’ the words without seeing them. Lorielle was delighted with the discomfort she had caused Giles Copeland. She could not resist pursuing her devilment. With an innocent smile, she looked from her mother to the Captain.

"Were we not invited for a glass of sherry, Captain Sager?"

"Of course! Let’s go along to my cabin. The steward is waiting." His hazel eyes caught Lorielle’s momentarily and said clearly that he, too, was aware of the game.

The Captain’s cabin was amidships near the chart room. It opened off a small vestibule where a circular stair led downward to the mates’ cabins. Despite the closeness of the small hall, the mustiness of the rest of the ship vanished, and there was a faint hint of lemon oil in the air. Lorielle wondered if the rich teakwood paneling had been freshly polished, or if scented oil had been added to the lamp that swung in a graceful are on its chain.

The cabin was large, with windows and a skylight that let in a profusion of light. The walls were paneled in the same rich teakwood as the vestibule, and the ceiling was beamed with heavy timbers. The room was spacious enough to accommodate a bunk, a large table where some of the Captain’s papers lay open as though he’d just left them, a wardrobe, a sea chest, and a corner area where several chairs were arranged around a mahogany table hung on gimbals.

As his guests seated themselves, Captain Sager spoke to the white-coated steward who appeared in the doorway. The man busied himself at a cabinet near the door, then brought a silver tray with delicate crystal glasses and a decanter of amber-hued wine. He poured and offered the glasses around. LorielIe found Giles Copeland’s gaze on her. He was handsome, with the well-set features of a big man. He wore his chestnut hair almost to his collar and had side whiskers that diminished the jowliness of his face. His brown eyes seemed to change with the shifting light, but there was frank admiration in them. She smiled coquettishly.

Captain Sager raised his glass. "To a swift and pleasant end to your journey and a happy reunion with Mr. Temple."

"Thank you," Mandra said with a smile. She lifted the glass to her lips and looked at Copeland expectantly.

Copeland sipped the wine, the fragile glass dwarfed by his large hand. "it’s a shame arrangements could not be made for you to enjoy the summer season at Macao." He gazed at Lorielle as though the fault were his personally. "Perhaps next year .. ."

Lorielle smiled pleasantly. She wondered about his arrival. Her mother had professed interest in the mail, but the letter Copeland had given her had vanished into the folds of her dress unread. Instead, all her mother’s attention seemed to be focused on Copeland himself. If she had known all along that he was arriving, why had she not mentioned it, Lorielle wondered. Normally it piqued her when her mother played deceitful games, but it was so pleasant to have someone to talk to after the long, enforced solitude of the voyage, she was delighted to see Copeland no matter what reason brought him here. And he was not without charm. She captured his gaze once more.

"Do you spend every summer in Macao, Mr. Copeland?"

"Yes. The Chinese government does not allow us to remain in Canton when the shipping season is over. A ridiculous condition, but then they have so many senseless regulations, it does no good to argue. Besides, Macao is far more interesting. The Portuguese have civilized it and there are numerous British residents the year round. A bit of Surrey transplanted to the Far East, you might say. We’ve a splendid race course and a cricket field as well. It would give me great pleasure to introduce you to both."

"Next summer is a long way off, Mr. Copeland; but I shall hold you to that promise." She offered him a flirtatious smile and saw a hint of color touch his cheeks. She was growing more certain by the moment that his arrival with the pilot boat was by design, not chance. Since her mother could not have arranged it, her father must have. He’d chosen Giles Copeland for a particular reason that had nothing to do with delivering a letter that could have easily been entrusted to the river pilot.

"I am already looking forward to it, Lorielle," Copeland said.

How quickly he claimed the familiarity of her given name. And he was responding to her flirtation readily. The last portion of the journey might not be dull after all.... Lorielle sipped her sherry.

"Is my husband well, Mr. Copeland?" Mandra asked in a soft voice that was like the muted tinkling of a chime.

"In the very best of health, and most eager to see you. ’’ His gaze balanced between mother and daughter. "It’s understandable that a separation of three years has worn heavily on him. It’s a pity it was necessary, but we all can rejoice now that you are here."

He sounded so intimately concerned, that Lorielle suddenly wondered if her father had selected Giles Copeland as a suitor for her. It was not unthinkable, knowing her father’s determination that she marry well. And it would explain her mother’s duplicity. The thought rankled, not because Giles Copeland was unpresentable-- he was far from that--but because he was being pushed at her so quickly. But then tact was not one of her father’s more prominent qualities.

"How far is, it to Macao?" she asked.

"Less than fifty miles," Captain Sager answered, "but we are forced to travel much of the way at slow speed because of difficult passages and shoal water. We won’t see Macao itself. The mate’s gone ahead to secure our pass, so as soon as we clear the Ladrone channels, we can set course for Lintin Island, then directly on to the Bogue."

"Don’t we stop at the islands?"

He shook his head. "The sooner we get to Whampoa, the better price I get for my cargo. Once the Hong have their warehouses filled, they begin quarreling about prices. I’ve no intention of being a Johnny-come-lately.’’

"Macao is charming, but there is nothing at Lintin," Giles said. "Even when our ships were forced to stop there, we were not permitted to disembark."

"Then why stop at all?" Lorielle asked.

Captain Sager smiled. "The Chinese would have every clipper discharge its cargo there rather than at Canton, They have their own ferries, and it gives them a chance to steal as much as they can." He grunted. ’They pretend it’s to keep out opium but that’s only an excuse. They’re not satisfied with the squeeze our merchants are forced to pay in order to do business; they want more, and they have no compunction about double-crossing their own officials to get it. Those scrambling dragons can be across the bay before the customs boats get up their sails."

"What on earth are scrambling dragons?" Lorielle’s imagination was stirred by Captain Sager’s tale.

He laughed and the sound filled the cabin. "Fastest little vessels on the water. Skit upriver like water beetles, ducking in and out of coves and narrow creeks to avoid the patrols. They’re operated by Chinese smugglers and powered by fifty oars and two square sails. There isn’t an inch of the Bogue or inlets they can’t navigate."

"Do you sell to smugglers?" Lorielle asked, astonished.

Captain Sager smiled. They pay cash and meet our price. A man can turn a handsome profit if he’s a mind to. Of course, I deal in the legitimate trade with the Company, so I have no interest in illicit operations."

"As a representative of the Company, I’m very glad to hear that," Giles said with a smile.

Captain Sager leaned back in the brown brocade chair. "You wouldn’t expect me to say anything else when I have a Company man sitting here enjoying my hospitality, now would you?" He winked broadly and everyone laughed.

The conversation turned to Canton, with Lorielle eagerly asking questions and listening raptly to everything the Captain and Giles said. Her enthusiasm was renewed, and she was eager to make port and go ashore. Throughout the conversation, she studied Giles covertly.. He was pleasant enough, though too impressed with his own importance, Not the kind of man she would choose for her husband, but it would be diverting to enjoy his companionship for a while. From his comments, she gathered he’d been in China almost as long as her father and was successful in business. Did that make him wealthy? She supposed it did. Her father expected to leave China within a year or two, for he was fast approaching the financial goal he had set.

Mandra refused a second glass of sherry for herself and Lorielle, though the men took another. When the Captain finally set aside his glass, her mother said they must be going.

Where, for heaven’s sake! thought Lorielle, but she rose and followed her mother to the door.

"Will you do Mr. Copeland and me the honor of dining with us this evening" Captain Sager asked as the steward opened the door.

Mandra hesitated, then acquiesced. "It would give us great pleasure."

On deck, Lorielle lifted her face to the spanking breeze and inhaled the fresh aroma of the sea. In the distance, the hilly outline of several islands loomed an the horizon. China! The voyage was nearly done, and her new life was about to begin. When her mother turned toward the aft cabins, Lorielle balked.

"Let’s not go down right away. It’s so lovely--look, the sun will be setting soon!"

Mandra paused. "It’s getting cold, and we must get ready for dinner."

"We have hours! Please, Mother. If you don’t want to stay, let me. You can bathe and get ready leisurely and I won’t be in your way." She smiled winningly.

Mandra’s dark gaze shifted toward the Captain’s cabin. "Very well, but only for a little while. I’ll expect you as soon as the sun goes down. I don’t want you on deck after dusk."

As her mother entered the companionway Lorielle gripped the rail. Her mother was relenting in her curbing vigil! Twice today Lorielle had been permitted on deck alone! And two invitations from the Captain accepted as well! It was as though chains were suddenly being cast aside. If Giles Copeland was the reason, his company was a small price to pay for this new freedom. His presence was a godsend if it had such a reassuring effect on her mother.

She stared across the deepening green of the sea. The sky had cleared except for a few wispy clouds strung out behind the distant islands. The lowering sun turned them pink against the dark horizon. How beautiful a sight it was! And to know that the long voyage was nearly over! She thought of the men who made the trip regularly, plying the seas between China and India two or three times a year, or those who sailed all the way to England! Did they grow tired of the sight of nature at her most splendid, or was it always as breathtaking as it was to her this moment? She sighed and hugged her shawl close as the breeze ruffled her gown. It was hardly the dress to be wearing on deck, but she was not cold. It was her own excitement that made her shiver.

"The sunset is much safer to watch than a storm," a voice said close by.

Lorielle started. Spencer Raymond was standing near the deck housing. She had not seen him in the shadowy light. How long had he been there? She turned back to the view as he came to the rail and stood beside her.

"Since it is so safe," she said, "there’s no need for you to wait about to rescue me!" she said spitefully.

He laughed. "Did you imagine that I have nothing better to do than keep foolish young ladies out of trouble?"

"I have not wasted my time wondering about you at all!" She studied the glowing disc of sun as it began to sink behind the mauve brush-stroke clouds. Was it annoyance that made her heart race so? Though he’d done nothing, she found herself anticipating some new bold move. She almost hoped the Captain might come along and punish him for his dereliction of duty—except that she would be robbed of his company. She was aware of his gaze and turned to him with a haughty stare.

"How is it you are able to avoid your duties so easily, Mr. Raymond? Others of the crew are constantly at their work, but you have a great deal of free time."

"Perhaps I am more efficient." His smile was enigmatic.

Lorielle felt he had bested her in a duel of words, and she fell silent. The sun dipped between two peaks of a mountainous island, its last rays a brilliant yellow burst above the purple clouds as it disappeared. The spectacle was so breathtaking, she gasped with delight. ‘?t is a gorgeous sight." His soft words were carried on the breeze.

"I’ve never seen a sunset more beautiful," Lorielle said raptly. She felt a gentle touch at her shoulder and was snapped from her reverie. Her hold on the shawl had loosened, and the flimsy wrap had slipped off unnoticed. Spencer Raymond caught it before it blew across the deck and was placing it around her. She smiled hesitantly.

"Thank you."

"If I cannot rescue you, at least I can rescue your shawl," he said with a grin. "Now tell me, did you enjoy your visit with the Captain and Mr. Copeland?"

"How did you know--?" She stared at him in astonishment.

"I was on deck—avoiding my duties again—when Mr. Copeland came on board. It surprises me that the East India Company deemed it necessary to send a man out to meet the Windrifter. It’s not the usual practice."

Lorielle made a pert face. "I suspect it was my father’s doing. Mr. Copeland works with him, and his arrival on the pilot boat was an official welcome for my mother and me. He bore a letter from my father."’

"I see." He looked thoughtful. Lorielle was keenly aware of how handsome he was. His clean-shaven face was hewn in strong lines, with a firm chin and high cheekbones. In the dying light, his eyes were darker than the sea water rushing past the hull. "Then he has no other business aboard?"

She looked surprised. "I’m sure I don’t know. Whatever he may discuss with the Captain is none of my concern." She thought about the joking talk of opium smuggling but dismissed it out of hand. She studied Spencer Raymond. "Is it your concern, Mr. Raymond?" she asked devilishly. She had not forgotten his unforgivable behavior, and it would not do to become too friendly with him.

"No. An idle question, no more."

"Have you always been a sailor?" she asked, wanting to redirect the course of conversation.

"I have always loved the sea," he said, staring at the long shadows that crept across the rolling waves. Above, the sky was deepening to gray and would soon be dark. "I lived in Cornwall as a lad, and my family were seafaring men. It was natural for me to follow in their wake. The sea gets in a man’s blood like a fever."

She was surprised at the caressing tone of his voice. It was as though the sea were a siren lover, impossible to ignore or to forget. Having lived all of her life on a delta plain of the Hooghly River, it was beyond her understanding that a body of water could so capture a man.

He was aware suddenly that he’d been carried away by his thoughts. She was watching him with wide, dark eyes, peering as though to fathom something he’d said. He looked past her toward the doors to the aft cabin.

"Your mother will be worried if it gets dark and you’re not back in the fold."

She was strangely reluctant to leave. How different he seemed now than he had earlier. Her annoyance was gone, and she was enjoying his company, though she couldn’t define why. They had talked very little, but she felt she had glimpsed something beyond his brash exterior. It startled her that she could feel so comfortable with him.

"Let me see you to your cabin. The passage will be dark."

She let him take her arm and guide her across the deck to the aft companionway. Though she could see the way well enough, she did not object as he walked her to the cabin.

"Good night," he said softly, then turned and departed quickly.

She stood staring into the darkness for several minutes before she opened the door, imagining she could still see his smile.

Chapter 2

The Windrifter cleared the channels at Ladrone by daybreak. When the mate returned with the ship's pass, the pilot departed and Captain Sager set a straight course up Canton Bay. With a brisk wind from the southwest, the

clipper-crossed open water and was entering the Bogue by the end of the third watch.

The great Pearl River discharged itself through an opening that formed a natural fortification of the gateway to Canton thirty miles distant. The Bogue varied in width from three miles at its broadest to less than a mile at some places, and steep hills on either side fell to the water in a natural defile. The Chinese called the estuary the Lion's Gate, and in addition to its natural defenses, had built five forts to command it. These were situated two on opposite sides at the entrance to the river, two more a short distance up the channel, and the last on Tiger Island, two miles farther on. British ships long ago had proven the ineffectualness of the fixed cannons set in masonry of the loopholes of these forts. On more than one occasion, the British had forced their way through the Lion's Gate, most recently less than a decade earlier, when Lord Napier took the frigates Imogene and Andromache on his ill-fated expedition to Canton. Despite the Emperor's edict that measures be taken to render the Bogue impenetrable, nothing was done since the task would have involved a serious study of European gunnery. The imposing gray hilltop sentinels were more of a picturesque warning than a threat.

Past Tiger Island, the Bogue widened again and the hills receded; the first broad landscape of China was visible to travelers by sea. The natural Delta, divided into islands by numerous arms of the main river, was a green expense of rice fields, edged with pale blue hills and dotted with villages and isolated country houses. There was hardly a tree to be seen, but a pagoda crowned almost every rise.

Lorielle was amazed at seeing the patient, industrious people tending their fields or looking after livestock. She had expected gnarled cypresses and a parterre of graveled walks and pavilions, with flowering trees and hump-backed bridges. Giles, who stood beside her at the rail of the after deck, smiled indulgently and declared that China was not the idyllic paradise, painted on lacquerware and porcelain, that she was accustomed to seeing. China had many faces, some brutal and ugly. When she questioned him, he declined to elaborate, saying there was no need to concern herself with things she would never see. His attitude annoyed her, but she was too enchanted with the unfolding panorama to make an issue of it. And she was exhilarated by her abrupt release from her mother's watchful eyes.

The Windrifter crossed the bars at flood and sailed eastward past Six Flat Islands and Dane Island to Whampoa, where they were to anchor. Giles explained that they were not permitted to approach Canton itself, and even if they had been, the water was too shallow except for vessels smaller than the Windrifter. So Captain Sager would discharge his cargo here, and it would be taken to Canton by ferries which had been recently set up by Jardine, Matheson & Company, a British firm well established in Canton.

As the Windrifter sailed around Dane Island and Whampoa came into view, crewmen loosed the lines. Canvas slatted as it spilled wind. The-topsails, gold and pink in the afternoon sun, came down with at squealing of the clews and the ship hove to. From the quarterdeck, the Captain shouted, "Let go the anchor!" Sailors released the heavy iron with a great splash. On the forward deck, a small knot of men broke into an impromptu jig when a lad began a lively tune on a fife. The dreary voyage was over, and every hand was welcoming the shore leave and the potent liquor of Whampoa and Canton.

Lorielle could not contain her excitement. She wanted to look everywhere at once, see everything, and drink in the wonder and excitement. Close by, another Indiaman, a double-decked vessel with slender masts that towered above the Windrifter, her yards squared on the delicate rigging and a well-bleached awning stretched above the deck, lay at anchor in the center of the stream. Her sides looked freshly painted and shining with varnish.

The White Cloud," Giles Copeland said, pointing to the figurehead and ornamented stern of the clipper. "That's the Sarret beyond."

Lorielle saw the tall spars of another ship farther along the stream where it rode gently at anchor on the slow current. Then, as though spilling from some unseen rent in the river, a profusion of small boats skittered toward the Windrifter like leaves caught in the current. Chinese sampans, flat and long, with split bamboo roofing and walls, pulled alongside. A shout went up.

"Ah, you missee chiefee captain, how you dooa? I saavez you long time when you catchee Whampoa last time. I makee mendee all same you shirtee last time."

A girl with delicate features and a broad smile bobbed her head at the men on deck. Captain Sager grinned and waved, and another cheer rose from the crew. Hands tossed over the ladder, and the girl began to climb. Three other women emerged from the covering of bamboo houses of the sampans and tied fast before scampering up the ladder. Sailors leaned through the entryport to pull, the first girl on deck. They kissed her smartly, then lifted her from hr feet and carried her off behind the deck housing while she squealed with delight. Other seamen were already vying for the vantage of the entryport so they could snatch the next girl up.

Lorielle stared in open astonishment, her cheeks flushing at the ribald comments that filled the air.

"The Chinese are immoral barbarians," Giles Copeland said stiffly as he tried to divert her attention. "I'm afraid you'll find many of their ways shocking."

"Who are they?" She was gaping at the women amidships. A small knot of sailors had closed around another of the Chinese girls and were trying to pull off her silk jacket while she giggled and tried to dart between them. Moments later, she was scooped up and perched on two sailors' shoulders, to be carted forward out of sight.

"The girls from the wash boats," he explained. "They meet the boats year after year and are engaged to launder and mend for the crew." He delicately refrained from mentioning their other obvious endeavors. Though tradition and regulations constrained women of the more staid inland cities, the atmosphere in port was relaxed and easy. Chinese officials tolerated the free-spirited wash girls, and the foreign sailors found them a welcome diversion.

Lorielle was determined not to expose her naiveté. She looked away, thankful that her mother had not yet come on deck. "Will we go ashore? Where is the ferry?"

Giles smiled indulgently. "No one can disembark until the customs representative boards and claims payment of the port charges. The Chinese delight in haggling and reeling off endless conditions. But I expect the Captain will arrange for you to leave for Canton as quickly as possible." He squinted at the sun.

"Is it far?"

"If you catch the tide, no more than two and a half hours. Ah, here comes Hi Chul and Jack Hoppo now." He indicated the men coming aboard.

Captain Sager came down from the quarter-deck to greet the two. The customs official was a stooped, elderly man with gray hair and a grizzled beard, who extended his hand to the Captain and bowed politely. They immediately began to converse in pidgin as they strolled toward the forward hatches. If they saw or heard the squealing, laughing wash girls, they gave no indication. The second man, younger and squarely built, positioned himself at the entry port with arms folded in a menacing pose, except that he grinned and nodded steadily to sailors who were obviously old friends.

"You lookee other way, Jack Hoppo, we takee all same boxes ashore," one said.

The big man bobbed his head, still grinning but not moving from his post. "No takee box with Jack Hoppo stand here," he vowed in the friendliest of terms, which brought on some good-natured bantering by the sailors.

Giles smiled at Lorielle regretfully. "I must see to the manifests and be sure Hi Chul doesn't squeeze us twice. Let me see you to your cabin. You'll want to get your baggage ready. The boat will be leaving shortly."

"I've already packed." She'd known she'd be too impatient to stay below decks this morning. Without urging from her mother, she'd laid her clothes in the portmanteau the night before and the last of her personal things in a small valise as soon as she was dressed this morning. She'd left the cabin immediately after breakfast. Crewmen would carry up the trunks when her mother was ready.

"Will we go to Canton in Mr. Jardine and Matheson's ferry?" she asked, craning her neck to see if the boat might be approaching. The river had filled quickly with sampans and flat-bottomed barges.

Giles shook his head. "You’ll take a ship's boat. One of the watches goes on shore leave now, and they'll row sprightly enough to have you there in short order." He spied Captain Sager and the customs officials amidships. "If you will excuse me, Lorielle, I must see to transferring our cargo. Once in port, it becomes my responsibility, and with the thieving crew ready to smuggle any bit they can get their hands on, I have to tend to the count personally."

He took her hand and pressed it warmly. "Your father will meet you at the quay in Canton. And I will see you very soon." He raised her hand to his lips, then left her, though he paused at the bottom of the ladder to turn and smile.

She stayed at the rail, reluctant to miss a moment of the excitement. A large flatboat had drawn up alongside the Windrifter, and on the forward deck, the crew was readying a block and tackle to begin unloading. She peered over the side and saw that the ferry was painted with the Jardine & Matheson name and an oblique white cross on a blue field. A dozen Chinese workers in padded cotton jackets and shapeless trousers stood ready to stow the chests as they were lowered from the clipper. Their voices, high-pitched one moment, resonant the next, filled the air like the chatter of magpies. On the river, more boats began converging and lined up behind the first. Lorielle realized that the cargo of the Windrifter would easily fill them all.

She'd lost sight of Giles. Would he ride one of the ferries to Canton? Since yesterday, she'd lost some of her irritation at knowing her father had sent him to occupy her time. Dinner last night had been merry, with Giles and the Captain regaling the women with amusing anecdotes, so that Mandra Temple did not notice the time until the evening had grown quite late. Giles saw them to their cabin with a promise that he would spend the morning on deck with Lorielle so he could point out interesting landmarks. And he had, though he tended to sound like a schoolmaster reciting lessons for a recalcitrant child. Despite his dullness, Lorielle found this pastime more pleasant than sitting with her mother in the cabin.

Several sailors bounded up the steps to the aft deck and began unfastening one of the longboats. "'Scuse me, miss--Capt'n says ye’ll be leavin' wi' this boat. Here now—mind the lines--" He grabbed the rope that swung dangerously close to her.

Only a few minutes and they would be on their way to Canton! She hurried down the steps and into the corridor, eager now that the voyage was nearly over. The door of the cabin was open, and as she skidded through she tumbled into one of the crewmen who was carrying out a trunk.

"Oh--I'm sorry!" She laughed and danced sideways trying to get out of the way.

"My fault, miss ..." The red-faced sailor darted her a smile as he went out. He carried the last of the trunks. Mandra had cleared the cabin so that no trace of their occupancy remained. She was closing the door on another episode of life, knowing she would never view it again. Lorielle glanced about for her reticule.

"Your bonnet needs straightening," her mother said. 'The Captain sent word that our boat is waiting." She followed the crewmen out without a backward glance.

Chagrined, Lorielle set her bonnet right and hurried after her mother. How could mother be so unruffled with so much going on? As the longboat was rowed to the entry port, Lorielle glanced about for a last look at the ship that had bridged two segments of her life. She was glad to be quit it, yet sorry in a way. The Windrifter was a link with the past that would be soon cut off.

As her glance swept the deck, she saw Spencer Raymond staring at her. He stood below the mizzenmast, his face crinkled against the bright sunlight. For a moment, she was mesmerized by his unreadable expression and her pulse quickened. She was leaving him, too. Her thoughts were a jumble of his stern reprimands, his anger... and the passionate kiss he had claimed from her unwilling lips.

How different he was from any man she had ever met. Bold and sure of himself, but certainly not encumbered by good manners! She looked away. Why hadn't she informed the Captain of his outrageous behavior? Was it because Spencer Raymond was so different--and intriguing? Or was it because of the kiss that had stirred deep slumbering passions and left her so completely unsettled? Well, she would never see him again. According to Giles, the sailors would have only a few days' shore leave; the likelihood of her seeing Spencer in Canton was remote. In two weeks, the Windrifter would set sail again, and Spencer Raymond would be gone.

Mandra made her way down the ladder to the boat, managing to look graceful despite the swaying foothold. A sailor helped her to a seat ahead of the oarsmen where she would not be splashed. Lorielle gathered her skirt.

She'd worn a simple dress of blue linen with a soft skirt that could be managed easily when making her way in and out of the boat. She spurned an offer of assistance and took her place beside her mother.

On the water, the din of unloading was incredible. Cranes squeaked and lines squealed as the forward crane lifted cargo from the hold and lowered it into the Jardine & Matheson ferries. Barefoot Chinese workers unhooked the nets the moment they touched down. Then borne on the shoulders of the coolies, the crates and bales were quickly deposited under the boat's canopy, stacked like cordwood so that every inch of space was utilized. A steady stream of chatter and the screams of the foreman added to the cacophony.

Lorielle could scarcely sit still, despite her mother's stern glance. There was so much to see, she wanted to fill herself with the wonder of being in China at last. She was impatient to be off, but the other passengers were still boarding.

She smothered a sigh as the two middle-aged writers hefted themselves down the ladder, puffing and clutching the ropes awkwardly. Several of Lorielle's and her mother's trunks had been piled in the boat and were now awkward stumbling blocks to the two men.

Major General Milton descended with straight shoulders. He drew himself erect as he glanced about, nodded to the ladies, then edged past the baggage.

Surely they would be underway now. Lorielle glanced impatiently toward the deck. To her amazement, Spencer Raymond was climbing down the ladder. When he glanced in her direction, she looked away and stared at the distant shore where small open boats were moored on a spit of sand under tall swaying palm trees. There was already a full complement of sailors at the oars. Was he proposing to ride like a passenger? She wished she had inquired discreetly of Captain Sager about him. Spencer Raymond piqued her curiosity more each time she saw him. But she reminded herself that their acquaintance would be short. She stole a glance and saw that he had chosen a seat close by, facing her. His incredible cobalt gaze caught hers. She offered him a brief smile then returned her attention to the final loading.

Amid a great deal of shouting, the sailors grabbed a keg from a net and stowed it between the broad wooden seats near the oarlocks. Finally, the bos'n's mate, Mr. Dray, heaved himself aboard and they were ready to cast off. He shouted for the lines to be loosed, then perched himself on the piled trunks as the sailors settled to the oars and brought the boat around. The men set up a song to pattern their rhythm. In moments, they were headed up the river, wending between the ferries and Chinese boats that had converged on the Windrifter like flies to a carcass.

Lorielle gazed back. With her sails furled, the clipper seemed alien in the strange landscape. A tall layered pagoda with a gently curved roof on the island beyond mocked the straight, clean lines of her masts. A clutch of junks, red sails catching the sun, hovered near an inlet, and a sampan glided by with a solitary figure standing at the scull.

She glanced from one bank to the other. The river was alive with people. On houseboats, clothes were strung on poles for drying, and solemn, wide-eyed children stared as they ate with chopsticks from bowls. Men in fishing boats drew their nets slowly through the blue-gray water. High-backed junks towered above the longboat with painted eyes staring. Lorielle glanced at her mother who was unperturbed by the strangeness of the passing scene. Mandra sat with her hands folded, looking ahead without a flicker of expression, but Lorielle knew she was absorbing everything.

Mr. Dray swiveled to look at the ladies. He'd never accustomed himself to having female passengers aboard, but he'd been given orders he was to extend every courtesy to these two. He smiled without enthusiasm when the young one's glance met his.

"There'll be some interestin' things these thirteen miles, miss. If ye'd like to know more about this heathen land, I'd be pleased to tell you what you want to know." The words fell uncomfortably from his lips. She was a comely wench, and there were things he'd rather do with her than talk--but he'd been told in no uncertain manner that any man who laid a hand on her would be flogged till his blood ran red as the sails on a Chinese junk.

For awhile, she was content just to look. The long stretch of Whampoa Island lay to the south, and the vast mainland to the north. There were fields and clusters of walled houses and shacks with thatched roofs. Along the riverbank, women washed clothes on rocks and children ran along the sand or played among the shrubs. Here and there, a tree in full flower sent a gentle fragrance across the water. In contrast, foul stenches assailed her nostrils as they passed an inlet where dredges were scooping up mud from the shallows. Her inquiring look to Mr. Dray brought her the sparse information that it was a river-muscle fishery.

Another mile or so farther, they came to a crowd of women and children wading along the river edge were the incoming tide had not yet reached. Turning to Mr. Dray again, Lorielle was about to inquire what they were doing, but saw that the bos'n mate's attention was centered on a sailor who had momentarily laid up his oar to nurse a wound in his palm made by a wicked splinter. Spencer Raymond answered the question she had not

asked.

"It's a type of fishing that can be done without a boat and is thus left to the women and children."

Lorielle watched a scampering lad plunge his hand into the rich mud and pull out something which he quickly dropped into a basket on his back.

"I admit my unfamiliarity with the sea, Mr. Raymond," she said flippantly, "but I am well aware that fish live in water, not mud." If he hoped to ridicule her again he would not succeed.

Spencer regarded her with twinkling eyes. "These do. They're like lizards. They crawl around in the mud where the outgoing tide strands them. Women and children are scooping them up before the next tide comes in, though the pickings are better earlier in the day when the tide has just ebbed."

Dray finished his reprimand of the laggard sailor and turned.

"Is that true, Mr. Dray?" Lorielle asked.

"Them lizard creatures? Like little snakes, the way they wiggle and burrow. These heathens consider them a temptin' morsel, but don't know I'd care to try 'em. Not after seein' the way they fry 'em alive in the skillet."

Lorielle shuddered and saw Spencer's amused smile. She banished her squeamishness and raised her chin. She was beginning to believe Spencer's claim that he was well schooled in China's customs and culture. Again she wished she had learned more about him aboard the Windrifter. She forced a smile.

"I apologize for my rudeness," she said to him. "It seemed a far-fetched story." She could not stay angry when he had done nothing amiss.

"Your apology is accepted," he said smoothly.

For a moment, a wave of anger surged, but she suppressed it quickly. She would be charming and avail herself of the knowledge he was willing to share.

With an easy smile, Spencer began a running commentary on the scene passing along the shores. There were pagodas and temples, and tiny villages splashed among green rolling hills. Peasants, he told her, the tillers of the vast farmland along the delta. They fed themselves and brought their produce to the city to sell or barter in tiny stalls that crowded Canton streets.

Lorielle realized she was fascinated by every detail. How much there was to know about China! She wanted to absorb everything about the land and culture that was different from any she knew. She'd never been permitted to explore remote Indian villages. Any excursions beyond the confines of Calcutta had been carefully supervised by her mother. Even trips to the teeming marketplace in the old city could not be made without the ayah or a retinue of servants. She vowed silently that she would somehow find a way to make her life different here.

Soon after the longboat passed the west point of Whampoa, the sailors at the oars began to glance over their shoulders with increased frequency. Before long, their mutterings turned into a lively dispute that seemed to center on a tall pagoda on the left bank. Lorielle studied it but could find nothing controversial. When she asked Spencer, he shook his head in puzzlement. Mr. Dray grinned humorlessly.

'There's always a difference of opinion as to when we reach the halfway mark, miss. Some say it's when we gets a bearing on the pagoda with the temple yonder, but I hold it's when we c'n see daylight through them winders up there."

"Does it make a difference?" It hardly seemed cause for the grumbling that had taken on an ugly tone.

He chuckled. "We take's our ration of grog then, that's what they're wantin'." He shouted, "Heave to, or there'll be the whip instead o' rum!"

Chafing, the men pulled harder at the oars. Suddenly a shout went up as a man gestured.

"Damned if that ain't daylight, Mr. Dray. Ye cain't deny it no longer!"

Dray looked to the tall pagoda, squinting as though trying to make his decision. At last he signaled the halt. The men quickly shipped oars, and mugs appeared instantly in every hand. Mr. Dray pulled the plug on the small keg that had come aboard last and poured a ration into each cup. The men drank greedily, smacking their lips and wiping them on the backs of their hands.

Spencer Raymond opened a small canvas bag at his feet and drew out two cups and a wrapped jar. As he uncorked the jar, the delicious aroma of tea wafted, and Mandra turned. Spencer Raymond smiled.

"I took the liberty of having the steward prepare tea. Can I entice you to enjoy it? It's still steaming, though probably not as hot as you're accustomed to." Grinning, he passed a cup to each of them. Lorielle closed her hands around it gratefully and sipped. It was delicious, with a delicate jasmine flavor that gave it a touch of sweetness.

"You're very kind," Mandra said. Her gaze settled on him momentarily, then fell. She had noticed his friendly manner with Lorielle and found it disturbing. Had they talked before? She'd been lax the last days of the journey and allowed Lorielle to venture about on her own. Had it been a mistake?

"It is the best tea I have ever tasted!" Lorielle declared. Perhaps she had misjudged Spencer Raymond in dismissing his menial position. A crude sailor would not think of tea; it was something even many gentlemen would not have thought of if they had their own grog at hand. Spencer poured himself a finger of liquor from a silver flask, drank it, and began repacking the utensils. When Lorielle would have rushed to finish the tea, he stayed her.

"There's a second cup," he said.

They were underway almost immediately. The crew fell to the oars with renewed vigor, and their rhythmic song was lively. Lorielle sipped her tea and once more was absorbed with the changing scene.

Spencer was silent and talkative by turn, letting Lorielle study the landscape and explaining if she asked a question. He had recognized Mrs. Temple's quick dismissal of him, and he hid his amusement. She was like a she-cat with a kit, ready to slash out at any danger. But for all of her protectiveness, she had consented to joining her husband here in Canton. Was she blind to the dangers that would press from every side? Or was she so under her husband's thumb that he left her no choice in the matter?

They passed Fort Napier on its solitary stretch of island across from a Chinese battery. The maps and reports he'd committed to memory were accurate. He'd known they could come in useful, but not in such an unexpectedly pleasurable way as playing travel guide to a beautiful young woman. With the sun behind her, Lorielle was framed in a glow that set fiery highlights to her hair and made her eyes blacker than the night sky when there was no moon. From time to time she smiled when he pointed out something of interest, but mostly she glanced this way and that like a child at the fair. When a small sampan loaded with fresh fruit came aside the longboat, he bought two oranges and presented them to her.

Her cheeks flushed as she passed one to her mother. The other she peeled deftly with dainty fingernails that were nicely rounded. He watched her section the fruit and nibble it. A bit of juice dribbled at her lip, and she licked at it like a child. He laughed with delight, and was rewarded with a smile.

The orange was sweet and warm, and Lorielle ate greedily. Spencer was watching her as though it gave him great pleasure. She expected a reprimand from her mother, and the pleasant surprise of not receiving it added to her enjoyment. She gave Spencer a flirtatious glance. What harm? They would part company as soon as they reached Canton ... and he was handsome!

"We'll soon come in sight of Canton city," Mr. Dray said, pointing ahead to an old fort set upon a tiny island in the middle of the river. Circular in structure, it perched like a wounded bird overlooking the pass where the river narrowed.

'There's the French Folly."

Lorielle strained for a glimpse of the city, but the river had become so crowded with boats she could see nothing of the bank beyond. Houseboats jammed the shore; on an occasional rise of ground, she spied a patch of roof or a bit of wall. Fishing boats returning with the day's catch wove between junks laden with coolies. Oriental faces turned to stare at the longboat, and Lorielle realized she and her mother were as much a novelty to the natives as their strange customs were to her. The babble of voices and the clamor of life on the river were overwhelming. Fishermen, children, vendors... it was like a huge marketplace!

When at last she saw the imposing sight of the walled city, Lorielle gasped. The outlying districts had not prepared her for the high wall and the massed structures that crowded at its foot. The river was solid with boats, so that the access looked impassable. Above the wall, gracefully curved arches and roofs gleamed like scattered embers as the sun caught the red tiles. It gave the scene a festive air, despite the huddled boats and the imposing gray wall with its peeled, cracked plaster.

It was impossible to converse in the din that enveloped them now. Sounds blended and merged, isolated and merged again. It was impossible to distinguish them. Lorielle was certain she heard music, but perhaps it was a trick of the noise that assaulted her ears. No, it was music--if it could be called that! It was unlike any melody or instrument she'd ever heard, high-pitched and dissonant, mournfully monotonous. It grew more distinct as they approached a group of elegant houseboats moored off shore. On the roof of one junk she saw cross-legged musicians sitting with their strange-looking instruments and surrounded on every side by a profusion of flowerpots bursting with brilliant blooms. The cabin of the junk was divided into two stories, each with curtained banisters and garlands of flowers. Each tier was divided into rooms; in front of them bejeweled women in rich silk sat on ornately carved chairs with satin cushions. They spied the approaching longboat and began to whisper among themselves and preen like peacocks. One rose and toddled along the deck on tiny bound feet as she spread a painted fan coyly.

The sailors had spied them and though they dared not break the stride of their rowing, their interest was definitely centered on the posing women. With face averted so Mr. Dray would not see, one whistled daringly. The others took courage from him, and in a matter of moments, every man was calling out or whistling as he ogled the painted women. Their eagerness was quickly dampened by Mr. Dray.

"Mind those oars or I'll have your hides!"

Reluctantly, they turned back to their work with covert glances toward the flower boats.

Major General Milton pursed his lips. "Positively indecent." But his gaze strayed to the boats as often as the others.

Mandra Temple's composure was broken by the sight of the whores advertising themselves so brazenly; her cheeks spotted with color. Lorielle saw her mother's prim look and pretended she saw nothing amiss. But she felt a flood of color to her own cheeks when Spencer grinned and she realized the women on the bedecked boats were whores. Then the longboat glided deftly around a huge junk and the flower boats were lost from sight.

The port of Canton was a hub of activity that defied the imagination. Dock yards with war junks under repair or construction, warehouses and shops crowded every foot of space. Lorielle saw a line of tall flagstaffs before a row of European-looking buildings. The factories! She grasped her mother's hand and pointed.

"We're here!"

Mandra smiled and her eyes turned to the flags snapping in the evening breeze.

The crewmen pressed passage through lanes so narrow they had to lift the oars. At last the longboat broke through the tangle and crowded among unloading sampans marked with the James Innes imprint. At a shout from Mr. Dray, the men made the boat fast at the landing steps, scrambled out and began to unload. Spencer turned to lend a hand to the two women.

Lorielle's legs were stiff, and that combined with the bobbing of the boat in the fast current made her stumble as she stepped onto the quay. Spencer caught her. She felt the quickening of her pulse under her mother's disapproving glare. When he released her, his eyes met hers. She looked away abruptly to stare at the flag while she composed herself.

The British factory! There was no mistaking the familiar colors over the pillared two-story building. The bustle of disembarking people swirled around her like a tide; sailors were already heaving the trunks and boxes from the boat to the quay. She quickly stepped out of the way and climbed the wide stone steps. At the top, she gasped at the sight of a lovely green garden bordered by stone walls; A tall man in a blue frock coat and a beaver hat hurried toward her.

"Father!" She flung herself into his arms. He embraced her warmly. Then he held her at arm's length to peer at her.

"I can scarcely believe you are the same little girl I left in Calcutta!" He shook his head and hugged her again.

"It is Lorielle." Her mother's soft voice carried through the turmoil.

Tyler released Lorielle. "Mandra, my dear Mandra!" Despite the on-looking sailors and Chinese, he enfolded her in his arms and pressed his lips to her hair, then searched for her mouth. She held back momentarily, but her cool reserve could not disguise the joy of the reunion. She embraced him and pressed her face against the rough cloth of his coat to hide her tears.

"How good it is to have you with me again," he murmured, stroking her hair.

Emotion welled in Lorielle's throat. No matter how much she resented her parents' strictness, it war good to be together as a family again. She blinked back tears of joy that stung her eyelids. She looked away to give her parents a measure of privacy.

Through a tall gate, she glimpsed a wide square bordered on one side by the river and on the other by a row of white plastered buildings similar to the British factory. Each displayed a flag and these were the only familiar sight in the otherwise jammed area. She had never seen a place so crowded! It seemed a gathering place for the people of the city. Men with long wooden poles across their shoulders carried heavy baskets of produce. Street vendors screamed their wares, while beggars sat morosely or limped among the throng with beseeching cries and outstretched hands. Just outside the gate, a cobbler had set up his last and was hammering a shoe; nearby a knot of shabbily dressed men crowded around a peep show that had been erected in a small stall. Everywhere, the incredible noise rang at fever pitch. Just as Lorielle was convinced it had reached the highest decibel possible, it swelled even higher.

Gradually Mandra and Tyler became aware of their surroundings and drew apart. Tyler smoothed his coat and looked toward the steps where Major General Milton's boots were loud on the stone. Behind him, two sailors struggled with one of Lorielle's trunks, pushing past Chinese workers unloading a sampan. They were followed by the two writers who scrambled up as though chased. They glanced fretfully at the swarming Chinese and stayed as far from them as possible. When they saw the British garden, their relief was comical. They stared with mouths agape, then sighed with relief as if they'd come home after a long journey. They returned Lorielle's smile tentatively and nodded to Tyler.

"Webb and Fiske …. ?" Tyler extended a hand.

"Yes, sir. You'd be Mr. Temple? We were told to report to you."

"You'll reside at the factory. The men will settle you in and show you your duties." He snapped his fingers at a coolie who had just shouldered a heavy chest. "Boy—you takee men factory, all same now, chop-chop!"

The lad bobbed and trotted along the path. Webb and Fiske followed, still gazing about at the welcome bit of home in the foreign place. Major General Milton pursed his lips and strode toward Tyler.

"Mr. Temple? I am General Milton. Mr. Zebulon of the Company's staff in Cawnpore informed you I was coming, I believe?"

Tyler offered his hand. "Welcome to Canton, General. I have arranged quarters for you at the factory. I'm sure you'll find them comfortable. As soon as my wife and daughter settle into their new home, perhaps you'll favor us with your company at dinner some evening? You're staying awhile?"

"Yes... thank you." He smiled at the two women, and Mandra nodded politely. Milton bowed and set out behind the writers.

Mandra glanced at her husband questioningly. Was the General someone to whom she should have paid court during the voyage? No, Ty1er would have informed her--as he had about Giles Copeland. He was doing his duty, no more: his position with the Company required him to make visitors comfortable. She watched as her husband strode to the flagstone terrace where the dockers were milling about the piled cargo from the sampans. His voice carried loudly above the jabbering Chinese.

"Get on with it! Workee chop-chop, dammit." His face went hard. "Barrington!"

A burly, red-headed man bounded up the steps.

"What the devil is holding them up? There's ten more ferries coming from the Windrifter!"

Barrington grimaced. "It's the damned Viceroy again, sir. There's a rumor that the dockers will be arrested if they unload. Some little China doll just pulled up in a sampan and told the men the Hoppo's on his way now with soldiers. She seen 'em comin' out Kwang-lu Gate."

Tyler's eyes narrowed. "All the more reason to get on with it. I'11 hold you responsible if that ferry isn't empty and cast off by the time they get here!"

Muttering, Barrington descended the steps. His voice boomed a harangue of rapid orders in pidgin. There was a wail of protest from the Chinese dockers, but the procession of chests was resumed. Temple paced angrily near the head of the stain, glancing from time to time toward the gate. He seemed to have forgotten his wife and daughter in his agitation.

Lorielle shivered. The atmosphere had become tense, and her pleasure was ebbing, replaced by a tremor of anxiety. She knew her father would not leave until his orders were carried out.

The last of the trunks and boxes came up from the long boat. The crewmen from the Windrifter milled restlessly as they waited for orders from the bo's'n that would free them for their leave. The unhappy dockers were still hauling cargo from the ferry, but that had nothing to do with them. They'd brought the longboat to its destination and were eager to be away.

Apart from the others, Spencer Raymond watched the disturbing scene. The mood of the dockers had not improved under Barrington's lashing tongue and the threat of the whip. Tyler Temple was disregarding the Viceroy's order deliberately, and his action was not popular with the Chinese workers. They glanced fearfully at the gate, expecting to see the mandarin swoop down on them.

In the excitement of the arrival, Lorielle had forgotten about Spencer. When she spotted him standing alone, his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder on a crooked finger, she wondered again why he always seemed remote from the activity around him. Her father had not singled him out for attention, and the bo's'n and Barrington were ignoring him completely. He was watching the unloading with a censuring gaze. Did he imagine that because her father was carrying out his duties that he was not concerned with her welfare? Or that it proved his contention that China was a dangerous place for women? He turned suddenly and their gazes met. When his scowl deepened, she tightened her mouth and pretended interest in a huge hog plum tree and the factory beyond.

The East India Company warehouse was built of stone that was freshly plastered a clean white. Steps led to a broad verandah where tall, multi-paned windows were gracefully arched by fan lights. Curved facades across the roof softened the square lines and were outlined against the deepening blue of the sky. There were a few hours of daylight left, but long shadows were already creeping across the garden. A servant emerged from the front door of the factory and lighted the lamps along the verandah.

A sudden explosion of voices drew her attention back. Several of the dockers were gesturing excitedly toward the narrow lane that could be seen through the garden gate. The rabble fell back as a procession approached. Seeing it, Tyler barked at Barrington to hurry the last of the chests ashore.

The procession moved slowly toward the garden. Two servants in black and silver robes and wide, domed hats led the way with sputtering torches. Behind them, a stout Chinese was borne in a sedan chair on the shoulders of four coolies. His arms were folded and his hands swallowed in the wide sleeves so he resembled a plump god surveying his domain. The breast of his robe was richly embroidered, and the dancing light of the torches glinted on the brilliant colors. Around his neck hung a gold medallion on an ornate chain. He was followed by six other sedans, and a group of horse soldiers wearing royal shields.

Tyler swore softly. Two dockers who had just reached the garden with a heavy chest halted abruptly and burst into an excited spate of Chinese. Behind them Barrington yelled for them to go on, but the terrified men did not move. Barrington slashed at them with the whip. The chest swung precariously as they tried to retreat but were blocked. In panic, they dropped the poles from their shoulders and the heavy chest crashed to the stone. It split with it rending sound, and tightly wrapped balls of opium rolled across the path. Barrington brought the whip down sharply.

"Pick them up fast!" He cracked the whip over their heads menacingly. The two fell to their knees and began clutching at the spilled cargo as a frantic explosion of chatter spread from the garden to the quay.

Temple signaled Barrington with a curt gesture as the procession entered Respondentia Walk and veered through the gate of the factory garden. It halted a few yards from Tyler. The mandarin alighted slowly. Despite his girth, he was a prepossessing old man with a gray mustache and tuft of beard. He made a small bow.

"Changqua honors the British Company with his visit," Tyler said, returning the bow. "Man-ta-lee have come see you?"

The old man smiled wanly. "He come see, bring my one-lac dollar."

Tyler nodded. If he had his bribe, what the devil was this nonsense about preventing the unloading? Damned show so he could say he'd carried out his orders.

"Changqua contentee," he said. "We finish carry chests now before dark."

The old man shook his head slowly. "Viceroy him say no. All same, he say no bring foreign mud to factory."

Forgetting in his anger to use pidgin, Tyler thundered, "We made a deal and I've paid your price. You guaranteed no interference."

If the mandarin did not understand the words completely, he could not mistake Tyler's tone. He smiled thinly again and unfolded his hands from the voluminous sleeves to spread them in a helpless gesture. "Vic'roy him say no. Sendee soldiers arrest coolies cally foreign mud. Send felly back Whampoa."

"Dammit! I won't be blackmailed this way! You tell the Stung-Fu to find a way to make the Viceroy happy. Barrington!" he yelled without taking his eyes from the mandarin.

"Yessir…?"

"Get that unloading finished. I want those chests inside before the lane torches have to be lighted!"

"Yessir!" Barrington shouted to the seamen. "Give a hand there, push them coolies up those steps if you have to! Chop-chop!"

Sensing excitement, the sailors began shoving the grumbling dockers as Barrington cracked the teaser. The lash struck one of the Chinese workers smartly, and he howled. The Hoppo sighed and lifted a hand. Immediately, the horsemen dismounted with raised shields and swords and rushed toward the stairs. In seconds, there was bedlam. Soldiers flung aside the first man on the steps and he toppled backward. His shoulder poles dropped heavily, and the opium chest skidded back to down the second man and send him tumbling into the water. Screams rent the air as dockers scrambled to avoid the soldiers who were now rushing down the steps with maniacal fury, their swords slashing Chinese and English alike. An enraged seaman grabbed up a loose stone and flung it hard. It caught a soldier in the face and he went down with an agonizing cry. Swarming seamen poured up the steps, pushing Chinese dockers ahead like a ramrod. Another chest crashed to the stones and split open, spilling balls of opium like tenpins.

Tyler's face suffused with color and his fists clenched. "You've had your show, Changqua! Call them off!"

The mandarin sighed and sidestepped a shield that skidded across the stones as its bearer fell with an ugly thudding sound.

"Viceroy, him say no unload, all same. You talk, maybe fix." His countenance was unperturbed. The matter was clearly out of his hands, no matter how much he wished to placate the Englishman.

Furious, Tyler wheeled and grabbed the flowing hood beneath a soldier's plumed helmet and spun him around.

The man struck out blindly, and his sword caught Tyler in the shoulder. He danced back in rage.

"Damned heathen!" Tyler gripped his wound as blood seeped between his fingers. Barrington broke loose of the clashing melee and ran toward him but was intercepted by a glancing blow from another soldier's sword. He raised the lash and snapped it at the man's unprotected face.

Lorielle watched in growing horror; The peaceful scene had exploded into violence so quickly, she was still dazed. The sight of her father's wound terrified her. Without thinking, she started toward him but was halted by a firm hand. She whirled to find Spencer Raymond glaring at her.

"Don't be a fool! Stay out of this!" He jerked her back and tried to push her clear of the melee.

She struck his hand away. "My father is hurt!" She looked and saw her mother cowering on the path some distance away.

"And you will be, too, if you don't get out of here! For Godsake, run to the factory!"

"I won't--" Her words were cut short as a fallen sailor rolled heavily against her legs. Spencer grabbed her up in his arms and started down the path at a trot.

"Put me down!" She struck out at him but he only held her more tightly.

"Stop it, you fool! Don't you have the sense to see what's happening!" As he rushed past Mandra, he shouted, "Come quickly, I’ll see to your husband as soon as you're safe!"

Terror-stricken, Mandra raced along beside him. Her flying skirts tangled and she lifted them, heedless of the unladylike display of ankles. She was gasping with panic and her legs were so weak they could scarcely hold her.

Lorielle's pulse pounded like a gong and her breath was a coil of hot steel in her chest. Behind them, the fighting reached a new peak. Screams and curses filled the air. It was unbelievable! Her anger was slowly being replaced by dread as she realized how close she'd been to danger. She had believed her father's authority sufficient to forestall any incident such as this. So had her mother--or they would not be here! Surely this was an isolated incident, something that had gotten out of hand because Mr. Barrington had acted hastily with the whip! Her father would settle it—

She glanced back over Spencer's shoulder and saw that such was not the case. The fighting had become a brawl, and the soldiers with their weapons had the upper hand. Gradually, the dockers and seamen were retreating from the cruel blades. Her father, still gripping his bloodied shoulder, was talking agitatedly with Changqua at a safe distance. Spencer rushed up the stairs of the factory, and they entered the cool, dim hall. He set Lorielle on her feet quickly, but when she trembled, he drew her into the circle of his arm.

"You are safe here." His tone was brusque and his face was still dark with fury. He looked at Mandra as she leaned against the wall panting. "Stay here until your husband comes for you," he ordered.

Mandra's face was pale and her eyes wide. She was trembling from head to foot.

"The danger is past for the moment, but you must not venture outside, is that clear?" Spencer said.

Some of Lorielle's courage returned. "Is that an order?" She bristled and pulled away from him.

"Yes!" His eyes glinted like diamonds. "The Chinese will not cause trouble in the factory, but it's not safe outside. I shouldn't have to point that out after what you've just seen." He released her abruptly. "I'm going back. I'11 tell your father you're here." With that he was gone.

Lorielle watched him race along the path toward the scuffling men. Her mother shut the door quickly.

"I want to see--"

"Don't be foolish, child!" Mandra shivered and drew the shawl tightly about her shoulders. She turned with a panicked look as footsteps sounded behind them. Major General Milton, his face flushed, blustered up.

"I saw it from my window. What happened?" He indicated the door beyond which the commotion could still be heard.

When her mother didn't answer, Lorielle said, "A dispute about unloading cargo. The soldiers are trying to arrest the dockers."

"The devil! They've a reputation for going back on their word, heathen swine!" Without further ado, he yanked open the door and stepped outside.

Lorielle peered out despite her mother's hissed warning.

The fighting had diminished, and the soldiers were dragging away dockers who had not been able to flee. One soldier produced several lengths of stout rope and began to bind the hands of the unfortunate captives.

"What will they do to them?" Lorielle whispered.

General Milton cleared his throat. "Hard to say with these devils. A matter of face, you know. They have to look good for the Governor and the Emperor, I suppose." He squinted in the growing darkness.

Lorielle watched as the prisoners were lashed to long poles then carried aloft like trussed pigs going to market. She shuddered. She had never seen human beings treated so cruelly. The Chinese were barbarians, just as Spencer Raymond said!

The crowd began to disperse. She saw her father take his leave of the mandarin, who returned to his sedan chair and was carried off at the head of his entourage. Sailors on hands and knees were retrieving the scattered opium balls, the cause of the trouble. Yet Captain Sager had declared the Windrifter carried only legitimate cargo.

Chapter 3

Tyler was still raging when he strode into the factory sitting room and spied Mandra and Lorielle. A young pock-faced writer had brought tea and was lingering near the doorway, unable to take his eyes off Lorielle. She was aware of his open admiration--and delight at seeing a young woman-- but she was still too shaken by what had happened to give him more than a distracted smile.

Tyler barked at him. "Send Hamilton to me!" The lad ran out. Tyler paced in front of the women. "The trouble is over. There's nothing to worry about," he told his wife, noticing her frightened expression. He petted her shoulder distractedly. 'The Hong are blood suckers! We pay their squeeze and they come hack for more!"

Mandra was not reassured. "Your shoulder--" His coat was stained with fresh blood and his hand dark with it, "I11 have someone look at it in a moment."

"Is there a doctor?"

He grunted. "There's Parker's hospital round at Hog Lane, but it will be overflowing with wounded Chinese. We have a cabinet of medical supplies and some of our men are quite expert at dealing with wounds. My shoulder will do with a dressing."

Mandra heaved a tremulous sigh. "I'm frightened, Tyler. Are you sure there won't be any more trouble?"

"I'11 see to it! l This ridiculous incident should not have occurred!" He pounded his fist into his palm, then winced as the shoulder wound scraped the rent edges of his coat, With effort, he drew off the jacket and hung it aside with a disgusted sound and resumed his pacing. 'The matter will blow over quickly. There is nothing to worry about." It sounded like a command, and his tone softened slightly as he peered at his wife and daughter. "I'm glad you had the foresight to seek shelter here."

"One of the sailors brought us," Lorielle said impetuously. She was not sure what impelled her to speak of Spencer Raymond. She had not forgiven his imperious manner, but his quick action had delivered them to safety. Was she thinking of his strong arms cradling her? Or how fortunate she was that he was nearby when she was swept into danger? She pushed aside the notion and met her father's curious glance. "His name is Spencer Raymond and he was aboard the Windrifter. Perhaps you can see that Captain Sager hears of his bravery."

Her father dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. "Any of the men would have done the same if they had not been so busy staving off those overzealous idiots. The damned Hong takes our money and gives its word, but they're more interested in the charade of showing strength, for the Emperor. It's the same every season--new edicts and demands for more money!"

A small man with steel-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose came into the room. Tyler turned to him quickly.

"I want a word with the Viceroy. Make arrangements at once."

"But, sir--" Hamilton looked past his employer to the ladies and looked flustered. "I'11 do what I can, but he's refused every petition we've sent 'round."

"Find a way. Talk with Da Min. Word the petition any way he suggests, but this time I want to see Lu! Changqua is a fat fool who can't be trusted to do anything but line his own pockets. See to it."

Hamilton sighed in resignation. "Yes, sir. ..." With a nod to the ladies, he departed.

Pain crossed Tyler's face and he supported the weight of his wounded arm. "I'll have this shoulder tended now," he said with a grimace. "Johnson! More tea for the ladies."

The pock-faced youth ran in as Tyler exited. Quickly he took the pot for a refill.

Lorielle glanced about the large sitting room. Like the factory itself, it was a surprisingly British oasis. It might have been plucked from the factory at Calcutta or from a sketch in Framer’s Magazine. Furniture had been imported from England and had no trace of Oriental decor, except for an exquisite patterned carpet that covered the floor. On the walls hung an array of portraits so similar to those at the Calcutta factory that they might be duplicates--- stuffy, distinguished men who had figured in the history of the East India Company. An austere portrait of the new Queen had a palace of honor over the mantel.

The room was such a far cry from her expectations that Lorielle’s hopes sagged. Would they live in a house that was also a bit of transported England? She knew they would not live at the factory—her father had secured a house nearby. She prayed it would have more charm than this!

Her thoughts drifted to Spencer again. She’s lost sight of him in the mob outside. Despite championing him to her father, she was still piqued by his brashness. He was so sure of himself! She wondered if he would stay at the factory during his leave from the Windrifter. Or if she would see him again. Perhaps she could inquire casually what arrangements were made for sailors on leave. Not that it mattered. The Windrifter would set sail with a cargo of tea within a fortnight, and Spencer Raymond would vanish from her life as unexpectedly as he had appeared in it. She told herself she was glad.

She sipped the fresh tea Johnson had poured and smiled at him over the cup. Judging from what she had seen, there would be no dearth of young men to occupy her time if her mother did not reinforce her silly protectiveness. She glanced sidelong at Mandra who was watching the door nervously, uneasy without her husband’s comforting presence. She was pale and her hand trembled so the cup rattled against the saucer. Was she regretting the journey to Canton, Lorielle wondered. It was too late now; she would have to make the best of it.

Her father reappeared. The sleeve had been cut away from his bloody shirt, the wound dressed, and a simple black cloth made into a sling. A dark jacket lay lightly over his shoulders.

"My business is concluded for the day." He smiled at his wife. "Come along." He held out his good hand to her. For a moment, Mandra's face lost the haunted look. Lorielle set aside her teacup and picked up her shawl. He led them through a long hall toward a rear door. Sounds of chests being stored in the go-downs filtered to them. The warehouse facilities occupied the entire side of the building that faced the narrow street along which the Hong merchant and the soldiers had entered the square. The doors to the hall were closed, but Lorielle had seen go-downs in Calcutta; these would be no different. Chest upon chest of merchandise would be stacked from floor to ceiling, with narrow ramps angling upward to facilitate their storage. Men would be working eagerly in a rush to finish before the dinner hour.

Outside, the smells and sounds of the port assailed them once more. Though she could not see the waterfront from this back street, Lorielle realized boats were still being unloaded. There seemed no lessening of the incredible clamor despite the growing darkness.

Along the street, lanterns had been lighted and hung from the branches of tall camphorwood trees with white-washed bases. The wide street was set with square paving blocks that corded a smooth walkway. She could see the rears of the factories like sentinels along the waterfront, each with a coach lamp over the door. On the opposite side of the street, another row of buildings took on a gray hue in the lengthening shadows. They were less stark than the factories but nonetheless foreign.

Two Chinese servants led the way with torches as they moved along the wide thoroughfare. There were numerous foreigners about, lounging near the factories or walking briskly to gain shelter before darkness fell. At a signal from Tyler several burly sailors fell in step behind the little procession and formed an effective cordon around the women. So it was not as safe as her father would have them believe, Lorielle thought with a shiver.

Startled, she realized that the noise she'd attributed to the waterfront was all around them. The seven-foot-wide pass of Hog Lane teemed with natives. Every inch of wall was crammed with peddlers' stalls. Chinese and foreigners alike jammed them. Two sailors lurched arm in arm with whisky bottles held aloft as they sang a raucous ballad. She understood why her father had avoided the lane! It was an impossible mass of drunken revelers and screaming natives. She breathed a sigh of relief when they were past and turned into another lane between two buildings. It brought them out to a second street, wider than the first and spotted with patches of park-like gardens. Beyond, houses stood behind high walls covered with vines and flowers. There was no mistaking the Oriental architecture, and Lorielle

held her breath in hopes that one of these was their destination. To travel to China and be cooped up in a stuffy English parlor was more than she could bear!

Nearly dancing with delight, she followed as the torch bearers headed for a compound set behind circular iron gates. A bent old man with a tuft of white whiskers shuffled from his stool to unlock and throw open the gates.

He bowed and bobbed as they entered. Entranced, Lorielle gazed at a courtyard that was a maze of smaller courts, buildings and gardens lighted with swaying lanterns suspended from trees. Directly ahead was a small pagoda with a tiled roof and a beautifully carved lintel. She paused a moment to study the intricate artwork, then hurried to catch up as her father glanced back impatiently. The sailors had left them at the gate, since there was no need of safe escort here. Delighted, she followed her parents through the pagoda and into a garden alive with blossoms. At one side, a curved footbridge spanned a tiny stream that babbled over a rock waterfall. Ground torches along the path sent fingers of light into the shadows, and the fragrance of jasmine and gardenias filled her nostrils. She plucked a white bloom and inhaled deeply.

The main house was more embellished than the pagoda. Carved columns, friezes and paneled frescoes gave it the appearance of a charming temple presented by the gods for her wondering eyes. It was difficult to follow her father inside as the heavily carved teak doors opened to admit them. Only the knowledge that she would have many hours to explore put her feet in motion.

Her first glimpse of the entry hall and the rooms that opened off it surpassed her wildest imagination. She felt as though she had been transported to another world, one delicate and lovely, yet strong and vital. Everywhere, gleaming tables with carved legs, chairs and sofas upholstered in rich silks and satins lent an exotic air. Fragile rice-paper screens served in place of curtains at the windows, and the scent of the garden drifted in to embrace delicate blossoms that filled a dozen lacquered vases.

At Tyler's sharp summons, a servant appeared. Unlike the servants at the factory, the man wore a colorful silk robe over pale trousers. His black slippers were soundless on the floor.

"Hui Toy will show you to your room, Lorielle. I've engaged a girl as your personal servant. Her name is Luan Kwang. She speaks better English than most. If you have any trouble, tell her I'll send her back to the hovel she came from--she'll do your bidding quickly enough." He snapped his fingers. Hui Toy bowed and waited for Lorielle to follow.

The stairs were narrow but a carved wooden railing gave a feeling of spaciousness. Lorielle walked up slowly, glancing back for a glimpse of the rooms at the opposite side of the hall, then running to catch up with Hui Toy who had crossed the wide upper hall where a dwarfed cypress stood in a glazed ceramic pot decorated with a Chinese landscape and figures.

He opened a door and stepped back. The room was magnificent, huge and airy. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting gardens and peaceful mountain views, the large, low bed in silk damask of brilliant blue and gold embroidered with a resplendent dragon. There were two camphorwood chests, several tables and chairs. At a large wardrobe, a girl was hanging dresses from Lorielle's trunks. She turned at the sound of the door and bowed.

"I am Luan Kwang, Missee--" She corrected her lapse into pidgin quickly. "Miss Lorielle." Her voice was as soft as a chiming bell, with only a hint of the mispronounced "r" that was prevalent among her people. She did not smile; her exquisite face was a serene mask as she lowered her gaze.

It surprised Lorielle that the girl spoke so well--and that she was so beautiful. The background her father had alluded to apparently had not warped Luan's serenity nor destroyed her looks. If she shared the hatred of foreigners Giles Copeland attributed to all Chinese, she did an excellent job of hiding it. Lorielle wondered how she had earned English so well.

"Finish the unpacking and lay out a gown--the green linen, I think--no, the cream-colored silk. It will need pressing." Lorielle unfastened her bonnet and tossed it to the bed. Luan rescued it and put it away on a shelf of the wardrobe as Lorielle walked to a window to look out at the garden below.

Mandra faced her husband in the large square bedchamber. The disturbance at the waterfront had left her with a growing uneasiness that his cheerfulness did not dispel.

"My dear, don't look so solemn. Are you not happy to see me after so long a separation?" he chided.

"You assured me that Canton was safe, else I would not have come."

His smile vanished. "It is. I have already told you that the incident need not concern you."

Suppressing a shiver, she averted her eyes.

Tyler let out an exasperated breath. "Put it from your mind. I have the Hong's assurance that it was only a show of force. A few dockers arrested so Changqua can claim he's done his duty--nothing more will come of it. The Chinese mind works differently and saving face is primary, no matter how small the incident."

"He said the Company was forbidden to unload the opium," she insisted.

"An excuse for delay. The Court would have us believe they would halt a profitable trade even though their own people become as wealthy as we do. You can be sure the Chinese themselves would revolt if the supply were cut off. Do you imagine that the opium is merely a commodity? No, my dear Mandra, it is the one import that the Chinese cannot survive without. It is the influence of the modern world they do not want. The Emperor would keep his people slaves to ancient customs and to him, and he would do it at our expense if he can conceive the devious means to do so."

"If he wishes to reject our influence, he must also reject the foreigners who bring it," she said.

"To a degree," he conceded, "but he knows he cannot."

"I shudder to think of those angry brawling men. We might have been killed--"

"That's enough, Mandra! I have told you to put the matter out of your thoughts. You are perfectly safe. If it will ease your mind, I will see that you have an escort anytime you venture away from the house."

"Not some Chinese servant? I would not have a moment's peace."

"An Englishman, then. Someone from the factory. Would that suit you?" He was growing impatient with her foolishness and the discussion.

Recognizing the futility of opposing him, Mandra nodded. "I would ask that you select someone with the brawn to protect us physically if it becomes necessary."

"All right, you have my word. Now come into my arms and show me the wifely greeting I have waited for so long. You are more beautiful than my memory could envision these past three years." He took her in his arms and kissed her with a fervor born of renewed desire. His hands were hard on her flesh as he began working free the fastening of her gown, to claim her breasts.

They dined in a square room that opened to a courtyard where dark glistening leaves whispered in a soft breeze. Sitting at a low table, they were served course after course of dishes so delectable and different that Lorielle could refuse none of them: tiny shrimp flavored with herbs, firm vegetables that tasted sweeter than any she'd ever eaten, bits of meat cooked in crisp, crumbly batters. The table was set with fine china and gleaming silver, but the servants used ivory chopsticks to portion out dishes. Lorielle recalled the children on the river houseboats eating with these strange utensils. She vowed that she would try it at first opportunity.

When the meal was over, Tyler escorted the two women to a patio where they enjoyed tea and tiny rice biscuits flavored with honey. Two musicians sat behind a bamboo screen and played tinkling stringed instruments until Mandra, eyes weighted with weariness, said it was time to retire.

Lorielle fell asleep listening to the last whispers of the summer monsoon. Her gentle dreams were of Spencer Raymond's lips murmuring on hers.

The morning dawned clear and balmy, with only a vagrant breeze to foretell the end of summer. She stretched luxuriously, then tapped the small brass gong to summon Luan. The maid entered a moment later, resplendent in an embroidered silk tunic, scarlet trousers and soft black slippers. Her black hair, drawn to wings at either side of her doll-like face, gleamed like satin. Her expression was as serene as it had been the day before, when she set the tray on a footed bamboo bed table across Lorielle's lap.

Lorielle fingered the translucent cup. The green porcelain was as delicate as a moth's wing, and the faint aroma of spices delighted her palate as she sipped. Luan drew back the rice-paper screen at the window. Sunlight poured through a bower of green branches. The garments Lorielle had discarded the precious night had vanished from the teakwood chair. Luan moved so soundlessly Lorielle had not even heard her enter the chamber as she slept! She wondered when the task had been accomplished. She watched Luan move about the loom, setting a vase to display its flowers to better advantage, readying a basin and pitcher of steaming water that had also appeared miraculously.

Impatient to explore her new home, Lorielle finished the tea quickly and got out of bed. How different Luan was from Gani, the dour ayah who had tended her all her life. Impulsively, Lorielle determined to make friends with Luan. It would be pleasant to have someone to talk with; neither Giles Copeland nor her father had mentioned any other young ladies whose acquaintance she might make. She suspected that she would be quite without female companionship unless she chose to sit about with Company wives.

She smiled at the servant. "Thank you, Luan. Please lay out a cool gown. Do you think the yellow one is suitable?"

Luan's dark eyes lowered. "If Miss Lorielle wishes…."

"Yes, I think it will do nicely." She ignored the girl’s complete submission to her wishes. She hummed and wandered about the room as Luan found the dress and laid it across the bed. "I’ll need a chemise--and a petticoat as well."

Luan looked blank. Was it possible the girl didn't know about

such things? Of course-- she had never served a foreign woman before! Laughing, Lorielle went to the camphorwood chest where her undergarments had been put the night before. She held up a batiste chemise and repeated its name.

"Chemise. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded and tried to say the difficult word. From her lips, it was only a breath of sound, but Lorielle smiled encouragingly. She took out a soft silk petticoat and again said the word for Luan to repeat. While she dressed, Lorielle tried to draw the girl into conversation.

"Have you worked for my father long?"

"Eight moons."

"Is your home in Canton?"

"Yes, miss." She seemed to withdraw under the questioning and Lorielle could learn no more about her home or family except that she had a father and brother who lived in the walled city where foreigners were forbidden to go. When she asked about breakfast, Luan said she would

bring a tray or Miss Lorielle could eat in the dining room or garden.

Lorielle chose the garden. She was eager to explore her new surroundings, and the day was so pleasant she did not want to waste a moment indoors.

Her father had already left for the factory and her mother did not come down. Lorielle delighted in the tastily prepared eggs that were as light as air, tiny biscuits, boiled rice flavored with shrimp and piping hot tea. She sat under a banyon tree where a yellow bird in a bamboo cage trilled melodiously in the morning sun. The spot afforded a view of a larger garden behind the house and several other buildings. She realized that the house was actually a compound, with separate quarters for servants, and it was more magnificent than she imagined. Her father had done well.

When she finished the last of the tea, and the boy who had served her brought a steaming damp towel for her hands, Lorielle strolled through the garden. Each plant offered a thrill of discovery. There were brilliant orange and blue blossoms on slender tall stalks that looked like exotic birds, tiny yellow blooms shaped like stars and fragrant clusters of bright red-orange flowers with yellow centers. Each plant was perfectly arranged and trimmed to display its beauty to perfection. The garden was a tranquil retreat, far removed from the noise and bustle of the waterfront.

Lorielle strolled past the smaller buildings at the rear, peering in doorways and glimpsing small dim rooms that were the living quarters of the servants. They were deserted now, but occasionally she was aware of telltale sounds of activity in the courtyards and tiny gardens behind the houses. Once a small child in a blue nankeen coat stared solemnly at her, but when she spoke to him, the child vanished like a mirage.

Her wandering brought her at last to the front gate. The watchman was on his stool, and though he smiled readily, no amount of persuasion could induce him to unlock the gate so she could go out. Puzzled, she sought out her mother.

Mandra was sitting in a peacock chair on a small balcony opening off her bedroom. She had not yet dressed but ware a soft blue robe and slippers. The remains of her breakfast tray were on the table.

"Good morning, Mother. I have been strolling about the grounds. This is the most wonderful house! How delightful that Father found it for us."

Mandra smiled but did not share Lorielle's pleasure. Her face was composed but there were faint lines of strain about her mouth. When Lorielle brought up the subject of the locked gate, her eyes clouded.

"You cannot go out alone. It is not safe."

"Oh, posh-you're not still worried over what happened yesterday? Father assured us it's over and done with. Besides, it only concerned the factory, not the entire populace."

Her mother was adamant. Lorielle was to stay within the grounds until her father arranged for a guard to accompany her.

"Am I to be a prisoner? I’m not a child! I can take care of myself. And since foreigners are not permitted inside the walled city, I’ll have to confine my explorations to the immediate area. I promise I won't venture near the waterfront."

But her mother did not relent. "There is a time for all things. You will see everything there is to see. Your father has arranged a reception this afternoon so we can meet the other merchants and their families. I suggest you spend the day readying yourself for the party."

Lorielle gave up the argument and left. She would not sit about amusing herself with thoughts of gowns and tea! If she did, Canton would become a replica of the boredom she had known in Calcutta where women had nothing to pass the time but endless fittings for new gowns and dreary sessions where they exchanged gossip and complaints about servants.

"I’ll take only a few minutes of your time, Mr. Temple," Spencer Raymond said. "Thank you for arranging accommodations for me here at the factory."

"We always welcome visitors, Mr. Raymond, though I confess to my surprise that you are not one of Captain Sager’s crew. I was misinformed."

Spencer smiled. "Once a sailor, always one. My years with Britain’s naval forces makes me more comfortable in the crew’s quarters than as a passenger. Captain Sager was kind enough to let me indulge myself as long as I paid my fare."

"What is it you wish to see me about?" Tyler regarded the man with a touch of impatience.

Spencer took a letter from his pocket and put it on the desk. For a moment, Tyler stared at Her Majesty’s House of Lords. Was Raymond’s visit official? Since the office of the Chief Superintendent of Trade had been abolished, there had been considerable pressure from home to open all Chinese ports. But there was also growing opposition to the growing opium trade in many quarters. Palmerston’s inept choice of Napier, who had blundered in bringing frigates up the Bogue and refusing to bend to the Emperor’s demands for protocol, had seriously undermined the merchant trade. Even though the Whig Cabinet had fallen, the new Foreign Secretary was conciliatory. Napier’s fiasco proved beyond doubt that China could not be persuaded by argument to enter into trade relations with the West. Only force would do it.

Tyler picked up the letter and broke the seal, then read slowly. Lord Valentine requested that he show every courtesy to Mr. Raymond who was investigating the continued refusal of the Emperor's Court to grant diplomatic recognition to Britain and allow open trade. William Jardine was exerting considerable pressure for a show of power that would swing the balance in Britain's favor, but as the owner of country ships, some viewed his proposals with caution. As the Company representative, Temple should, Valentine wrote, "present an honest picture of the situation by answering Mr. Raymond's questions or referring him to people who could." Raymond's report would provide those at home with the facts necessary to make a decision to benefit everyone involved.

Tyler tossed the letter to his desk and pursed his lips. "I am not acquainted with Lord Valentine, but I see no reason to deny his request—or yours. I’ll instruct my staff to cooperate with you fully. Naturally, I am bound by Company regulations to a degree."

"I understand. I will try not to disrupt your work. One of the people I would like to meet is Mr. William Jardine. Can you give me a letter of introduction to him?"

Temple tented his fingers and pressed the tips together. "I can do better than that. He is coming this afternoon to the reception being given to welcome my wife and daughter. If you care to attend, I'll see that you meet Mr. Jardine."

"I would be delighted, thank you. I trust neither Mrs. Temple or Lorielle suffered any ill effects from the scene at the landing yesterday? Your wife looked quite stricken."

"My wife has no stomach for violence, but she is suffering no lingering effects from her brush with it. Lorielle tells me it was you who snatched them from the path of danger."

"I stopped your daughter when she would have gone to your aid, then led them out of harm's way. It would seem Lorielle does not inherit her mother's abhorrence for conflict."

Tyler chuckled. "She's always been a spunky lass, and willful too. Her mother's lost many a night's sleep over her, and it doesn't seem to have improved these past few years. She'll do with a bit of my firm hand." He regarded Spencer speculatively. "Mr. Raymond, perhaps I can impose on you to escort the women to the factory this afternoon? Mrs. Temple is alarmed at the thought of venturing outside the gate, and I have promised her a strong escort for herself and Lorielle. Since you have already proved your capabilities in that line, I'm sure they would both feel safe in your company."

"It would be a pleasure." He rose and extended his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Temple."

Outside Tyler's office, Spencer grinned broadly. What incredible good fortune! Valentine's letter had been accepted without question. He wondered if Temple would be so agreeable if he suspected that his own activities were also under scrutiny. The concern at home over the dwindling profits of the East India Company was due to more than competition and the current oversupply of opium. Many stockholders, including Valentine, who had recently become a major stockholder at his father's death, wanted proof that significant losses were due to thefts by unscrupulous Agents and ships' captains into whose keeping cargoes were entrusted.

And the most prized and unexpected bonus was that he would see Lorielle again! Spencer whistled softly as he climbed the stairs.

Chapter 4

By afternoon, since Lorielle had not managed to find a way to escape the grounds, she found she was looking forward to the reception. At least the walk to the factory would give her another glimpse of the world beyond the garden wall. A dull reception was a small price to pay.

She ordered a bath, and when the tiled tub had been filled, she soaked luxuriously in the warm water to which Luan added fragrant oil that smoothed her skin to a satin texture. If she was never to be allowed out without an escort, she would find someone she could depend on. Giles Copeland? Her father trusted him, and it would not be hard to convince him to accompany her wherever she wanted to go, she was sure. Smiling, she cupped water in her hands and felt its warm kiss as she poured it over her breasts. Giles would be easy to maneuver. He was as readily susceptible to charm as the next man, and he was obviously smitten with her.

But no matter how much she was looking forward to seeing Canton, she was not looking forward to Giles' company. He lacked that spark that made a man attractive. Unbidden, thoughts of Spencer Raymond rushed into her mind. A warm flush spread through her. He lacked for nothing except humility! But no matter how much she despised his arrogance, she could not erase the tingling memory of his lips. Was it because it had been her first kiss that she still felt its glow? Or was it because Spencer Raymond had bestowed the kiss? Was she entertaining foolish romantic notions? His embrace had made her aware of her own sensuality and unfulfilled womanhood. Until now, desire had been only a veiled promise glimpsed in dreams, but Spencer's kiss had drawn back the curtain of shadows. A new awareness smoldered as she studied her body under the shimmering water. Her breasts were full and round, her hips gently molded below a slim waist. The joining of her thighs was a hazy shadow. Would a man find her body enticing? She blushed at the direction her thoughts were taking. But she was a woman--

When at last she climbed from the bath, she fussed over her wardrobe, choosing gowns and discarding them until the bed was piled with dresses. At last she selected a soft pink moiré with a rounded neckline and a full skirt overlaid with crepe de chine. It was one of her favorites, though her mother had argued it was too tight across the bodice and ordered the deizee to let out the seams. But in the rush of preparation for their departure, Lorielle had managed to rescue the gown from the sewing room before it was touched. Now she carefully arranged a Belgian-lace shawl over her shoulders so her mother would not be aware of the deception until it was too late. She studied her reflection in the tall brass mirror and smiled. The dress highlighted her petite figure and high bosom, and the color gave her skin a rosy glow. She brushed her hair and coiled it in a loose rope over one shoulder, then capped it with a black silk bonnet edged with pink roses. More than one male eye would turn in her direction: The effect would not be wasted on Giles.

As Mandra watched her daughter descend the stairs, her breath tightened. How much she had grown these several past years ... she was no longer a child but a full grown woman. Mandra was not blind to the lusting glances men cast when Lorielle entered a room. Tyler was right: it was time her daughter married.

To her consternation, she discovered that she and Lorielle were forced to walk wherever they wanted to go. Sedans were forbidden to foreigners under an Imperial edict that had not been rescinded when women came. It was only one of many rules that disturbed her. Tyler had not warned her what to expect beyond a comfortable house and plentiful servants. His news that a number of wives had joined their husbands in Canton led her to believe she would enjoy the same freedom she had in Calcutta. Tyler had not revealed that the British were defying the Chinese Emperor's law and were restricted to a small area near the factories. She was alarmed by the rabble that thronged the streets--and the noise, but Ty1er scoffed at her fears. He admitted the Chinese were hostile, but not dangerous. If provoked, they sometimes resorted to name-calling, but for the most part they stayed clear of foreigners and tolerated their presence. Even an escort would not put her completely at ease.

As they walked through the garden, she warned Lorielle, "Stay close at my side. Your father has sent someone to accompany us, but he cannot guard us if you are darting about at every whim."

Lorielle bit back the sharp reply that sprang to her lips. She still resented the idea of being chaperoned, but it would do no good to antagonize her mother at every turn. A man was waiting for them at the gate. He wore a well-cut frock coat of deep blue and tight breeches that hugged his muscular thighs. She recognized the broad shoulders and the golden hair. Spencer Raymond! Her heart lurched.

He inclined his head with a wry smile. "I've been asked to take you to the factory," he said with a pleasant smile for each of them.

Mandra regarded him curiously. "You are the man who helped us yesterday. .. ."

"Spencer Raymond, at your service, madam." His gaze swept Lorielle meaningfully. "And yours, Miss Temple."

Her cheeks flushed as her own sensuous thoughts about him filled her mind. Why had her father chosen him of all the men who were available? She was impressed by his appearance today. Without the seaman's garb she'd always seen him wear before, he looked as fine as any gentleman she'd ever known. For a moment, her pulse raced as his gaze held hers. How handsome he was--and how sure of himself. She mustered a light tone.

"With such a strong protector at our side, we need have no fear of the dreadful barbarians, Mother. It's provident that Father chose our escort so wisely."

Spencer grinned. Would it surprise her to know he had jumped at the chance to see her again? Tyler's request had been opportune. He had not yet recovered from his surprise that despite the fracas at the landing, Temple was letting the women stay. The man was a fool, and fools were the hardest of all to convince. A night of reveling had left the seamen from the Windrifter rowdy under the influence of the powerful rum sold in Hog Lane. It was only a matter of time before some tar fancied himself insulted, cheated or made sport of--and another fuse would be ignited.

"I hope my protection is only a formality today," he said airily. She was a vision, and the urge to sweep her into his arms was overpowering. But he had no desire to incur Mrs. Temple's wrath and be banished from Lorielle's presence, so he contented himself with gazing at her. The pink dress was a shimmering mist. Her provocative smile stirred an inner restlessness in him as he signaled the gatekeeper. The old man unlocked the heavy gate. Spencer stepped outside, glancing both ways along the street to reassure Mrs. Temple.

"The road is safe. Shall we go?" His eyes twinkled as he caught Lorielle's flirtatious glance. Did she think he would swoon at her feet like others she had charmed? She needed a lesson or two in the ways of men. Restlessness stirred in him again as he longed to tutor her.

He walked between them at a slow stride that allowed them to keep pace easily. From time to time, he glanced at Lorielle. She walked with her head held high as she tried to hide the distaste for the squalor that beset them on every side as they entered the narrow lane leading to Thirteen Factories Street., The teeming populace could not be kept out, despite complaints to the Viceroy. Respondentia Walk and the surrounding streets were supposed to be exclusively for the use of the merchants, but they overflowed with the city's rabble who claimed any open area as their own.

Mandra drew in her skirts as they passed a street barber shaving a man's head, unmindful of the jostling crowd, his gleaming razor swift as an arrow. Lorielle slowed to watch a fortuneteller with four small bird cages. When an elderly woman gave him a coin, he opened one of the cages; a tiny sparrow darted out to pluck a folded paper from the spread before it. Hopping to the man's outstretched hand, the bird released the paper and was rewarded with a seed. It darted back into the cage. The fortuneteller opened the card and began to interpret his customer's fate.

How exciting it all was, Lorielle thought. The teeming populace did not disturb her as it did her mother, though it was impossible to ignore the stench. The crowded lane rang with the babble of voices. Here and there, she spied familiar figures in seamen's clothing; they'd been drinking and were in high spirits. Two stumbled from the mouth of the lane with their arms across each other's shoulders and their free hands clutching bottles from which they took numerous swigs. Her mother's quick glance made Lorielle hurry on.

They entered the factory by the same door they'd used the night before. To her astonishment, Spencer accompanied them upstairs and delivered them to her father.

"Ah, here are our guests of honor," Tyler said with an expansive air. He was surrounded by guests who smiled warmly at the two newcomers. He offered Spencer his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Raymond. Please refresh yourself at the punch bowl. Mr. Sutton of Jardine's office has been looking for you. I told him you'd be along soon."

"It was a pleasure." Spencer smiled at Lorielle. "Ladies... ." He bowed, then made his way to the long table that had been set up at one side of the hall. A slender, prosperous-looking merchant greeted him and the two fell into earnest conversation. Did he propose staying as a guest? Lorielle was astonished at her father's acceptance of him. Her father was not one to extend hospitality readily unless he saw gain in it for himself. But a sailor--? No, she was beginning to realize that her first impression was right. No matter what Spencer seemed aboard the Windrifter, he was a gentleman. Yet he had not corrected her erroneous impression! She felt a twinge of annoyance, but it did not dispel her glow of delight at the possibility of his remaining in Canton. Her attention was claimed by her father's introductions.

"This is Ellis Quigley and his charming wife, Elisabeth. My wife, Mandra, and daughter, Lorielle."

The thin nervous woman fluttered. "We're delighted to see you. You must tell us news of home, we hear so little. We were with the Company in Bombay for two years. I find Canton a terrible contrast! You must both come to dinner very soon." Her eyes darted to the portly man at her side. "Ellis?"

He nodded pleasantly. "Of course, of course. It's been a long time since we had a pretty young lass to dinner. And her equally charming and attractive mother." He smiled from one to the other, then at Tyler. "It's difficult to imagine that one family has two such beauties, Tyler. You're a very lucky man, but then you always have been."

"Luck is for fools, Ellis," Tyler said with a grin. "I make my own. You overlook the fact that I chose Mandra for my wife with full knowledge that our child would favor her."

Everyone laughed, and he continued the introductions around the group. Lorielle memorized names and faces, smiling and letting the men clasp her hand with fatherly squeezes. She counted only nine women; all were middle aged and drab, despite their excellently tailored gowns. She could not summon much interest in getting to know any of them better. With the exception of a towheaded child about ten, there was not another young female in the room.

There were numerous young men, however. She judged that half the factory employees were under the age of thirty-five, and she favored each with a coquettish smile or flirtatious glance. Writers and clerks flocked about her with tidbits from the buffet table and glasses of punch. To Lorielle's surprise, her mother left her to enjoy herself while she and Tyler moved on. Lorielle scarcely had time to wonder at the unprecedented action when she felt a touch at her arm and heard her name in a familiar voice.

"Lorielle... ."

Giles Copeland was smiling at her. She gave him an encouraging glance.

"Giles, I wondered what had become of you," she fibbed. He did look handsome though, in a satin waistcoat with a high-collared ruffled shirt and maroon cravat.

The young writers and junior merchants withdrew tactfully as their superior claimed the pretty guest of honor.

"I was delayed on a matter of importance. I must admit it was not easy to give it the attention it required when I knew I would be seeing you again. You look lovely—the color of that gown suits you magnificently."

She smiled. "It's delightful to be flattered so profusely. I suspect most of the men here lead a lonely life and would find any woman's arrival a pleasant diversion, but I am gratified nonetheless."

His smile widened. "Every compliment is well deserved. You are the most enchanting creature ever to set foot in Canton."

She pretended embarrassment and looked away from his hungry stare. Across the room, her father watched with a look that made her certain Giles had his full approval as her suitor. The thought irritated her, and she let her gaze slide back to Giles.

"With so many Company men about, I would think it would be easy to delegate duties," she teased.

"Your father entrusted this particular one to my personal attention." He smiled as though to say it did not matter as long as they were together at last.

She pursued the matter impishly. "Are you so valuable to my father then? With the number of hours he spends here at the factory one would think he handled everything himself. My mother is alarmed that he works too hard."

"The start of a new season is a busy time. We all put in long hours."

"Has the trouble with the Viceroy been resolved?"

He was surprised that she knew of it, and he answered honestly before it occurred to him to gild the truth. "Why no, as a matter of fact that's what delayed me. I have been talking with the Hoppo in an effort to settle the disagreement."

"The Hoppo?''

"The Emperor's trade agent," he explained, "He's in charge of the Hong which has the monopoly of all foreign trade. It's a bloody nuisance, but we have no choice. There hasn't been any relaxation of regulations since the China trade began. These people still live in feudal times. The Emperor's afraid to open the country to new ideas." He shook his head.

"Perhaps it would be better to leave them in peace. "She thought about the thousands of natives in India who had never accustomed themselves to British ways. On her infrequent trips to the province where her grandmother had been born, she'd seen simple peasants in their own surroundings. They always appeared content without the foreign influence that bred so much strife among the city populations.

Giles regarded her for a moment, then smiled indulgently. "You would not feel that way if you had no tea for your breakfast and no silk for your pretty dresses. "His gaze swept her pink gown, lingering momentarily on the tight bodice. "But how unchivalrous I am chattering about Company affairs when I'm with the most beautiful woman who has ever graced the rooms of the factory." He took her arm. "Have you seen the view from the balcony?"

"I don't think my father would approve of my disappearing from a party given in my honor," she said sweetly. She was reluctant to be alone with him and resented his manner, which said all too clearly that he was staking a claim on her. She glanced toward a settee where her mother was holding court. Women were clustered around her, plying her with questions. The news and gossip would brighten their lives for days. It was a relief to see her mother so much at ease. With so few women in Canton, she would be accepted without reservation. Perhaps she would at last overcome the self-doubt she'd always suffered.

"Will you bring me some fresh punch?" She handed Giles her empty cup. "It's delicious. The flavor is unusual-- I don't think I've ever tasted it before.".

"Pomegranate with a touch of peach, if the cook has followed his usual recipe." He took the cup and let his hand linger on hers. "I'll be right back." He started for the punch table but was intercepted by a hail from her father.

With a reluctant glance back toward Lorielle, he joined Tyler and two men near the door.

Lorielle hid a smile, relieved that he would be occupied for a while. She glanced about in search of Spencer Raymond, still curious about his presence at the party, but she did not see him among the crowd. Just as she concluded he was no longer present, she spied him on the balcony. With a quick glance to be sure Giles was still engaged, she slipped outside. Spencer turned at the sound of her footsteps.

Lorielle frowned prettily. "You have a knack for turning up in unexpected places, I must say."

He glanced around the balcony as though inspecting it in amazement. "I might say the same of you."

"You forget this reception is given in honor of my mother and me," she retorted.

"I've not forgotten." His steady blue gaze challenged her.

When he said no more, she pursued her quest more boldly. "How did you manage to wangle an invitation? It's not like my father to favor--" She had been about to say "a common sailor" but found herself suddenly tongue-tied.

He laughed softly. "Don't be embarrassed by a natural mistake, but I am neither the ordinary seaman you assume nor your father's private errand boy. My mission to China is quite respectable. Your father has arranged for me to live here at the factory temporarily. Since everyone else was invited to the party, he included me as well."

"Your mission?" Chagrin touched her cheeks with color. He had deliberately misled her.

"I am making inquiries on behalf of Lord Valentine and some of his constituents in London."

"What kind of inquiries?" she demanded churlishly. He was doing nothing to offset her embarrassment.

His brows lifted. Her eyes danced with sparks of anger that made her more appealing than ever. Any other woman would have raised his dander by such remarks, but he was not offended. "Inquiries into the status of the trade here and the conflict between the Emperor and our subjects. There's considerable indecision at home over how best to continue our policies here."

She was flabbergasted. "You let me think--" Angrily she turned to the balustrade and looked out over the garden and the river. An envoy from a member of Parliament! She was furious at his deceit.

"The question did not arise," he chided. "I cannot assume responsibility for hasty judgments you made. But now that the matter is clear, perhaps you can stop fighting me like a lion cub and be friends."

She lifted her chin and clasped the rail to steady her hands. She was trembling even though her anger was waning. He would not be leaving Canton! Would she see him often? The hope washed away the last of her annoyance.

"Can we?" he persisted.

She looked at him.

"Be friends?" he asked.

She could not pretend that the idea displeased her. Regardless of her misgivings, she was eager to see more of him and to know him better. Now it was possible, since her father approved of him enough to include him in social invitations.

"Yes," she said honestly at last.

"Good." He leaned beside her on the balustrade. "It's a shame there's so little of Canton to see. I'm told foreigners are confined to this small area near the factories. I was looking forward to seeing the ancient city and some of the countryside."

"I, too!" She made a pert face. "It will be difficult to accustom myself to a space smaller than the Parade Grounds at home. And not to be able to ride--!" She sighed and gazed across the crowded square. A vibrant hum swirled, rising and falling with the cadence of Chinese babble, Somewhere a strange discordant melody wailed like a wounded animal. A score of peddlers had set up shop close to the factory buildings, and beggars wove through the crowd with raucous, plaintive cries.

"Is it always like this?" she asked him.

He laughed. "I suppose it is. They seem a milling, busy people, though what they find fascinating in wandering about by the hour escapes me. I plan to inquire about small boats. Perhaps we might sail or glide on the river. Those sampans don't look very difficult to handle."

"The traffic is almost as bad on the river! Do families really live there?"

"Many never set foot on land, I'm told."

"How strange." Would she ever understand these curious people? Her attention was drawn to Respondentia Walk as a new buzz of excitement swelled. Near the Old English Factory a short distance away, the crowd separated as a procession moved into the square.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know. Looks like a ceremony of some kind." He studied the sedan chair behind a small foot parade. When the sedan was set down, a robed magistrate descended. He unrolled a scroll and began to read, but his voice was lost in the tumult of sound. From the Old English Factory, two men came to the doorway, stood listening a moment, then ran inside. An uneasy prickle danced along Spencer's neck. Trouble? There had been no response from the Viceroy to Tyler Temple's demand for assurances.

"It is a performance!" Lorielle exclaimed. Below, coolies

were setting up a shimmering tent with gaudy colorful banners decorating its poles. The crowd fell back as four men lifted a wooden cross and began to sink it into the soft ground under a twisted cypress.

"Let me take you inside." Spencer touched her arm. His unrest was beginning to take form.

"I want to watch."

More men came out of the building and ran along the square throwing open the doors of the factories and yelling to those inside. One raced into the British garden and disappeared beneath the balcony. Moments later, a dozen men ran out and headed for the square.

''Lorielle, go inside." At her quick annoyed glance, he tried to hide his concern. "I'll find out what's happening and come back," he promised. "But go stay with your mother."

"I'm not a child to be ordered about!" she flared. "Do as you please, I am staying right here." Defiantly, she showed him her back and leaned over the rail again.

He flung himself away and hurried through the hall. Someone had come to impart news to Tyler, and his face was livid. He stormed out with a trail of men in his wake, all buzzing with chatter. Giles Copeland held up a hand to try to quiet the guests.

"Please don't let the party be disrupted!" With a quick motion, he signaled some musicians who had mounted a small dais. The strains of a sprightly waltz filtered through the excited murmur. Giles' gaze searched the room, and not finding Lorielle, settled on Mandra. "May I claim the honor of the first dance, Mrs. Temple?" Smiling, he offered his hand and led her to the floor. A trickle of others followed.

Spencer took the stairs at a bound and raced outside. Factory men clustered near the door were staring at the scene beyond the gate.

"What's going on?" he asked.

A tall, gray-haired man with stooped shoulders shook his head. "They say it's an execution."

"Blimey," a pale younger man exclaimed. "Right on the factory grounds. Damned heathen, have they no decency!"

The crowd had swelled by a hundred as men from the factories pushed toward the cypress tree. Their angry shouts rose above the din. Spencer pushed his way close.

Two magistrate's henchmen dressed in gold and crimson tunics dragged a cowering, babbling prisoner into the clearing where the cross was being erected. Tyler had pressed to the heart of the assembly and was confronting the magistrate.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.

The magistrate raised the scroll again and began to translate. "'It is very difficult for the Barbarians to understand the proprieties of the Celestial Empire. In spite of admonitions from the Glorious Rectitude, the foreign devils bring their mud ashore at Canton. The Everlasting Lord has always cherished virtuously those coming from afar, soothing them and to the utmost limit, extending them justice and benevolence, Never have extreme measures been taken against them, still they remain contumacious. Their defiance has caused grievous harm to the peaceable people of the city. The Glorious Rectitude decrees that one more indulgence will be given. The life of one opium den keeper will be sacrificed as a warning to the Barbarians who deal with him. Heed this warning, not to be ignored." He lowered the scroll and met Tyler's astonished glare.

"Utter rubbish!" Tyler shouted. "You can't execute a man because we trade with him!"

"It is the decree of the Glorious Rectitude," the mandarin answered solemnly. "Heed his words."

"Dammit--a man's life--" Tyler saw the hopelessness of berating the mandarin. Once the Emperor issued a direct order, none of his agents were foolhardy enough to go against it. He tried a different tack. "Well, you can't have your little show here!" he argued. "This square is private property. Our merchants lease it for their own recreations--and it bloody well isn't English sport to string a man up when he's done nothing!"

"All soil of our vast land is the Emperor's dominion and shall be used for the purposes his magistrates deem proper."

An angry buzz eddied among the merchants crowded behind Tyler.

"To use our promenade as an execution dock is a gross affront!" an American shouted.

"A bloody insult, that's what it is!" another yelled.

Everyone was screaming and jeering now; the natives who had been standing by began to mill restlessly. The magistrate's expression was inscrutable. He replied that if they had not indulged in smuggling foreign mud, they would have been spared both insult and affront. Let them watch the miserable end of a fellow mortal whom they had led into temptation, and let them resolve to be of good behavior in the future.

A servant emerged from the magistrate's tent carrying a chair with arms carved in the shape of dragons. He arranged three large pillows as the mandarin lowered his bulk, then accepted a cup of tea from a tray held by another servant. He did not offer refreshment to the foreigners who had made it necessary for him to perform this unpleasant duty, and he was impervious to their clamor. When he finished the tea, he took up a pipe and puffed contentedly.

Tyler fumed but no amount of argument would penetrate the magistrate's cool insolence. Subordinate officials stood about with careful smiles of admiration. A bunch of callous blood thirsters! Even the sedan bearers looked delighted with the prospect of viewing a strangling! Tyler turned away in disgust. He would not give the Glorious Rectitude the satisfaction of witnessing murder, nor would he allow it to happen on British soil.

"Barrington--have the flag lowered!" He marched toward the factory, crossing the garden with long, angry strides and ordering his men inside.

On the balcony, Lorielle was mesmerized. Her father's shouting and the high-pitched official tone of the magistrate's voice carried clearly. An execution! She swallowed the vile taste of horror. It could not be happening, yet as she watched, the guards looped a rope around the neck of the unfortunate victim. He stared in a daze as he was lifted bodily and dragged toward the clearing. A wave of dizziness assailed her. To kill a man as an example to others was murder--but the Chinese were regarding the spectacle with an air of amusement and relish!

At the landing, a party of laughing, high-spirited sailors came ashore. Their merriment was cut short when they saw the crowd, and they halted near a knot of foreign merchants who quickly told them the cause of the commotion. A wail of sympathy for the unfortunate victim went up, and the sailors moved toward the cypress tree with angry murmurs. Suddenly their tempers exploded. They swarmed toward the barren cross, flinging aside the jailers and their captive. Shouting, they ripped the wooden cross from the earth. In moments, they had smashed it and were using the pieces as clubs in an attack on the guards and executioner. Several of the seamen veered toward the magistrate's tent, yanked it down and trampled it in the dust. Chairs and tables flew, the tea tray crashed. One stocky sailor stomped a cup that fell to the soft grass. With a shout, he lunged toward the magistrate who had retreated and was trying to climb into his sedan chair. Alarmed, Spencer tried to head him off. He yelled to the stunned merchants.

"Give a hand! If they harm him, there'll be lives to pay!" He grabbed the stocky sailor and flung him to the ground, then barreled through his companions who were close be hind. Some of the merchants rushed forward as they recognized the danger. The sailors quickly found themselves surrounded. Spencer held out his arms.

"Stand back! There's nothing to be gained--"

They eyed him suspiciously. "They're killing a man and you say it's nothing?" one demanded with a snarl. He glanced toward the stocky sailor who was getting to his feet. "You all right, Jamie?"

Jamie glared at Spencer malevolently. "You on their side, mate?"

"Don't be a fool," Spencer retorted. "Killing the magistrate would solve nothing! We can't risk more trouble." He stood his ground defiantly. "We've no right to interfere with Chinese justice."

"You call it justice to murder an innocent man? Not in my book, mate!" With a lunge, Jamie dived at Spencer, catching him in the midsection and throwing him back.

Spencer grappled with the burly figure in the dust as the others cheered. They were not in a mood for compromise or reason. Spencer rolled as Jamie tried to pin him. In an abrupt move, he pulled back his arm and crashed his fist into Jamie's jaw. The sailor's head snapped back and his

eyes glazed. Before he could recover, Spencer shoved his weight off and was on his feet.

Several of the guards who'd kept their heads in the confusion were dragging the prisoner away as the mandarin's procession reformed to a straggling line at the entrance to Old China Street. Seeing it, the sailors broke into a run to pursue their quarry. Spencer muttered an oath and shouted to the merchants to head them off. In moments, the square erupted in a renewed wave of frenzy. Men stumbled against each other in a rush to reach the narrow street where the magistrate's procession had disappeared. Caught in a growing fervor and their own disdain of the foreigners, the Chinese onlookers joined in the fray and blocked the entrance to the street. The sailors plunged in with fists and sticks flying. In minutes, the street was a teeming arena of bloody combat. As though a signal had been given, hordes of Chinese rabble thronged into the square from every side, ready to take up the battle as they screamed insults in a mixture of Chinese and pidgin. From the nearby factories, men rushed to help their outnumbered compatriots by setting on the Chinese with sticks. The enraged mob snatched up stones and brickbats. A young Chinese in tattered tunic and pants set up a sinister clapping of hands that was quickly taken up by the crowd. New recruits

poured from Hog Lane and Old China Street to defy the vile barbarians.

They had no chance. Spencer estimated several thousand Chinese to the hundred or so merchants and sailors. He tried to shout above the tumult, but the men were beyond listening to reason. As a new horde of ragamuffins flooded from Hog Lane, a shower of stones smashed against the factories. Broken glass sprayed. The Chinese cheered and began pulling up railings to use as battering rams against the doors. Alarmed now, the merchants plummeted through the doors of the buildings and barricaded themselves inside.

Spencer raced toward the British garden, pausing long enough to grab the stocky sailor who'd begun the fracas and shout in his face.

"Get your men out of here before you're all killed There's no stopping this mob now!"

A trickle of blood ran down the man's forehead where he'd been struck by flying glass. He nodded numbly but before he could move away he was caught by a wicked blow from a club in the hands of one of the Chinese. He fell heavily and was trampled under the stomping feet of the mob.

Spencer tried to drag him free, but found himself besieged. He fought off the assailants desperately. In the press he managed to squirm through a small opening that appeared miraculously and make his way to the gate of the British garden. With a shout, a band of rabble broke loose to follow him. Panting, he gained the door and pushed inside.

"Barricade the door!" He grabbed the end of a heavy sideboard and two merchants, their faces pale, rushed to help him shove it in front of the door. Outside, the shouting swelled to an ugly roar. One of the tall arched windows splintered in a rain of glass, and the steady thump of a battering ram against the door was ominous.

"Drag out anything heavy enough to hold them off!"

Chapter 5

The scene in the square took on the unmistakable air of another riot as Lorielle watched with increasing dread. The sailors who had plummeted into the crowd so unexpectedly were growing more violent with each passing moment, and their raucous shouts carried above the tumult. She’d lost track of Spencer when she watched her father’s safe return to the factory, and she tried to pick him out now. Suddenly she saw him trying to hold back the wildly arguing sailors bent on attacking the magistrate. She cried out as Spencer was shoved aside and the seamen passed by in a wave.

Dear God, is there no stopping their hot-headed action? No matter how much she applauded their action of trying to help the poor man who’d fallen to his knees near the cross that was to be his death, she was sick with fear. The prospect of another open conflict, especially when Spencer was in the middle of it, made her stomach churn. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she rushed inside. Her father had to do something! Her shawl caught on the door latch, but she did not stop to retrieve it. She skirted the women who babbled and clutched at the men who were trying to calm them. The hall was filled with running men. She drew aside until they passed, then made her way down. The lower hall swarmed with men, and she looked abut frantically for her father. Several men hurried outside to the verandah where they looked about helplessly. Others raced through the garden snatching up whatever weapons they could lay hand to, then plunged into the mob. Her father emerged from an office halfway down the hall and shouted to someone behind him before making his way to the door. His face was contorted with anger and his voice trembled at an angry pitch.

"There’s no stopping them now! Where the devil are the police? Barrington--!"

"We can’t get through," Barrington shouted back. "There’s thousands of the devils pouring through the Lane. Every door is blocked! We’re trapped like rats in a cage!"

"Do you propose to stand here and let them slaughter us?!" Tyler grabbed the other man’s coat and pulled him loose. "Changqua!" he yelled. "Get word to him!"

"How?!" The stricken Barrington shook his head.

"I don’t give a damn, but do it! If that mob isn’t stopped, they’ll tear the factories apart stone by stone!"

At the door, another man shouted, "They’ve got firepots!" An angry flare of yellow arced over the garden wall and fire spread quickly as burning oil splattered. Men raced out to stomp the flames.

"The next one may hit its target!" Tyler screamed. He shoved Barrington toward the rear hall. "Get someone to Changqua!"

As Tyler turned, he saw Lorielle cowering on the steps. "Get upstairs, you little fool!" Without waiting to see if she obeyed his order, he darted back into the office.

Trembling, Lorielle tried to retreat, but the men running down swept her back. As they thundered past, she took refuge in a nearby room to which the door stood open. She leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath.

Despite her father’s orders, she knew the chance of reaching the Hoppo and putting a quick end to the riot was dim. Her visions of China as a lovely, tranquil place were dashed cruelly. It was as Spencer Raymond said—a brutal, ugly country where foreigners had no place. Still shaking, she listened to the angry roar outside. She thought about Spencer, and a new wave of fear swept her. Was he all right? She ran to the window but it faced Hog Lane and she could not see the square. The Lane was jammed with Chinese trying to force their way into the melee, pushing and shoving as if eager to do battle with the hated foreigners. The sound of glass smashing made her jump back as a huge rock fell at her feet. The factory would be in ruins. In the hall, someone yelled for the door to be barricaded. Her heart lurched and she ran to peer out. Spencer was helping to drag a heavy sideboard from the wall to be pushed against the door.

With shaking knees she sank to a chair and covered her face. He was safe!

Upstairs, the musicians had given up the pretense of holding the party together. Most of the men had come downstairs to lend a hand, and the terrified women huddled in the center of the room like flushed birds. Mandra shivered uncontrollably. Tyler had not returned, and her throat filled with sour fear as she envisioned the possibility of him lying dead in the square. And Lorielle--! Where was she? As she searched for her daughter she prayed desperately that she had not somehow left the factory! A glimpse of color flashed on the balcony. Mandra broke from the group of frightened women and raced across the room.

"Lorielle!" Her plaintive cry was smothered by a barrage of screams. Glass crunched underfoot as she flung herself past the open door. Lorielle's shawl fluttered where it had caught on the latch. A sudden breeze billowed it at Mandra's face, and she screamed as a heavy rock caught her in the temple. She reeled with the impact, then stumbled and fell across the balustrade with blood pouring from the ugly raw wound.

Spencer found Lorielle just as he'd started upstairs, finally having secured the door. He saw a huddled figure in pink—

"Lorielle!"

She quickly wiped away the stinging tears that scalded her cheeks. "Thank heaven you're safe," she said with a quivering sigh. Not trying to disguise her distress, she rushed on. "Is there no way to stop them? The men say the building is surrounded!"

He came and knelt beside her.' "The mob is out of hand. There are too many of them to be fought back." His own safety meant nothing, but the thought of her in harm's way wracked him painfully. How long would the building hold against the onslaught? Some of the rabble had already resorted to tossing fire pots, and the acrid stench of smoke hung in the air. With the doors blocked, they could be roasted alive in the prison of the factory. He forced a reassuring smile. "Let me take you upstairs. You'll be safer with the others."

"No--I cannot bear the weeping and panic--"

He put his arms about her and drew her close. "You cannot stay here," he whispered. Gently, he held her and felt the pounding of her heart against his chest.

"Stay with me." Her words were so soft he could not be sure he heard. For a moment, the pandemonium was blotted from his mind and he knew only her incredible warmth. Nothing would please him more than to hold her forever, but harsh reality was already seeping back. Another thud split asunder the window frame and glass showered to the carpet. Lorielle winced.

He lifted her face. "You must go upstairs. Stay close to your mother and under no circumstances venture near the windows."

"And you?" Tears overflowed her eyes. He brushed them away gently.

"I must do what I can here." There was not much that could be done, but with every available man they might temporarily stave off any rush the mob made.

She swallowed a sob. "My father is trying to send word to Changqua. Can he put down the mob, do you think?"

"Yes, I'm sure he can. Now, dry your tears and go back upstairs." He drew her to her feet and stood with his arms around her protectively. She looked so defenseless that his heart almost overrode his judgment. But much as he longed to watch over her with every ounce of his strength, she would be in real danger if she remained here. In the dusky light, her dark eyes mirrored his solemn face. Overcome with desire, he kissed her.

For a moment she shivered with terror that had not abated, but as his lips worked their tender magic, her fear drained away. The caged strength of his arms imparted power and filled her. Then she trembled with desire and did not want the kiss to end. Her senses reeled as she tried to comprehend the eddying pools of pleasure that drew her far into their depths. She returned the kiss fervently and clung to him.

When at last he looked at her, he smiled gently. "I will come for you."

She smiled, still unwilling to trust her tongue which still savored the intimacy of his lips.

"Go quickly." He led her to the door and left her at the foot of the steps.

As she reached the top, she glanced back and was rewarded with a smile as he urged her to hurry. It was as though the clamor could not touch her now. With a singing heart, she hurried into the reception hall.

Mrs. Quigley grabbed her arm. "Oh, my dear child—"

Lorielle started to move past, but the look on the woman’s face stayed her. Mrs. Quigley’s reddened eyes were filled with tears. Was she so frightened? Before Lorielle could speak, Mrs. Quigley broke into fresh sobs.

"It’s horrible—you must not go over there." Her glance darted toward the French doors of the balcony. Lorielle’s forgotten shawl lay on the floor near half a dozen people in a tight circle. A man was kneeling beside a figure in a blue dress.

"A dreadful accident—oh, dear—your poor sweet mother—" Mrs. Quigley was whimpering incoherently.

The kneeling man got to his feet with a solemn look. Lorielle’s heart lurched as she recognized her mother. She tore loose from Elisabeth Quigley’s clutching fingers and ran across the room, pushing aside hands that tried to halt her. She stared at her mother with sickening awareness of the gaping wound at her temple. Blood had matted on her face and stained her gown, and she was deathly pale. Lorielle fell to her knees unmindful of the blood. She took her mother’s face in her hands as though willing the eyes to open and her mother to speak. But her flesh was already losing the warmth of life. Hopelessly, Lorielle looked around at the staring faces.

"Do something—" she pleaded.

The writer shook his head. "There is nothing…"

Lorielle felt a flood of unreasonable anger. She turned back to the still form and lifted her mother’s hand, chafing it between her own as tears overflowed.

"Mother!"

Someone clutched her arm and brought her to her feet.

"Don’t, Miss Temple—"

She stared blindly at the sea of faces. Outside the din had grown louder, but the silence within the room was overpowering. The silence of death.

"A touch of brandy—bring her some brandy."

Whispers, silence… and a deep aching pain in her breast. Lorielle let herself be led to a chair and accepted the glass that was pressed to her lips. The stinging liquor unleashed her tears, and she let them flow unchecked. She covered her face as wracking sobs tore at her. This was a horrible nightmare from which she had to waken soon. Minutes ago, her mother had been chatting and smiling. She couldn’t be dead! She couldn’t—but she was. Her mother’s worst fears had come to pass, but it was not Lorielle who had come to harm but herself.

Weeping, Lorielle sensed the hushed activity around her and the constant rumble of the crowd in the square. An accident… She had not asked the nature of it, but the Chinese were at fault. For a moment she knew hatred so vile it gripped her heart in a cold vise. They were worse than barbarians—they were animals! She wanted to scream and fight, but she was spent with grief. There was no room for futile protests. Nothing would bring her mother back.

She lifted her tear-streaked face and glanced toward the French doors. Someone had placed a cloth over Mandra’s body. It was a formless mound that gave no hint of beautiful, graceful woman who had brought her into the world and sheltered her all her life. Lorielle shivered and a sob escaped her. Elisabeth Quigley was instantly solicitous.

"You poor dear—Ellis—isn’t there someplace she can lie down? She’s had a terrible shock." She gestured toward the broken window which failed to block out the street noise. The riot was gaining in intensity, and the sounds of fighting rumbled ominously. The acrid stench of fire drifted through the smashed windows.

Ellis Quigley said, "One of the apartments… The men are all occupied elsewhere."

"Come along, dear." Elisabeth Quigley steadied Lorielle and urged her to her feet. "You’ll feel better with a cool cloth on your brow."

"My father…?" Lorielle’s voice was reedy. "Come, dear, let me settle you and bring a touch of laudanum.."

Lorielle shook her head. Her pain was drug enough. She wanted only to be alone and erase the horror from her mind. She let the Quigleys lead her to a room down the hall. It showed signs of occupancy, but this was no time to hesitate at entering a stranger’s room. Fortunately, the room faced an inside court that muted the sounds from the street. Elisabeth Quigley pulled the brown velvet draperies, and Ellis pulled back the coverlet on the bed, then whispered to his wife.

"I’ll station someone at the door to make sure she’s not disturbed. Shall I bring laudanum?"

Mrs. Quigley nodded, despite Lorielle’s protest. "Just a drop. It will ease your mind."

The woman fussed over Lorielle and tucked her under the cover after removing her slippers. At the basin, she wrung out a cloth and laid it across Lorielle’s brow, shaking her head and putting her finger to her lips when Lorielle stirred. Her husband returned with a brown phial, and Elisabeth quickly measured out the opiate. She sat on the side of the bed and slipped an arm around Lorielle’s shoulder.

"Drink," she ordered firmly.

Lorielle swallowed like an obedient child. Then lay back and closed her eyes. She heard Mrs. Quigley’s tiptoed retreat, then the whisper of the door. Gradually the distant noise of the fighting faded as well, and Lorielle drifted into drugged, oblivious sleep.

Seeking out Tyler in his office, Spencer found him in heated consultation with Barrington over a means to get word to the head of the Hong.

"Every street and lane is jammed," Barrington declared. "It’s suicide to try to get through. I can’t send a man to his death. Those bloody heathen would pluck his eyes out and string him up before he got ten meters. Ten feet," he amended bitterly.

Tyler blew an impatient breath and paced. "And if we do nothing, they will burn the building around us and beat us to death as we try to escape." He slammed his palm on the desk in frustration.

"Temple—"

Tyler whirled and stared at Spencer. "What is it, Raymond? I’ve no time for—"

"A man could get over the roofs and make his way to the Consoo House."

Tyler stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then realization dawned. It was possible! The factories to the creek. Descending there, a man could cross under the bridge and scale the buildings on the opposite side of Thirteen Factories Street and make his way back to the Hong Council. It was dangerous—but so was staying here.

A worried frown creased Barrington’s brow. "I dunno.."

"I’ll undertake it," Spencer said.

The two men stared at him. Tyler made his decision quickly. "Very well. I’ll pen a note. A message from me will get faster notice since he doesn’t know you. He strode to the desk and dipped a quill, then wrote quickly. When he was finished, he handed it to Spencer. "Two men will have a better chance. Barrington, get Phillips. He’s got the agility of a cat and knows the Consoo House."

"Yessir—"

To Spencer, he said, "Phillips can show you the way in. The door on Factories Street will be blocked. There are ten thousand of them out there."

Spencer nodded. "Have him meet me at the head of the stairs." Without further words, he rushed up to his room. To his surprise, a young writer barred his way.

Sorry, sir, Miss Temple is resting inside. They took her to the first place they could. She’s had a nasty shock."

Spencer paled. "She’s not hurt—"

"No, sir, but her mother is dead. Took a rock to the head that laid her skull open."

"God!" His first impulse was to shove the lad aside and rush to Lorielle, but delay might prove costly. Slipping off his frock coat, he began undoing his cravat. "Where can I find a jacket and pants?"

The startled writer pointed to another door. "Eppers has some—"

Spencer was already running. He found the garments in a sea chest and donned them quickly. The coarse trousers were loose enough for climbing, and the jacket would provide a certain amount of camouflage. In another minute he was back at the stairs where Phillips was waiting. He was a wiry lad with large hands and wide shoulders. Spencer outlined his plan. Nodding, Phillips led the way to a courtyard balcony where they could scale the wall to the roof.

News of the crowd in the square had already reached Changqua, and he was in an agitated state. He read the Sinister Tongue’s note quickly. It demanded immediate action and declared in no uncertain terms that the Hong would be responsible for damages. The old man listened to the fair Englishman’s account of the destruction and the death of the English female. He wrung his hands. Aiiii, the foreign devils would not be appeased by words now. They would carry out Tyler Temple’s threat with swift retribution. Even the Emperor’s men would not succeed in quieting the demons he would unleash. And if the British sent warships again, the Emperor would blame him. That he had done his duty would be forgotten in the purge that would surely follow. Aiiii! The Emperor’s vermilion brush would pen his doom. With only a thought for the silver in his coffers, he cursed the day he had first laid eyes on the red intruders. He cursed, too, his mother and his grandmother who had brought him into the world to suffer so ignominious a fate.

He clapped his hands sharply and issued rapid orders for a messenger to make haste to the chief magistrate asking that the police be dispatched at once. Then with the hope that it might appease the powerful Tu Te Kung who watched over a lowly merchant’s wealth, he ordered tea for the two bearers of ill tidings.

Spencer refused to stay, despite the Hoppo’s insistence that the police would act immediately and the matter should be left in their hands. Leaving Phillips behind to insure it, he made his way out through a narrow passageway to the rear of the Consoo House and headed for the creek. By the time he reached the factory, booming gongs were ringing over the tumult. An armed posse surged into the square.

As the crowd sighted it, they broke for the outlets to escape the stinging whips wielded by the officers. Shrill cries pierced the air as a few unfortunates took cruel lashes. Some were so terrified, they leaped into the river hoping to escape on the crowded sampans near the shore. But the panicked sampan men ignored the desperate cries for help and left the swimmers to drown.
The Chief Magistrate, duly alarmed by the urgent message from the Hoppo, followed his men to see that the orders were carried out. From his sedan chair, he directed that the most prominent rioters be seized and flogged where they fell. The spectacle robbed the remaining crowd of the last of their fight, and they dispersed quickly. Calm descended. Pleased with himself, the Magistrate ordered a chair and called for tea. The matter was ended. He smiled as the foreigners began to venture out and survey the damage.

The guard was no longer stationed at the door where Lorielle slept. Spencer entered quietly and stood gazing at her tear-streaked face. Her hair was fanned delicately on the pillow, and his heart wrenched. The sight of her stirred his loins as he eased himself to sit beside her. She murmured pitifully in her dreams. How could Tyler Temple be such a fool as to bring her here? Perhaps with Mrs. Temple dead, he would recognize the folly and send his daughter home. The thought that she might go out of his life was painful, though. He reached out to brush away a tendril of hair curled against her cheek. But she was not safe here; she would be better off in Calcutta. Did she have family to care for her? Or a suitor? The thought doubled the intensity of his pain.

Lorielle slept a tormented sleep. Her mind unreeled pictures like a kaleidoscope, shifting patterns that were one moment peaceful, the next turbulent. Her drug-induced stupor was fading and horror was floating back. She was standing in the square beneath a glowing cross bearing a lifeless body. The staring eyes of death beseeched her but she could not look away. The Oriental features swirled in a red haze of blood; the death-stilled face became her mother’s. Lorielle tried to escape the unseen hands that bound her, struggling, she screamed and thrashed wildly. With a start, she woke and found herself pinned tightly in strong arms. She whimpered with terror.

"Hush… you are safe now. It was only a dream." Spencer soothed her. "It was only a dream," he whispered, "only a dream."

Her fear ebbed and she sank into the protection of his arms. "My mother—"

"Yes, I know…" Her flesh was damp from sleep and smelled faintly of gardenias. When she trembled, he stroke her hair soothingly. "You must not torture yourself. Try to put it from your mind."

But the memory was too overpowering, and grief assailed Lorielle again. She shook her head and tears overflowed her eyes. Spencer held her until her agony was spent. When at last she quieted, he raised her face and stared into her swollen dark eyes. He searched the pockets of the borrowed jacket in vain for a kerchief, then wiped her tears away with his fingers. He took her in his arms again and brushed his lips to her hair.

He said softly, "The police have quelled the riot. You are safe."

"My father--?" Belatedly she thought of him. She felt Spencer stiffen.

"He’s downstairs." Had he even bothered to determine if his daughter was all right? A flood of anger filled Spencer.

"I must go to him." Her courage was returning slowing, but she did not try to disentangle herself from Spencer’s embrace. She was aware of his rough jacket and wondered what had become of his linen coat. She was aware too of the quiet strength he imparted. And that his closeness stirred sensuous thoughts in her muddled brain. She looked up as Spencer spoke.

"He has gone out to talk to the magistrate. The merchants are demanding satisfaction and restitution for their losses."

"Will they restore my mother’s life?" she demanded unreasonably. The full shock of the loss struck her once more, and tears threatened.

His tone was bitter. "Nothing can do that. Your father has paid dearly for his folly in bringing you here."

Even through her grief, anger surfaced. "Must you persist in berating my father for his desire to have us with him?" She pulled away from his touch, and when he would have taken her in his arms again, she resisted.

He regretted having voiced his fears, but she had to realize the danger she still faced if she remained in China. He gazed at her. "You must convince your father to send you home. You have no one now—"

"I have my father!" she declared.

"Perhaps he will choose to leave China now." He thought it unlikely, but it was a glimmer of hope.

She swallowed a sob. Her father’s work was his life. He would not abandon his goal even though it had cost him his wife, she knew that with certainty. And she knew just as surely that he did not want to return to India alone. A sigh escaped her lips. Spencer put a hand on her shoulder. This time she did not pull away. She could not be angry with him when he was so concerned with her welfare. To do so was more unreasonable than his faulting her father. She smiled hesitantly.

"I think not, but I will stay nevertheless. My place is with him." Her smile gained warmth. But I know now the truth of your warnings, and I’ll be careful." She was not sure why his approval was so important to her.

His furrowed brow eased. "I think the trouble is at an end for now, but it’s wise to take no risks. I’ll ask your father to assign someone to protect you."

"I can take care of myself," she protested, but there was no sting in the words.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I think you can, but precaution is wise anyway." He would keep an eye on her himself whenever possible. She might soon forget her promise when the city quieted.

Lorielle made a startled sound as the door opened suddenly. Spencer’s arm tightened at her shoulder as Giles Copeland entered.

Giles had expected to find Lorielle alone. He eyed Spencer suspiciously. What the devil was he doing here? Lorielle blushed, and he noted the intimate touch of Spencer’s arm. He glared, then forced a smile.

"Mr. Raymond…you’ve returned safely. Mr. Temple wants to thank you for your daring mission." His glance slid to Lorielle. She looked defiant, as though aware she'd been caught in an assignation. Was there more to her relationship with Raymond than he suspected? But there'd been no time--he brushed aside the annoying thought.

Lorielle glanced at Spencer. "What mission?"

He shrugged and did not answer. Giles came into the room, leaving the door open behind him. "Mr. Raymond undertook a courageous mission to the Consoo House," he said sarcastically. Looking at Spencer, he added, "Tyler will want to see you as soon as he concludes his talk with Jardine. You'll find him in his office." He glanced at the door significantly.

Spencer rose lazily, smiling at Lorielle. "You're sure you are all right now?"

She nodded. "Thank you." She pushed back the coverlet Elisabeth Quigley had thrown over her and sat up. The effects of the laudanum made her head spin from the quick motion. Spencer put out a hand to steady her. Giles cleared his throat meaningfully, but Spencer ignored him.

"As soon as I've talked to your father, I'll take you home. Wait for me here," Spencer said.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Raymond. Tyler has asked me to see to Lorielle's welfare."

Lorielle bristled but had no spirit to fight. She smiled wanly at Spencer. She much preferred Spencer's company to Giles', but she knew her father would have final say in the matter. Perhaps it was best not to argue now.

Spencer took his leave, glancing back from the doorway to smile at her again. When he was gone, Giles tried to take his place beside Lorielle, but she got to her feet quickly. An attack of weakness drained her and she clutched the bed post.

"There is nothing you can do. Your father is assessing the damages and injuries--" He broke off as a flash of pain crossed her face. "They will pay dearly for your mother's death, have no worry on that score!"

It was so futile. Did he believe that vengeance would serve any purpose? It was more important that no more lives were endangered.

"Was anyone else--" She could not bring herself to consider the possibility.

"A few of the rabble outside. But the factories have sustained considerable damage," he said pompously. "The Chinese will pay for every pane of glass and scorched stone!"

Did he always think of money? She shuddered and sank back onto the bed. "Please, I'd like to rest. My strength has not returned in the measure I thought." She put a hand to her brow and prayed he would go.

"Yes, of course. Let me help you." He pulled aside the cover and she lay back.

"Perhaps Mrs. Quigley would come." He seemed intent on lingering when she wanted to be rid of him.

"I'll find her," he said solicitously. He drew the spread over her, and she closed her eyes to forestall further conversation. Moments later, she heard the door close.

She sighed with relief. His talk of revenge still rankled, made more disturbing by her certainty that he was parroting her father's views. They would see everything by the effect it had on business. Her father would not take his losses lightly, nor would they make him abandon his goal. He'd be more determined than ever to win by any means.

Spencer Raymond dominated her drifting thoughts. The discovery that he was an envoy from the British government instead of the sailor she'd mistaken him for left her with a sense of delight. Perhaps her father would not deny her his company, under the circumstances. How comforting his presence was, how gentle his touch. She found herself remembering their earlier encounter. The sweet taste of his lips had renewed the womanly pleasure she'd discovered in their first encounter. She seemed a different person since she'd met him, a woman waiting to be fulfilled.

Giles Copeland roused none of those feelings, though his intention of courting her was increasingly obvious. He had her father's sanction and encouragement, but his company bored her and his touch brought none of the shivering pleasure Spencer's did. What explained the attraction between a woman and a man? How did one have the power to stir desire while another stirred only boredom? Both men were capable of angering her with their views and opinions, but more and more she found her objections to Spencer's fading. Events had proven him right--China was a dangerous place that could turn ugly on a moment's notice. Many of the men refused to have their wives come up ... only a few gave in to their own needs. As her father had done.

And now her mother was dead. Lorielle sighed softly and let the residual effects of the laudanum blank her mind once more.

William Jardine drummed his fingers on the desk top. He had not taken time to finish dressing for the reception when Temple's urgent message reached him, but had thrown a coat over his loose shirt. The story he'd just heard reinforced his conviction that the Emperor's newest edict was not another idle threat. The latest push to suppress the opium trade was gaining momentum despite everything he'd done to undermine it. Changqua and his henchmen were no longer satisfied with a show of force, they were putting teeth into their orders. The situation was threatening, but it might still be turned to advantage. He watched Tyler struggle with his grief over his wife's death. A damn shame, but bringing women to Canton was a stupid move. They were better off in Macao; here they were a barb in the Imperial claw. Tyler should have satisfied himself with his Chinese mistress and left family matters to safer territory.

En route from the Creek Factory, Jardine had viewed the destruction wrought by the Chinese mob. His own offices were mercifully spared, since the Creek Factory stood beyond the natural barrier of the English garden and was out of range of the flying rocks and fire pots. But no merchant could turn his back on the fight now. Jardine & Matheson were as committed as any, perhaps more. The anti-opium campaign had already spread to every province.

If it were kept up for another twelve months, smokers forced to do without would break their habits. The Cohong would no longer have the ready market it enjoyed, and trade would decline rapidly. The nonsensical idea of importing only medical opium would not keep one merchant prosperous, much less the dozens who now made fortunes from it.

Impatient to get on with the discussion, Jardine cleared his throat. Tyler raised his head and heaved a heavy sigh. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow.

"We'll draw up a petition," Jardine said.

Tyler roused from his lethargy. "Petition be damned! I say we bring up Elliot and an armed landing party. If the Hong wants violence, let's give 'em a taste of our guns."

Jardine raised a warning hand. "Without a new edict from Peking, Teng has no choice but to carry out orders. He'll manage to bend the truth so full blame will lie at our doorstep, with credit for victory at his own. An attack now would play right into his hands."

Not mollified, Tyler started to protest but thought better of it. Jardine would lead whatever action was taken, that much was certain. His own turmoil over Mandra's death would have to be settled privately. His body ached with the numbness of loss. He had not been able to bring himself to view her lifeless form. The memory of her soft beauty and supple body was a wound that should not be opened.

"What do you propose to do about the damage?" he asked.

"Have every merchant compile a list with costs. The Hong will pay up fast enough. They're caught between the Emperor’s wall and our boats. If they don't want their financial empires to turn to dust, they'll try to make some kind of peace. Changqua rallied quickly enough when he got the word. He understands who fills his treasure boxes." Jardine leaned back and extracted a thin cigar from his pocket. Striking a sulfur, he puffed thoughtfully.

"Our best move is to push hard now for legalization of the trade; if the Chinese can dump the thieving mandarins and take regular Customs payments, the revenue will soon give the Court a solid reason for cooperating instead of harassing us at every turn."

"That will take time," Tyler objected.

Jardine shrugged. "But it can be done."

"You seem sure. I don't share your conviction. The High Church Tories haven't given up their denunciation of opium."

Jardine peered through a cloud of smoke. "They'll be overrun."

"Possibly, but I suspect they've renewed their efforts." Tyler opened a drawer and took out the letter from Lord Valentine and handed it to Jardine. "A naval man named Raymond arrived on the Windrifter with this. It's couched in disguised tones, but I’ll wager Raymond is a Tory emissary."

Jardine unfolded the parchment and read quickly, scowling. When he finished, he grunted and tossed the letter aside. "You're keeping an eye on him?"

"He's here at the factory. He's expressed a desire to meet you. I promised an introduction."

"I see. We'll certainly give him the cooperation Lord Valentine asks, but I don't need to tell you to use discretion. See to it that he's watched. It might be a wise move to offer him the hospitality of your home so we can deal with him if he shows signs of getting too inquisitive." Jardine flicked a bit of ash from the sleeve of his waistcoat. "As long as he's here, I may as well have a few words with him."

"Copeland's gone to fetch him. You might be interested to know that it was Spencer Raymond who volunteered to carry word of our plight to Changqua. The man's a quick thinker and has already proved his mettle." Jardine grinned. "A worthy opponent, eh? I'm impressed but not cowed. Leave him to me." With that, he rose and dropped the cigar into a ceramic bowl. "Every man has his price, Ty1er. I'll find Raymond's." He started for the door but paused with his hand on the latch. "Will you be taking your wife's body to Macao?"

Pain dulled Tyler's eyes. "Giles will handle it."

Jardine nodded. "Wise, under the circumstances. Damned sorry, Tyler, damned sorry." He opened the door, the amenities done. "Tell Raymond I’ll be in Barrington's office. Perhaps I'11 see you before I leave."

Spencer Raymond found William Jardine eager to discuss the trade.

"If we can't put an end to this new campaign, our trade will be ruined within the year. All trade, not just opium, Mr. Raymond. The Chinese merchants are scared out of their wits. The Emperor is calling them, hanchien, treacherous evil doers. Today's incident may not be the end of it.

About a thousand brokers and addicts have already been arrested. They won't be lucky enough to have foolhardy British sailors charge to their rescue." He held up a restraining hand to forestall Spencer's comment. "I'm not trying to absolve the men from the Orwell of blame. They acted hastily but in a good cause. They had no business interfering with Chinese justice, but they can't be faulted for having a drop of human kindness in their hearts, eh? We've seen more than enough examples of this so-called justice. They'd chop off an English head as soon as a Chinese, given the chance. Every foreigner will stand behind the sailors if charges are brought--which I doubt. I don't think the local mandarins are eager for any more trouble." He sighed. "The real tragedy is Mrs. Temple. Damned shame. Tyler tells me you came over on the same clipper with the women."

Spencer acknowledged that he had, then brought the conversation back to the opium trade. "If the Emperor is convinced that opium smoking is a major problem, he's got little choice but to try to eradicate it. The sentiment at home is that the trade cannot be justified on any moral grounds."

Jardine cocked an eyebrow. "Nor can the drinking of tea, Mr. Raymond. Both are enjoyable habits for those who indulge. We supply the commodities, nothing more. As businessmen, we can't survive without profit. And believe me, it has come to a matter of survival this past year. Our boats have been forced off the river. Even the coastal trade is stagnant."

"So the illegal ferry business supplements losses?" Spencer asked wryly.

Jardine shrugged. His expression did not alter. "It provides a needed service and guarantees that shipments reach their destinations. Chinese piracy was nipping a good part of our profits before we put our boats on the Pearl."

"Armed boats." There was no condemnation in Spencer's tone, but Jardine peered at him.

"A precaution, Mr. Raymond. We've not fired a single shot, but we are prepared to defend ourselves if we're fired upon."

Spencer smiled disarmingly. He didn't want to alarm Jardine into thinking he was on trial. And what Jardine said was true--there had been no reports of gunfire from the ferries. Even the battleship Wellesley and the brig Algerine sent from India had not engaged in warfare. They'd been intended only to intimidate the Chinese.

"What do you think will happen now?" he asked.

Jardine settled more comfortably into his chair, tenting his fingers and tapping them together slowly for several moments before he answered. "Innes will be ordered to leave Canton, since it was one of his boats that had the misfortune to be caught unloading yesterday. It seems the Customs Official has already tortured some of the Chinese dockers into admitting the consignment belonged to James. He'll have to confine his activities to Macao for a bit, but the matter will blow over."

"You'll not come to his aid?" It was Spencer's turn to show surprise.

"In principle, yes. But Viceroy Teng will halt the trade, and we’ll be forced to choose between solidarity and survival. As I said, James’ exile won’t last long. If the trade is closed—and believe me, Mr. Raymond, the Viceroy is quite capable of shutting it down—no one gains. James is enterprising enough to stand a brief exile. You must remember, Mr. Raymond, that the opium that was seized bore the mark of the East India Company, which as you know, still has the approval of the British Crown."

Spencer could not make up his mind if Jardine was an honest man or a very clever one. His open admission of facts that could not be hidden might be designed to sidetrack Spencer’s interest in others that could. He was a man who’d bear watching. Spencer was beginning to suspect that Tyler had shown the contents of the letter from Valentine to Jardine. The two were thicker than thieves.

"I’d be interested in seeing your operation, Mr. Jardine. Your ferries interest me."

"Of course. Would tomorrow morning suit you? The clipper Dawnella anchored today. We’ll be unloading her."

"That will be fine."

Jardine rose and extended a hand. "I’ll expect you at seven. We’ll go down on the first boat. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Raymond. I share every man’s gratitude for the part you played in putting down the riot today. If there's anything else I can do--"

"You are already helping me more than I can say. Until tomorrow, then." They shook hands, and Spencer opened the door. Jardine headed directly for the rear door and went out. Spencer went upstairs.

Lorielle was gone. Giles Copeland had seen to that before Spencer returned. For a moment he considered going to the Temple house, but decided against it. Neither Tyler nor Lorielle would be in the mood for callers so soon after Mandra's death. When he had word of the funeral, he would pay his respects. Meanwhile Tyler's absence might give him a chance to talk to the Company men without interference.

Chapter 6

Fearing renewed trouble, the Viceroy reluctantly issued a permit for the Red Barbarian female's funeral boat. He decreed that only a Chinese vessel could be used, and it must travel under the watchful eyes of his soldiers; also it must leave at once. He deafened his ears to the pleas of the Sinister Tongue and the Iron-Headed Old Rat. Another outbreak of violence would weigh heavily on his shoulders-- and on his coffers of silver. Was not the Cohong already trying to persuade him that he must share the burden of restitution demanded by the Barbarians? It was his orders they had carried out, they said. Would they demand payment from the Emperor himself, he countered? They would receive neither. So it was prudent that his soldiers see the coffin safely out of the province. Once beyond the Bogue, the matter would no longer be of concern to him.

Lorielle undertook the journey as reluctantly as permission for it had been granted. Accompanied by Giles Copeland, she sat under the bamboo roof of the sampan grappling with grief and anger at her father. He was adamant in his decision to remain behind in Canton and that Giles would take his place. With no Christian burial grounds in Canton, there was no need to engage in rituals that would impress the community; they would be a meaningless gesture. It was more important that he remain to see that the Hong paid for their crime.

Her mother's body was encased in a plain wooden coffin, which lay at one side of the sheltered boat housing. Lorielle's eyes filled with tears as it was loaded, but now she felt strangely remote. It was as though she too was taking part in a meaningless ritual.

The journey down the river seemed endless. The sampan glided slowly with a single boatman at the tiller. Four gunned soldiers sat fore and aft chattering as though pleased to find relief from their more strenuous duties at home. Their jocund air irritated her, and she stared ahead in stony silence. Giles made several desultory attempts at conversation, but when she did not pursue them, he left her in peace. Lorielle realized she resented his presence as much as her father's absence. Granted she could not make the journey alone, but her father should have observed proprieties and chosen a more acceptable companion for her. Mrs. Quigley, perhaps. Even with the woman's fussing, Lorielle would have been infinitely more comfortable. She bristled at the conviction that she was being shunted out of her father's way and at the same time forced into Giles' company so he could pursue his romantic intentions.

Her grief subsided slowly during the monotonous ride. The countryside lost its fascination, and she stared listlessly at the rolling hills and flat rice fields. The sampan traveled estuaries rather than the main course of the river. They were less crowded and at times even peaceful. Giles would tend to the arrangements for her mother's burial in the Protestant graveyard near the headquarters of the East India Company Select Committee in Macao. Her father had given her the option to remain as long as she wished-- permanently if she found Macao more pleasant than Canton. Would Giles stay, she wondered. It would be incongruous with his avowal that his work in Canton was pressing, but she would not put it past her father to allow it, nonetheless. He would find a way to delegate Giles' duties elsewhere if it gave impetus to his plans to marry her off!

She had not seen Spencer again but he was in her thoughts constantly. It was him she longed to be with, to find comfort in his arms and soothing presence. Was she in love with him? The thought warmed her. She'd never experienced love before, but could her desire to see him be so strong now otherwise? Was love something that came suddenly and with such intensity? Her parents had rarely displayed their affection openly. She'd grown up in a cold, almost sterile atmosphere, but perhaps love was not the same for everyone. Could it be arranged and bartered as her father was trying to do with her and Giles? No! She could not believe that. That was an arrangement of convenience that had nothing to do with love! She could never love Giles--nor would she marry him--no matter how much her father desired the arrangement.

Macao island came in sight at last, and Lorielle felt a surge of relief. Her body and spirit ached for release from the cramped, uncomfortable quarters of the boat. And in spite of her distaste for the days that lay ahead, she was beginning a new phase of life. She had come to the conclusion that her father was right in a way. Mourning her mother would serve no purpose. She must put her grief behind her and take up the threads of living. She would stay in Macao only long enough to do what had to be done. Then she would return to Canton. And Spencer.

Against a blue sky brushed with shredded clouds, Macao was a bright picture of glistening buildings and imposing spires. The crescent-shaped beach had a wide promenade where ladies and gentlemen in finely tailored garb strolled leisurely. Beyond the Praia Grande, the ground rose steeply and the cobblestoned streets were stepped for easier passage. On the hill, forts crowned the city, their brass cannon gleaming in the sun's glare.

Lorielle studied the city in amazement. How different it was from Canton. Macao was as bright and cheerful as a sun-washed beach; there was none of the strife or clamor that identified the waterfront in Canton. Here and there among lush vegetation, she glimpsed large European houses surrounded by gardens, and occasionally a blue tiled temple roof gleamed in Oriental splendor.

As the sampan put in at the wharf, a church bell tolled as though marking the solemnity of the occasion. Lorielle bowed her head as she watched her mother's coffin lifted from the boat by four Chinese coolies who had responded quickly to Giles' summons. The coffin was loaded onto a mule cart. Giles hired a small carriage and settled Lorielle with a smile.

"The East India house is near the top of the hill. You will have a comfortable ride." He patted her hand as he sat beside her, and spoke sharply to the driver. The man lifted a whip and snapped it across the bay horse's flank. The animal set off at a quick trot.

The ride was surprisingly quick despite the fact that the road was uphill all the way. The wheels rattled and bounced on the rough cobblestones. At first Lorielle gripped the seat and tried to steady herself, but she quickly discovered that she was far more comfortable if she let her body sway with the jolting movements. She glanced along the narrow streets faced by baroque houses of Spanish architecture. It was a world apart from Canton. Her mother would have liked it, she thought. If they'd made the journey a few months earlier and landed here, it was likely her mother would never have left Macao. She would now be enjoying one of the lovely villas overlooking the sea instead of being interred in a cemetery she had never seen.

Lorielle reminded herself it was senseless to yearn for what might have been. There was no life in this world for her mother any longer. Unsure of her own beliefs in the hereafter, Lorielle prayed that her mother would find peace with both her Christian and Hindu Gods.

Despite the heat, a refreshing breeze stirred the air. As they passed an old church with high-terraced steps, half a dozen young Portuguese men stared at Lorielle; one doffed his black beaver hat and bowed, smiling gallantly. At the top of the ridge, the view was magnificent. She could see clear to the sea on the opposite side of the island, where a sheltered harbor was crowded with Chinese vessels and Portuguese sailing ships.

And then the carriage turned near a lovely cool garden sheltered by swaying palms. Beyond it, she saw the steeple of a church and the high wall of the graveyard. The driver swung through an open iron gateway and up a well-tended drive where hedges and flowerbeds bordered the gardens. A flight of broad stone steps led to a pristine white house surrounded by twisted banyon trees and slender palms. When the carriage halted, Giles climbed down and offered his hand. Smiling, he paid off the driver and took her arm possessively.

"Is this the Company house?" There was no flag flying, and she suspected the answer before he gave it.

"No. I thought you might enjoy more privacy. Even with the merchants gone north, the Select House abounds with clerks and clamoring Portuguese who are constantly underfoot seeing that their tariffs are paid." He led her into a dim, cool hall. "The house is mine. I had it built last year. I know you'll be comfortable here. I’ve an excellent staff of servants, and there's a stable if you care to ride. Your father tells me you are quite an expert horsewoman."

So her suspicions were true. Giles hoped to entice her into romance by enforced proximity. She was to be his house guest, under his careful eye for her stay in Macao. Resentment flared, but she forced a smile and let herself be shown to a charming bedroom on the second floor. A four-poster bed was covered with a delicately crocheted spread of pale yellow. There were several comfortable chairs, a chaise lounge, table and two large wardrobes. Everything she could want ... but she felt no joy. As soon as Giles and the servant who'd carried up her bags departed, she stood at the window and looked out over tile rooftops of the city and the sparkling blue harbor with its patchwork of colorful sails. She would talk with her father as soon as she returned to Canton. She would make him see that she was not a chattel to be married off at his convenience. She did not love Giles--she never would. She found him dull and stuffy and interminably boring. The thought of a lifetime with him made her shudder.

She watched the mule cart climb the hill laboriously. It turned in at the church which she could see beyond the fringe of banyon leaves. Sighing, she rang for the servant and readied herself for the funeral.

The service was held a few hours later in the small chapel. The pews were filled to capacity, despite the fact that Lorielle knew no one in Macao. Giles had reported an account of the trouble in Canton to factory representatives, and word spread quickly to the women. British, Portuguese, French, American--all came to pay their respects to one of their number. They sat with veiled eyes and sympathetic smiles.

The Reverend Doctor Charles Gutzlaff read the scriptures and gave a lengthy eulogy as though Mandra Temple had been one of his flock. Lorielle listened distractedly. The church was warm despite the pleasant breeze that came through the open windows. Doctor Gutzlaff’s short, square figure seemed alien to her numbed mind. Beside her, Giles sat stiffly but she saw his glance slide sidelong to her every few minutes. Probably every woman in Macao believed her already engaged to him. The thought made the hairs at the nape of her neck prickle.

When at last a heavy-set woman at the small pipe organ began playing "Nearer My God to Thee," the congregation rose and followed Lorielle and Giles from the church. They stood beside a newly turned plot of earth as Doctor Gutzlaff enjoined God to receive the soul of his faithful servant. The coffin was lowered. It was over....

In the days that followed, Lorielle was besieged with notes expressing sympathy and offering invitations to lunch, tea and dinners. As in India, Britons isolated from home wasted little time on mourning. A few quiet days of respect, and life went on. Restlessly, Lorielle tossed the letters to the table unacknowledged. To engage in social activity would provide Giles with an opportunity to escort her about the city. He would view it as another forward move in his courtship. He might even see it as a victory of sorts. To be seen with Lorielle all over Macao would lend an air of acceptance to their being together. And that she did not want.

Giles arranged for a small cabriolet if she wanted to drive into the city, but Lorielle preferred the splendid gray mare and the paths along the ridge. She enjoyed the sense of freedom riding gave her, though Giles insisted on accompanying her on every excursion. He seemed to have few duties here in Macao, and she was certain that he was devoting himself to overcoming any reluctance she had about marriage. Like her father, he considered it only a matter of time.

She was thankful that Giles pretended to be solicitous and patient with her moods. Several times when they were alone, he made hesitant romantic gestures but when she turned them aside, he withdrew. But not before she was aware of the growing impatience in his manner. He left the house to spend the evenings with men at cards. When he returned, he was flushed with victory over his winnings and reeked of spirits. Lorielle avoided him assiduously.

Spencer Raymond was in her thoughts constantly. She asked Giles several times if there was news from Canton, but he shook his head and told her not to concern herself with anything but enjoying herself and forgetting the tragic past. But she could not put Spencer from her mind. She hadn't seen him since the few minutes they'd shared in the factory after the riot. He had not come to the house, nor had he been at the landing when the funeral boat departed, though the merchants and their wives had gathered in final tribute to her mother before the body was transported down the river.

She'd barely seen her father in those hectic hours. He'd stayed at the factory, throwing himself into his work with a frenzy as though to find solace by pushing himself beyond human limits. When he returned to the house, he locked himself in his room and brooded over a bottle of whisky.

On the third day after her mother's funeral, Lorielle slipped out through a rear courtyard to the stable, where she pressed a coin into the stable lad's hand to insure his cooperation in not reporting to Giles as she rode off on the gray mare. For hours she roamed the paths of the western side of the island, dipping and climbing the hilly terrain that fell away to the sheltered harbor she'd glimpsed the day of her arrival. When at last she reached the shore, she raced the mere along the wet sand, thrilling to the animal's sleek strength and speed. How she longed to race through life under her own power instead of hampered at every turn by her father's dictates. When the mare was spent, she reined in and studied the quiet harbor. The sailing ships all bore the Portuguese flag. Along with half a dozen junks with red sails casting crimson shadows across the water, they were being unloaded to sampans. Apparently the small harbor was reserved for the Portuguese trade. A stately clipper glided into the bay and began to furl its sails.

She climbed from the horse and strolled along a deserted stretch of beach where soft waves lapped against the sand. For a while, she sat on a huge outcropping of rock damp with sea spray and stared out over the water. Her life was like the tide, moving closer to its destiny with each wave, slipping back at intervals but pressing forward again relentlessly. Would she be able to convince her father she didn't want to marry Giles? Didn't Giles realize the sham such a marriage would be? Surely a man wanted a woman who wanted him, not one who came to him because she was forced. She tried to imagine herself in Giles' arm and her mind blanked. It was impossible.

When at last she started back, the sun was a scarlet ball on the horizon. It would be dark before she reached the hilltop, but she didn't care. The horse knew the way and the main road was direct. She had only to give the mare its head and the animal would find its way.

The house was ablaze with lights when she reached it. She turned the horse over to a worried stable boy.

"Thank heaven you're safe, Miss Lorielle," the lad said fervently. He grabbed the horse’s reins and averted his face as he stepped back into the shadows.

She peered at him curiously. His cheek bore a long red welt where something had struck him and there was a fleck of blood at the corner of his swollen lip. "Why wouldn't I be, Rodney? I've ridden before."

"I prayed 'twas so, but Mr. Giles is in a temper."

"Has something happened?" Giles had given her permission to ride whenever she wished. It was not necessary to inform him each time she wanted to go out!

Rodney darted a look past her toward the house. "I tried to stay clear o’ him, miss, but when he see’d the mare was gone, he forced me to tell him. I’m sorry, miss--"

"Forced you!" She stared at the livid welt on his cheek. "Did Mr. Giles do that?" she demanded.

He touched his fingertips gingerly to the wound. "Yes'm, but it's all right. I only said ye'd taken the high path and I didn't know no more. He'd a set out after ye but was afeared he might miss you in the dark."

Frustration and rage burst Lorielle's calm. "Where is Mr. Giles now?" She clenched her fists and would have set upon Giles physically had he been there. To beat a stable boy for so flimsy a reason was cruel and heartless. What right had he to demand an accounting for her actions? True, she had bribed Rodney not to disclose the direction she'd taken, but she'd had no idea it would bring him to this!

"Inside raisin' a fuss with the servants. Blamin’ them for lettin' y' slip out."

With an expression of sympathy to Rodney for the whip lash he'd taken on her account, Lorielle stormed to the house, determined to end the charade once and for all. She would not be dictated to, nor would she let Giles punish others for her independence.

She found him in the magnificent parlor with high ceilings and richly paneled walls. He was striding back and forth like an angry peacock, the tails of his pale linen frock coat flapping with each abrupt turn. He whirled as she entered.

"Lorielle! I was beside myself with worry." He rushed to her and clasped her hands.

She pulled away angrily. "How dare you strike an innocent stable boy! I am not a charge to be supervised every moment of the day--you said I might ride whenever the fancy took me!" Her cheeks were angry spots of color, and she was not mollified by his quick smile.

He frowned, then commanded the smile once again. "I would have been delighted to ride with you, had you asked. But this is not the time to discuss it, my dear. We have a guest."

Lorielle turned and saw a portly, silver-haired man regarding her with amusement. Her cheeks flamed scarlet, and she lowered her gaze as he rose from the high-backed, overstuffed chair near the fireplace and came toward her.

"Excuse me," she murmured. "I had no idea we were not alone."

"I find your high spirits enchanting, cherie. Do not apologize on my account." He glanced at Giles with a disarming smile. "I think perhaps it is Giles who should tender apologies. To restrain one so charming and anime is not only impossible but terribly wicked, Giles. The rare bird cannot be caged."

Giles flushed and cleared his throat. "Such was not my intent. But as long as she is home safely, there is no harm done. My dear, this is Jacques Delaurier, a friend from India. Business has brought him to Macao for a brief visit."

"I am delighted, monsieur." Lorielle offered a hand, which Delaurier pressed to his lips.

"Enchante.. ."

"Perhaps Giles has told you, I too am from India-- Calcutta." Lorielle favored him with a smile to make up for her earlier rudeness.

"I reside in Pondicherry. Had I but known what I might find north, I would have arranged to conduct business in Bengal more often. And I would have arranged to lengthen my stay here in Macao as well. But alas, my ship sails all too soon."

Lorielle smiled sweetly, though she instinctively felt Delaurier's charm was only a very thin veneer. "But at least we have had this opportunity to meet," she said coyly. "And now, if you will excuse me, I am weary from my ride. I have interrupted your business long enough--do not let me disturb you further."

"Au contraire, cherie, you have brightened my day immeasurably. Giles and I have concluded our talk. I was about to leave."

"Surely Giles has not forgotten his manners so dreadfully that he has not invited you to dinner?" She cast a mocking glance at Giles. After his despicable conduct, she had no desire to be alone with him. Tomorrow she would arrange to return to Canton as quickly as possible.

"Jacques has pressing matters to attend to, my dear," Giles said stiffly. "I have planned a little reception for tomorrow evening. We will see Jacques again then."

"Of course!" Jacques shook hands with Giles heartily. "Until tomorrow, Lorielle." He bowed and started for the door. Giles walked with him. They conversed in low tones for a moment, then Delaurier nodded. "I trust you will have more encouraging news for me then, Giles. Au revoir, Lorielle."

When he had gone, Lorielle tried to retreat to her room. Giles stopped her with a hand at her wrist. "Lorielle, I must remind you that you acted very foolishly today. Riding alone is unseemly. Your father would think me derelict in my duties if anything were to happen to you." His brown eyes shifted through patterns of gray and green as he gazed at her.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," she said spiritedly. "I appreciate your concern, but it is misplaced. You have been telling me constantly that Macao is infinitely safer than Canton. Besides, I can hardly lose my way on such a small peninsula. I will not be a prisoner. I think it best if I return to Canton as soon as possible."

His eyes narrowed. "It is not my intention to keep you prisoner," he said coldly. "You are to be my wife, and I naturally am interested--"

"Your wife!" The words were like a physical blow. Had her father gone that far! If so, he had reckoned without her.

"Of course, didn't your father tell you?" He was smiling arrogantly now.

"No! Nor am I willing to be married off like a bartered bride! I shall speak to my father the moment we return to Canton. If in his grief he was misguided into thinking I would go along with his inconsiderate plans for my life--"

Her outburst startled him, and his gaze became steely. "Both your father and I see the arrangement as fortunate for everyone concerned. Your mother was aware of my intentions before you left Calcutta, and they met with her approval as well. I have been as patient as any man can be expected to be." His expression softened. "Now with your mother gone, there is no need to wait. Your father agrees that we should be wed here. I've made arrangements for the ceremony to take place tomorrow.

She drew back, staggered. "I find your humor in poor taste," she said icily. "My mother is barely in her grave and--"

Anger suffused his face. "You may continue mourning if you like, though it's unnecessary here, as you well know. The wedding will be a private ceremony. No one will expect an elaborate affair. I have already spoken to Mr. Gutzlaff. The ceremony will take place at four tomorrow."

"I will not marry you!" Her fury took off like a burst of rockets. She tightened every muscle of her body to stem her trembling rage. She turned to flee, but he grabbed her wrist and held her cruelly.

"You will do as you are told. I have your father's word--"

"My father be damned!" She drew back her free hand and lashed out at him. The stinging blow left its imprint on his cheek. Before she realized what was happening, he returned the blow with resounding force. She staggered back as he released her, then loomed over her.

"The matter is out of your hands. I hoped that you shared my feelings, but the wedding will take place nevertheless. In time you will realize it's for the best. You need the protection marriage affords. Mrs. Henderson has offered to help you prepare for the ceremony. She will be here in the morning. I suggest that you do not air the foolish sentiments to her. I would not enjoy being made fool of before my friends." He straightened his coat at stepped to a table where glasses and a whisky bottle been set out. He poured himself a drink, still watching her with cold eyes.

Lorielle could not hide the revulsion that swept her. "I warn you, Giles, I will not go through with the ceremony. If you choose to make a fool of yourself, I cannot stop you, but you cannot intimidate me into the vows."

He regarded her over the rim of the crystal tumbler. Her face was flushed and her eyes glittering. Her cold, deadly tone made him realize she meant what she said. Tyler had lied about her acquiescence and his parental power. That Lorielle would come around in time he did not doubt, but her temper now raised problems he hadn't expected.

He tried to placate her. "I suggest we have dinner and discuss it later. You are tired from your ride and could do with a bit of freshening up." He smiled disarmingly. "Though you look as pretty as a picture with your hair blown about your face that way."

She raked her fingers through her tresses as though to undo anything he found pleasing. Without answering, she turned on her heel and marched from the room. She would not discuss wedding plans over dinner or any other time! The matter was closed. She would talk to her father and make him understand. Perhaps if she told him her feelings about Spencer. ...

She ran up the stairs and flung herself into her room. Her flushed face peered back at her from the glass. She would not marry him! Not tomorrow or ever! No amount of persuasion would change her mind. If he persisted in bringing the minister here, she would refuse to go down. She would refuse to let Mrs. Henderson fuss in preparation for a wedding that was not to be. And she would return to Canton as soon as possible to talk to her father. He had to be made to see how impossible the arrangement was. His grief over her mother was clouding his judgment, but when he saw how opposed she was to Giles, he would relent.

She ignored the dinner gong and asked the maid to bring her tea instead. The sallow-faced young Chinese brought a tray and a request from Giles that she present herself in the dining room at once. She ignored the summons. To her surprise, Giles did not pursue it. She half expected him to pound on the door and drag her downstairs, but the house fell silent. She sat by the open window staring out over the harbor. Gradually, the lights in the city below began to twinkle out as the hour grew late. In the garden and the nearby Company house, lamps were extinguished. Only the solemn cry of crickets disturbed the darkness. Wearily, she prepared for bed. Her tormented thoughts had gone over the same ground a dozen times. She would not marry Giles as long as there was breath in her. Once her father accepted that, she would be free to follow her heart. Already she longed to see Spencer again.

She lay staring at the pale ceiling. A white moon climbed over the hill and bathed the room in its cool glow. What was Spencer doing now? How she wished she'd been able to see him before she left Canton. Why hadn't he come to the house or sent word? Had she imagined the love in his glance, his touch? No--she shivered delectably at the memory of his embrace and his searching lips. She could not have misread his emotions any more than she could her own. Spencer loved her--and she loved him. She longed to be with him again. She renewed her vow to go back to Canton. Giles had not spoken of returning, but she would insist on it--as soon as possible.

Much as she disliked the idea of traveling with Giles again, she was sure he wouldn't allow her to go alone.

A tap at the door startled her. For a moment she did not answer but when it came again, more insistently, she sat up… "Who is it?"

"Giles. May I speak to you for a moment?"

Annoyed, she hesitated. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"Please. I've behaved badly and I want to apologize."

With a sigh, she turned up the wick of the lamp, then slipped on her robe and slippers before opening the door. Giles held out a small lacquered tray as a peace offering. On it was a slender dark bottle painted with Chinese characters and two fragile porcelain tumblers. He stepped in and placed the tray on the table, then poured plum wine into each of the small glasses. He held one out to her.

"Join me," he said pleasantly. He showed no sign of his earlier anger. His smile was benevolent and apologetic. "I was stupid to allow myself to be carried away by my own feelings without regard for yours. I should have broached the subject of marriage at a more opportune time--after you've become better acquainted with me. Women enjoy a romantic approach to such things. I'm afraid living so far from home these years has dulled my sensibilities in some areas." He smiled beguilingly. "Say you forgive me?" he pleaded.

She had not overcome her disgust, but his contriteness overrode her anger. He looked like a penitent child wanting to make up. But she was uneasy alone with him.

"I was almost asleep."

"I will stay only a moment. I will leave the door open if it puts you more at ease. Or shall I call one of the servants?"

She shook her head. She was acting foolishly. It had been her father's fault as much as Giles'. Finally she smiled. "Very well, one glass--and your promise to send word round to Mrs. Henderson that I will have no need of her assistance in the morning."

"Consider it done. Now, take the wine. I think you’ll find the flavor delicate and quite different from anything you've tasted. The Chinese pride themselves on its manufacture. It is one of the decidedly civilized products they have."

She took the glass and sipped. It was sweet but light on the palate and as smooth as a draft of water on a steamy day. Giles indicated the two chairs near the window with a questioning look. Smiling, he lowered himself into one as Lorielle sat.

"I know I've offended you by my crass approach to a delicate subject, and I don't want to upset you further. But I beg you to let me court you properly when we return to Canton."

"It's hardly fair that I encourage you in a hopeless quest."

He looked pained. "At least let me try. I can be very persuasive and I'm told quite charming."

"I'm sure you can," she murmured.

He mistook the comment for agreement and lifted his glass in a toasting gesture. "It's settled then. Now we can relax and enjoy the remainder of our stay. There is a performance at the playhouse tomorrow evening. Would you care to go? I can arrange for a box." He looked hopeful.

"I would prefer to return to Canton as soon as possible," she said. To prolong the visit was a waste of time and might lead him to believe she was considering his proposal.

"I’ll make arrangements to depart the day after tomorrow. There's a passage boat scheduled to leave before noon, I believe."

"I have your word?" The prospect of departing soon put eagerness in her voice.

He smiled warmly. "You do. Now drink your wine."

She raised the glass and drank. He leaned to refill it the moment she set it down.

"It will help you sleep and to forget how badly I’ve behaved. I am not given to violence, and I deeply regret striking you. It will never happen again--you have my word on that as well." Smiling, he watched her raise the glass. He chatted aimlessly about the theater that had recently been established and which was finding favor among residents. Summer was the busiest season, of course, but so many families now lived in Macao the year round, they were beginning to enjoy many diversions. When the trading season was over, he was sure she would find Macao as delightful as Calcutta. Some said it already rivaled parts of London. Would she like to see London? He and her father had often spoken of returning and once again enjoying its pleasant, urban atmosphere.

Lorielle's tensions vanished and she realized that Giles could be pleasant company when he set his mind to it. Perhaps she had judged him too harshly. Now that he knew she was not romantically inclined toward him, he seemed willing not to make demands on her. She sighed inwardly and finished the wine, only to have him fill the tiny glass again. When she tried to refuse, he made a show of corking the bottle.

"The last. A nightcap." He smiled winningly. She felt a peaceful lethargy and found herself nodding. When she emptied the glass, he rose and went to the door. "Goodnight, my dear. Sleep well." He stood watching her, and she pulled herself from the drowsiness which had overcome her and got to her feet. It seemed a terrible effort, and she wavered. The floor floated under her unsteady feet. She blinked and tried to summon her strength, but it was beyond her. The room seemed to spin slowly and she could not focus on Giles' figure in the doorway. He seemed to grow in size and blot her vision. Then his arms were around her, supporting her weakness, leading her to the bed. The smile never left his lips and words would not come to hers. She had no strength to resist as he drew the covers and unfastened her robe and lifted her onto the cool sheets. She was aware of his eyes devouring her slim figure beneath the rose-petal-soft gown ... his hands lingering on her shoulders and breasts.

"No. .. ." Her tongue was too thick to force the protest out, but he understood and moved away. She closed her eyes for a moment to stop the reeling of the room. She heard the door close and breathed a sigh as she drifted on a euphoric cloud. Then suddenly she sensed his presence once more and forced her eyes open. He was standing over her removing his jacket, dropping it to the chair where she'd sat a moment ago. She shook her head but the effort sent her into a giddy whirlpool.

"You must go. .. ." But again no sound came from her lips. She peered through a mist that clouded her vision. He had stripped himself of clothing and his naked body loomed over her. She tried to raise herself but she could not find the strength. With some inner awareness, she realized she was no longer in control or her body or senses. The wine--

She shivered and tried to escape his touch as he yanked off her gown and lowered himself to her. His arms encircled her body and pulled it against the length of his naked flesh. She wanted to believe it was a dream, but his touch was frighteningly real at her breasts, the swell of her hips, her thighs.

"No--·Giles!" But the words were only in her mind, trapped as helplessly as she was under his determined hands. She shuddered and summoned every ounce of her strength but it was like pushing against a great weight that would not be moved. She whimpered helplessly as his hands found the hills and valleys of her flesh. Deep inside her, slumbering awareness roused. She struggled against the engulfing tide as a swirling haze clouded her will. She must stop him--He had tricked her. She was caught in a drugged trap he had designed carefully. Yet her flesh betrayed her under the eager ministrations of his hands. Her body quivered with a sensual desire her mind would not accept willingly. With a rage born of desperation, she beat at his arms and head, but the blows fell harmlessly. He laughed coarsely and moved over her, pinning her under his weight.

"I will have you, sweet Lorielle. I do not relinquish easily what is mine!"

She tried to twist away but she was powerless against his strength. His swollen maleness probed and made her brain reel helplessly. She cried out but couldn't be sure if the sound was real or only in her tortured mind. His breath scalded her cheek then his mouth claimed hers savagely. With an animal sound of lust, he plunged into her. Fiery agony seared her as he abandoned any pretense of gentleness. His face was a cruel mask with teeth bared until his lust was spent and she felt its explosion. The sounds of his labored breathing mingled with her silent sobs when at last he rolled from her numbed body. For a moment, he lay with his arm across her naked breasts as though still claiming his prize.

Finally he stirred and rose from the bed. She lay with eyes closed, willing him to vanish quickly but still aware of his gaze on her naked form. She tried to block out the sounds of his dressing, the clink of the wine bottle. When he touched her, she recoiled.

"No need to be frightened, my sweet. I am done with you for tonight. Here, drink another draft of wine. You'll find it most relaxing." He laughed softly, raised her head and pressed the glass to her lips. The sickly sweet liquid poured down her throat and she was forced to swallow. Almost instantly, the euphoria returned like a sweet balm. She once again floated in a blue cloud. He lowered her head and drew the covers over her. The room darkened and she was alone.

She woke as the first streaks of dawn splashed the sky outside the window. She felt the sheets whisper against her naked flesh and frowned as she tried to remember. A dream? Her body was leaden and unreal. She moved slowly and felt a sting of pain between her thighs. She remembered then and shivered uncontrollably. Horror and disgust filled her. She managed to sit up by gripping the bedstead as nausea filled her throat. Quickly she glanced about the room. The only evidence of the nightmare was the wine bottle and glasses on the table. As she stared at them, she knew with dreadful clarity that the wine had been drugged. Giles Copeland had tricked her, then used her while she was helpless. Opium? He had ready access to it and had made her its unsuspecting victim. When she believed he had given up his pursuit, he had only been biding time until the opportunity presented itself. Hatred filled her with its bitter venom.

And now? She dared not delude herself that he was through with her. He'd agreed too readily to all her demands last night. The wedding? He was fully capable of forcing her to go through with it! Perhaps he intended to drug her again so there would be no resistance left, no spirit to fight him. Had he miscalculated the length of time the opium would cloud her mind? Or did he think, now that he had taken her, that she would come willingly to him as a bride?

Staggering, she crossed to the washstand and poured water from the pitcher. Cupping her hands, she splashed her face until she was gasping for breath. When at last she banished the cobwebs from her brain, she poured fresh water and scrubbed her body to rid it of his touch. She would not be fool enough to give him the chance to best her again. Angrily, she pulled a plain blue linen gown from the wardrobe and dressed quickly. Donning a shawl to cover her head, she let herself out of the room.

She made her way downstairs. The house was not yet astir and the hall was dim behind the shutters that had been drawn for the night. A freshening breeze rippled banyon leaves in the yard with a soft, rustling sound like paper rubbing against paper. She took the path to the stable and slipped inside. The pungent odor of dung and hay filled her nostrils as she went along the stalls to where the gray mare stood. The animal nickered softly and snuffled her hand as she held it out reassuringly. Carefully, she unlatched the stall and led the animal out. A soft rustling sound froze her in her tracks. She glanced around quickly and saw Rodney asleep in the hay box near the door. His face was still swollen where the lash had caught him, and his slender hands twitched in sleep. She prayed that Giles would not take his rage out on the lad again when he discovered her gone. She lifted a bridle from a nail, pressing it against her bosom so the metal would not clank and wake the sleeping stable boy. She would forgo a saddle. The ride to the beach was only a few miles and she could manage astride. She prayed that the plan that was slowly forming in her mind would not prove impossible.

She walked the horse several hundred feet along the path that led to the crest of the hill. By the time Giles woke, she would be gone. Anger churned as she thought of his obscene touch and his violation of her body. She hated him with every ounce of her strength, and she would see him dead before he ever touched her again! She suppressed a shudder and drew the mare close to a fallen tree so she could mount.

She was forced to ride slowly. The cumbersome skirt was bunched at her knees, and she laced her fingers through the animal's mane to steady herself. The horse's placid disposition made a nearly impossible task only difficult. She headed down the steep path that would bring her out above the Inner Port.

From time to time she glimpsed the slender masts of the Portuguese ships lying at anchor. Had the sampans to which the cargo had been unloaded already started their journey upriver? Even if they had not, she knew she faced a terrible risk in trying to board one and convince the steersman to take her along. But there was nowhere else to go! She had to make it.

At last the woods spilled out to the sandy beach and she rode across the wet sand at the low tide mark. The tide had not yet reversed its flow---she was in time. The boats would start upriver so the incoming tide would work in their favor, she was sure. When she reached a spot opposite the clipper she'd watched anchor the night before, she slid from the horse and ran to the water's edge. Waving her arms, she halloed.

The call went unanswered, and her heart sank. Were the boats deserted? No--she glimpsed a man near the stern tiller of a ferry flying the Jardine & Matheson emblem. She yelled again and waved frantically. The figure straightened, looked about, and she repeated the call. At last he saw her and stared curiously. She tried to signal that she wanted to come out to the boat, but it seemed no use. Another figure appeared beside the first. Exasperated, she stepped into the lapping waves to indicate she would swim to the boat if necessary, though the idea terrified her. She was not a swimmer, was not sure she could even stay afloat, but neither could she stay here. A voice behind her startled her so she almost toppled into surf.

"Hey, there! What the hell do y'think yer doin'?"

A burly sailor, arms akimbo, stood a few paces away. It was difficult to say if he was more shocked at seeing her or at her foolish plunge into the water. Her skirt slapped wetly about her legs and clung to her sodden shoes.

"I must get to one of the boats," she said quickly. She walked toward him with the heavy skirt dragging at every step.

"Where'd y'come from?" He looked around with a puzzled expression.

She ignored the question. "I must get to Canton. Are those ferries going there?"

He nodded almost reluctantly, as though afraid to be party to her folly. "Aye, but them's cargo ferries. Don't take no passengers."

"Can you take me out? Is there a boat?" She glanced along the shore hopefully. If he had come with the intention of returning to his ship, there had to be a boat some where!

He shook his head. "Aboard the Bela Vista. What's so important 'bout getting to Canton? Yer English--there's plenty English boats 'tother side the island."

She saw she was getting nowhere. Her request was too peculiar to be accepted readily, but to confide in a stranger might undo the advantage she now bad in being ahead of Giles. She decided on a bold tactic. Drawing herself up, she gave him a steely glance.

"My father is there. Tyler Temple. It may be you’ve heard of him."

"Aye. .. ." but his gaze said clearly that her story was suspect. If he had not been to Canton recently, he might not even be aware Temple had a daughter.

"My mother and I joined him a short time ago. We came on the Windrifter with Captain Sager." She saw he recognized the name. "My mother was killed in the riot at the factory last week. I buried her in the Protestant Cemetery here."

"I heard there was trouble," he said slowly, but he was still not convinced.

"If you will see that I get aboard one of the ferries and have passage to Canton, my father will reward you handsomely."

He looked skeptical, and Lorielle's temper flared. "At least take me out and let me try to persuade the ferryman!" She saw that the crew were readying to lift the anchor. "Must I swim?" She made a move toward the pounding surf and he stepped toward her quickly.

"Here, don't do nothin' foolish, girl!"

"Will you take me out?"

He heaved a huge sigh, then raised his fingers to his teeth and whistled three shrill notes. Almost instantly, a small boat put over the side of the sailing ship and two men began to row toward shore. Minutes later they plunged through the breakers and nosed the craft ashore.

"Lady wants to go to Canton," the sailor said with a stern look at the two men. "take 'er out to talk to Swithers." He held the gunwale as Lorielle scrambled aboard. He stood shaking his head as the boat rowed away.

Swithers was a rough, red-headed man with a perpetual smile created by a scar that ran upward from his mouth to his ear. He was in charge of the ferries, which would be putting out shortly. He knew her father, and he knew of Mandra Temple's death.

"A rotten shame," he declared. "Unpredictable heathen, never know when they're gonna take a notion to start somethin'."

"Will you take me?" Lorielle pleaded.

He hesitated. "Seems to me, miss, if you’ll pardon my saying it, your father must want you to stay here if he didn't make arrangements for your return. I don't want to cross him, not with him being so close to Mr. Jardine. I could be in a pack of trouble."

"I assure you, my father will welcome my return and thank you for your kindness. You are far more likely to incur his anger if you refuse to help me." She spoke with a boldness she didn't feel, but it convinced him. At last he nodded.

"All right, Miss Temple. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. You'll have to squeeze in there with those chests--we're loaded to the gunwales."

"Thank you, Mr. Swithers." With a smile, Lorielle clambered over the boxes and crates and found a seat atop a coiled line. She glanced back to the shore where the horse had wandered to a clump of low brush and was grazing. It would find its way home--or someone would recognize it and return it to Giles. Not that it mattered now that she was safely away from his clutches. She envisioned his temper when he could not find her. Giles Copeland be damned! She hoped she never saw him again.

She gazed at the narrow inlet into which the ferry was heading. Now that she was underway, the after effects of the excitement washed over her. She felt peculiarly depressed and irritable. Even her anger at Giles did not seem to warrant energy or consideration any longer. She leaned against a wooden crate and closed her eyes as she listened to the flapping of the sail.

Chapter 7

Jardine's ferry proved to be the simple operation William Jardine claimed, at least on the surface. Spencer made the trip to Whampoa with the early boat which was empty except for a watch of sailors due back aboard the White Rover and a few kegs of rum. The Dawnella was anchored in the reach between Dome Island and Whampoa, bobbing gently on the morning tide, her tall mast spiring against the fire of the rising sun. Bales of cotton, woolens, and furs were already being hoisted from the decks to several of Jardine's thirty-oar ferries and sampans.

"The Dawnella carries no opium?" Spencer inquired wryly.

Jardine laughed and winked broadly. "After yesterday's incident, I've no hankering to be set upon by the magistrate's men. The opium will be brought in when the time is right."

Again, Spencer wondered at his honesty. Jardine made no attempt to disguise the truth that opium was the staple of his trade, or that his precautionary measures were designed to temporarily allay the fears of the Chinese officials. Its sale to the Chinese by the country ships provided the funds to finance the Company's tea trade, and to halt the import would spell disaster. Moral issues did not concern him in the least; he was a man who counted everything in pounds and pence.

They returned to Canton by mid-afternoon. Tyler intercepted Spencer as he entered the factory.

"Mr. Raymond, I trust William aided your inquiry. We've accomplished little here today." He was red-eyed and weary, with drawn lines marring his face, but he forced a smile. "It occurs to me that you would be more comfortable in my house on Sanchou Road than here at the factory. I took the liberty of having your things taken over."

Spencer masked his surprise. "I assume I will still be welcome to pursue my inquires here?"

"Of course, of course--you have my fullest cooperation," Tyler assured him heartily. "I confess, my reasons are partly selfish." Lines furrowed his brow. "The house will seem empty with Mandra gone. It's a cruel blow to lose her so soon after we were reunited. I selected the house--" His voice broke and he looked away.

Spencer was silent as Tyer struggled to regain his composure. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow.

"Lorielle has gone to Macao to see to the funeral. I’ll be

rattling around in that large place alone."

"Lorielle is gone?" Disappointment rushed in a wave as Spencer realized how much he longed to see her again.

Tyler nodded. "This morning. No sense prolonging it."

"How long will she be away?" He tried to mask the disappointment in his voice but was not totally successful. Tyler studied him curiously.

"I can't say, Mr. Raymond. Without her mother here to guide her, I decided to grant permission for her wedding immediately. She'll want to have a bit of time with her husband before returning, I dare say."

Stunned, Spencer stared. Lorielle marrying--!

Tyler went on. "Giles will tame her wild spirit and, I must confess, relieve my mind. Lorielle has always been a rebellious child." He sighed. "With so much happening here, I don't have time for the parenting she needs. Her mother and I agreed it was time she settled into marriage. Nothing like it to set a woman on the right path."

Giles Copeland! The marriage had been arranged before Lorielle and her mother arrived. Had Lorielle known all along? And let him believe she returned his affection--his love? She had come willingly into his arms for comfort-- and never a word about a pending wedding. Anger filled the void of his heartache. Her kisses had meant nothing....

"I've work to do," Tyler said abruptly.' "I've given my men instructions to help you in any way they can, Mr. Raymond. Now if you'll excuse me? Until this evening. Perhaps we can enjoy a brandy and continue our talk. The servants are expecting you. Please make yourself at home."

Spencer nodded and stood staring after Tyler as he entered his office. A numbing cold settled over him. He'd been a fool to let his emotions run rampant and imagine that because Lorielle flirted and played coy games that she was interested in him. A lesson well learned, he told himself sternly. Well learned, but bitter to accept.

Spencer threw himself into his work with a zeal designed to drive Lorielle from his thoughts but it did not carry him past the barriers Tyler put in his way. Despite Tyler's promise of cooperation, Spencer found himself hindered subtly but impassably at every turn. Ledgers and accounts were in use. Men were too busy to take time to give him details and explanations of trade operations. Even his talks with Ty1er over brandy at the house on Sanchou Road skirted real issues and dwindled quickly to inconsequentials. He recognized the deliberate stalling tactics and bided his time observing and learning what he could from other sources. Since the riot, foreigners were staying close to their houses and the factories. The city settled to an uneasy quiet. In spite of the trouble, the magistrate had carried out the execution of the opium den keeper; his procession had made its way to a street behind the factories where, lacking the strangulation cross, he'd ordered the executioner to lop off the man's head. The severed head hung in a bamboo cage over the entrance to Hog Lane as a reminder to all who passed that the law would deal harshly with any who defied it.

As William Jardine predicted, Innes was banished to Macao, and for several days the Hong merchants refused to carry on the trade as long as foreign boats continued to bring opium up the Pearl River. Trade came to a standstill. Captain Elliot, who had arrived with Napier's ill-fated expedition and stayed to assume the post of Superintendent of Trade after Napier's death, decided on a bold move. He communicated with Viceroy Teng and offered his cooperation in clearing the smugglers from the river. Teng readily accepted the offer of foreign assistance to accomplish what he was unable to do alone. In a matter of days, the British boats at Whampoa set sail for Macao, and the trade was resumed.

During this time, Jardine was mysteriously absent from the Creek Factory. Spencer surmised that the enterprising merchant had found a way to circumvent the newest ban and was diverting opium to the coastal trade he claimed was unprofitable. Jardine was not a man to bow easily.

Spencer spent his time becoming acquainted with other merchants and inspecting factories. There was considerable gossip about Tyler delegating the responsibility of his wife's funeral to Giles Copeland, but it was tempered by an acknowledgment of his devotion to his work. He was a powerful man on the Canton scene, Spencer realized, second only to William Jardine. There were hints that he had interests in the illicit trade as well as the Company's. Large amounts of opium vanished from the go-downs at the British factory, but Spencer had not yet discovered what happened to them.

Though the Temple house was infinitely more comfortable than the factory, Spencer was haunted there by memories of Lorielle. He envisioned her in the quiet garden, sitting on a low stone bench with blossoms framing her face. And his tormented mind saw her in Giles Copeland's arms. He vowed that he would not remain in the house when they returned. By chance he discovered that one of the servants spoke English. The girl, Luan, had been hired as a personal maid for Lorielle but now spent most of her time in one of the compounds behind the main house except when Tyler came home. Spencer had heard the two conversing in low tones and seen Luan leave the master bedchamber early one morning. The girl's quickly downcast eyes told him Tyler was wasting no time in finding comfort for his loss of a bed partner. Was it possible the girl knew anything about Tyler's activities? The idea bore consideration.

On the sixth morning of his stay in the house, Spencer woke early but did not ring for tea. Tyer had come in late the night before and was annoyed to find Spencer still up. He'd professed weariness and gone immediately to his room, and Spencer had seen Luan slip quietly upstairs a short time later. Deliberately, Spencer lingered in the hall to listen to the muted sounds of their heated argument. The word "opium" came up more than once. Tyler was enraged at something the girl had done, that much was clear, and he shouted that this was the last time he would give in to her pleading. There'd been a sound of a blow, then silence except for the girl's soft whimpering and the noise of the bed creaking as Tyler claimed her savagely.

Now Spencer stood at the door of his bedroom watching the hall. The girl might hold the key to at least part of the mystery of Tyler's secrecy, and Spencer was determined to find out what he could. When Tyer's door opened stealthily, he pressed back as he watched Luan slip down the stairs, then quickly followed her. She went through the house and slipped out the back way, crossing the garden with hurried, dainty steps. She had something hidden in her tunic and darted frequent glances to be sure she wasn't seen. At the gate to a small courtyard, a Chinese in a blue nankeen jacket ran to meet her. She took a package from her tunic and gave it to him, babbling in a soft rush of Chinese that rose and fell like the tinkling of brass bells. The man's obvious relief at receiving the package quickly gave way to anger, and he began to berate the girl.

Spencer stepped from his hiding place. When Luan saw him, her eyes rounded with fear.

"What do you have there?" he demanded boldly, indicating the package. The man pushed it out of sight, but not before Spencer recognized the unmistakable shape of a tightly wrapped opium ball. When neither answered, he said, "Will the magistrate have the head of another opium dealer to hang in Hog Lane?"

The girl's pretty face blanched and her lip trembled. She glanced at the man, who was staring at Spencer in stony silence.

Spencer held out his hand. "Give me the package."

The man's eyes filled with contempt. He was younger than Spencer first judged, but his face was etched with hard lines.

"Who are you?" His English was accented but not

pidgin.

Luan said quickly, "He dwells at the house of my employer."

"Another merchant?" The young man's lips curled in a

scornful smile. "The muddled thinking of the Red Barbarians allows them to sell foreign dirt that destroys our people, yet they haggle over the actions of others."

"I sell opium to no one," Spencer said evenly.

The man darted a glance at Luan. She spoke quickly in Chinese. Spencer pushed the small advantage.

"Every man in the city has seen the head that rots in its cage at Hog Lane like a stinking bird. Would you have your own--or her"--he pointed at Luan-"head hang beside it?"

"I have done nothing," the girl whispered in a frightened tone. She hid her trembling hands in the sleeves of her tunic.

"You have given this man opium that comes from the foreign factory. Are you both prisoners of the drug's power so that you are willing to risk your lives for it?"

When the girl was too terrified to answer, the man came to her defense boldly. "My sister is innocent of evil. She is not a captive of the foreign mud, only of Mr. Temple," he said scornfully.

Hearing the venom in his voice, Spencer realized Tyler had an enemy here, and someone who hated Temple might be a useful ally.

"If she is innocent as you claim, you have nothing to fear from me. I seek the truth about the foreign mud so its trade can be halted or encouraged by my government."

Luan's brother looked wary. His dark gaze was piercing and cold. Spencer met it with matching intensity. This was the first crack he'd found in Tyler's armor; if he was dealing privately in the sale of opium, he was more of a fool than Spencer imagined. Did he think himself above the law? Had greed caused him to throw caution to the wind? Luan's eyes implored her brother. She was thoroughly frightened now, her serenity marred by a hunted look.

The man almost spat. "The foreign devils whelp promises as worthless as stones cast in the river. The Sinister Tongue makes a concubine of the daughter of my honorable parents and sends you to put trembling in my sister's heart."

"I speak for myself, not for Temple," Spencer said evenly. "It is my word I give." It was a gamble--the girl might relate everything to Tyler--but Spencer knew the man was wavering.

"Your words rustle the leaves on the mountaintop but do not touch my ears."

"Will you have your sister weep when your head hangs above the Lane?''

The girl spoke in a strained whisper.' "Tse Hi, do not anger him. Mr. Temple himself fears the fair-headed one come to watch him."

So his presence had alarmed Tyler. Valentine's letter had not deceived him.

"No foreign devil strikes fear in my heart!" Tse Hi snarled. 'They will soon be driven from our land with their vessels--" He broke off and turned to the gate. Spencer blocked his path.

"Give me the package and you are free to go." Tse Hi's fist moved so quickly Spencer scarcely had time to deflect the blow. He grabbed the man's wrist. For several seconds, they faced each other in unbridled antagonism. Tse Hi's eyes mirrored contempt but he did not flinch.

"Do not hurt him--" Luan pleaded. Spencer wasn't sure if the words were for him or his opponent. "It is not my intention," he said, peering at Tse Hi. "You speak wisely but you speak empty words born in a brain addled with opium."

Tse Hi sneered. "I do not smoke the poison you bring!"

"Then why do you risk your life for a parcel of it?"

Tse Hi set his jaw and fell silent. Luan watched them fearfully. At last Spencer released his hold on her brother's arm. "Go then. I cannot help you if you wish to destroy yourself."

Tse Hi stood a moment, then spoke to his sister in Chinese before he darted out the gate and vanished among the paths of the rear courtyard. Spencer turned to the trembling Luan.

"I will say nothing of this, but it would not be wise to undertake such a venture again. Don't let your affection for your brother lead you to destruction."

"He does not smoke the pipe," she whispered, shaking her head so that her black hair gleamed against the blue brocaded silk tunic.

"Where does he take the opium then?"

She moistened her lips nervously, but before she could speak, a raucous call from the house made her draw her breath sharply.

"I must go, my mistress has returned. My humble thank you, Fair One." With a tiny bow, she ran down the path and disappeared among the gnarled dwarf trees and pagodas.

Spencer stared after her. Her mistress? Lorielle--! His heart bounded at a mad pace until he remembered that she was wed to Giles. His breath stabbed painfully. He could not torture himself by seeing them together when she belonged in his arms. He turned toward the front gate, but his steps faltered. Neither could he deny himself a glimpse of her ... a word. Slowly he turned to follow Luan.

A disheveled, weary Lorielle stood in the hall. Giles was nowhere in sight. Spencer's heart wrenched as he wondered how Copeland had allowed his bride to come to such a sorry state. She turned and saw him.

"Spencer!" Her eyes widened with delight, and she flung herself into his arms, burying her face in his coat, holding him tight.

For a moment, be forgot the misery of the past days and that she was no longer his. He pressed his face in the silken mane of her hair and savored her warm softness. Trembling, she looked up with a wavering smile. Her eyes were moist with tears.

"How glad I am to see you!" The nightmare was over, she felt his strength ebb into her. She had escaped Giles and survived the horrible trip north on the ferry, and she was in Spencer's arms again. But instead of the warm welcome she expected, he seemed withdrawn and reserved.
Trembling doubt filled her.

"I dared hope you would be glad to see me."

It took every ounce of his strength not to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the sanctuary of his room. But she was another man's wife. He released her slowly.

"Has your husband returned with you?"

She paled. So her father had announced the news of the wedding! She bristled. "The wedding did not take place!" she said savagely.

His heart leaped. She had not married Giles! He reached to take her in his arms again, but she drew back, her face twisted with fury.

"Where is my father? I will settle this matter once and for all!" She turned to the stairs where Luan was watching guardedly.' "Where is he?" she demanded.

The servant whispered, "I do not know. .."

Lorielle whirled to Spencer again, her eyes blazing. "No matter what my father has announced, I am not wed to Giles Copeland nor will I ever be!" Suddenly the frustration of the past few days broke the dam of her resolve. A fresh spate of tears welled in her eyes and moved in silvery trails down her cheeks. She trembled with exhaustion as she wept.

Spencer was beside her in a stride, gathering her into his arms. "Lorielle... Lorielle..." He whispered her name in a prayer of thanksgiving. She had not gone out of his life forever! He held her close as he murmured against the sweetness of her delicate face, scarcely able to believe that fate had not dealt its wicked blow. A monstrous burden lifted from his spirit, and his heart leaped as he recalled how Lorielle had rushed into his arms the moment she saw him. He stroked her hair tenderly and her cheek, brushing away the warm tears. When he could contain his happiness no longer, he raised her face and found her lips. They were trembling and salty with tears.

"I don't understand the miracle that brought you back to me, my sweet, but I shall never let you go again." He smiled intimately and put a finger to her face to lift the corners of her mouth in a wan smile. "That's better. Whatever you have endured is in the past now that you are in my arms again." He brushed away another tear from her cheek and sought her lips. Her trembling ceased and she melted against him. His gentle kiss was met ... and welcomed...and quickly slipped beyond the bounds of tenderness to passion. She clung to him eagerly, and he felt the warm pressure of her bosom at his chest. Desire stirred and outweighed all logic. He released her mouth reluctantly and glanced at Luan, who was watching them with an unreadable expression.

Wordlessly, he led Lorielle to the stairs and up. Luan darted toward the kitchen, but he did not call after her. Nothing mattered but that Lorielle was in his arms. As they entered her room, she hesitated momentarily and searched his face. She discovered such tenderness in his expression, her conscience wavered. It was wrong to be alone with him here, wrong to feel such joy at being close to him-- As though reading her thoughts, he drew her to him again and fastened his lips over hers. His tongue drew sensuous patterns on her mouth as she tried to voice her doubts, stilling them so effectively the words were driven from her brain. She clung to him, her hands exploring the wide expanse of his shoulders, his taut neck. She felt the hard pressure of his maleness swell urgently, and she was not afraid.

A soft tap at the door forced Spencer to release her. When he opened the door, Luan spoke hastily.

"Mr. Temple has left for the factory. I will warn you if he returns." She bowed her head and glided off before he could thank her.

Lorielle was watching him with wondering eyes as he took her in his arms again. "You have the power to send me away," he said gently.

She moistened her lips. A harsh, dim memory of Giles laying claim to her unwilling body marred her serenity. If Spencer discovered she was not the innocent virgin he believed, would he hate her? Would her happiness be destroyed so soon after she'd won it? She wanted to tell him everything, but her lips were silent as she lowered her gaze.

The doubt and pain in her face made Spencer's heart ache. Her experiences the past few days had been cruel, and he was sure her anger at Giles was caused by more than the announcement of wedding plans. Rage built in his chest, but he forced it down. She was here, and he longed to erase the fear that put sadness in her eyes.

"Lorielle?"

A rosy blush warmed her cheeks as she met his gaze.

"Will you send me away?" When she did not answer, he took her in his arms again, all doubt gone.

His lips, warm and seeking, pressed against her temple, then moved slowly down her face in a tender trail of kisses. Lorielle shivered with breathless wonder, and her lips parted of their own volition, welcoming his sweet tongue. She longed for his touch. The stirring of desire that began as a rippling wave deep in her core became a blind need for fulfillment. She could not send him away. ...

His hand moved across the smooth line of her dress, grazing her breast, then lingering warm and knowingly. She sighed as his fingers traced the intimate outline of her bosom and came to the stiffening peak. Her body felt light and tingling as waves of passion swept her. She was aware of his fingers at the fastenings of her dress, the wonder of his hand on her naked flesh as he let the garment fall from her shoulders. Slowly, as though in a dream, they moved toward the bed and he lowered her. Her garments vanished magically. She abandoned herself to his caresses as a slow, steady throb filled the length of her body and settled in her belly like a glowing ember. For an instant, the ugly memory of Giles threatened to spoil her pleasure, but it was erased by Spencer's intimate discovery of her flesh. Her hands crept up his torso, surprised momentarily to find it unclothed, then savoring the hard rippling muscles of his back and arms. His lips nibbled at her throat and moved sensuously downward, pausing at her breasts, first one, then the other, until she writhed ecstatically. Then, his warm tongue tortured her belly exquisitely. He murmured her name and she whispered his softly in answer.

He brought his mouth back to her lips. "Will you send me away, Lorielle?"

In answer, she clasped his head between her bands and demanded his lips once more. Gently, he parted her thighs and positioned himself between them. Her throbbing flesh welcomed him as their bodies joined in a torment of ecstasy. He moved gently and surely until her body responded with the passion that had lain dormant so long within her. As his stroking became more urgent, her body trembled and seemed to hover at the edge of a precipice. She cried out his name, swept into a rushing stream of fulfillment that made her senses reel. She soared on golden wings kissed by the sun and bathed by a gentle wafting breeze. After an eternity, she began to drift slowly to earth and became aware of Spencer leaning over her, brushing a

fingertip across her lips.

"Sleep now, my love, sleep. .. ."

She closed her eyes and drifted into oblivion.

William Jardine's mood was black. He insisted on a private conference with Tyler as soon as he entered the factory.

"Lin has been appointed Commissioner!" he fumed. "He's been given full authority to inspect the offices of the Viceroy--even the Governor--to put an end to the squeeze and to curtail the opium traffic!"

Tyler muttered an oath. Lin was an honest man, and a dangerous one. During his years as Governor General of the province he'd proved his incorruptibility and his dedication to the Emperor tenfold. As Commissioner, he'd undertake a crusade that might destroy everything Tyler had struggled for so long.

"The report is official?"

Jardine nodded, pulling a cigar from his pocket and biting the end from it with a sharp twist. "I had the report from Teng himself. A letter arrived at the Petition Gate only an hour ago. Changqua's already called a meeting of the Hong. The prospect of an outsider taking charge has them running to cover their tracks and leave us holding the bag. I don't need to tell you what that will mean."

Gnawing fear turned Tyler’s stomach sour. If Jardine was worried, the picture was grimmer than he'd realized. He'd heard that Lin Tse-Hsu had been summoned to the Imperial Court to discuss his views on the drug problem. The Emperor was losing patience with Cantonese officials as well as the foreigners, but no one really expected such a radical thrust of his sword. Lin was a dangerous man because he could not be manipulated.

"How much time have we before he arrives?"

Jardine shrugged. "He's already en route. A week or two, no more. Elliot's heard the news and is running scared. He's threatening to take our boats off the river again. He feels obliged to take a stand against the smuggling in order to protect his position at home. I don't have to tell you what it means if he does."

He won't be able to support such an unpopular decision," Tyler said hopefully. "Lin won't get far."

"Don't be too sure," Jardine answered grimly. "With the Court solidly behind him, he won't be satisfied with a few petty arrests or seizures. He's seen what happened to Teng and the others, and he'll be careful not to make the same mistakes. His greed is for power, not money. If he disdains the bribes we offer, he's got us by the short hairs. I'm seeing Changqua this afternoon. I intend to get my tea aboard and out of the bay before the new Commissioner arrives. I wouldn't put it past him to blockade the river and cut us off." He peered at Tyler. "You'd be wise to move quickly as well, my friend. If we get a drop on the others, we may be able to ride out the dust storm Lin will raise with his new broom."

"I have two thousand chests--"

Jardine snorted. "And I four thousand. I've been up the coast and was forced to take a short profit to get rid of the rest. However, I don't intend to have my throat cut from both sides. The faster I get my tea out, the safer I’ll feel. I've all the arrangements made to go home shortly--and I want to do so with full pockets." He cocked his head and peered at Tyler. "Another blockade of the river would put a serious crimp in your plans as well as mine."

Tyler pursed his lips thoughtfully. Lin's arrival would complicate many things. Like the cargo of the clipper Montrose, due in a fortnight. If the Company could not unload, it risked falling into Chinese hands without payment. Unless ... he realized suddenly he was toying with the notion of diverting it. A fortune could be made. He would be able to retire from the trade immediately, like Jardine. He tried to calculate the return on a thousand chests siphoned directly into his own operation. Until now he and Giles had restricted their illicit dealings to a paltry percentage whose disappearance from the factory could be covered. But a thousand, even at a low price, represented a fortune since the Company would be none the wiser. With Lin thundering about, an entire cargo could be claimed lost one way or another. He felt a growing excitement.

"I appreciate the advice," he said, "and you can be sure I'll act on it. I'll arrange to see Changqua and push for immediate delivery of our purchases. I fancy he'll be eager to complete as many of his transactions as possible before Lin arrives. The Hong stands to lose as much as we."

Jardine rose. "Keep me informed." He started for the door, then turned. "What about Spencer Raymond?"

Tyler had all but forgotten Spencer on hearing Jardine's news. He pursed his lips. "I'm having him watched. So far he's learned nothing that any Company wife might not hear at the dinner table."

"I don't have to remind you, Tyler, that I want none of his interference in my operations. I’ve let him see enough to forestall questions for now, but I’ve been too outspoken here and at home about my policies to attempt to cover them for now. And with Lin coming, Raymond’s poking about could complicate matters."

"I have Barrington keeping him occupied. He seems content."

"Be sure he stays that way." With a curt nod, Jardine let himself out.

Tyler sat lost in thought for a long while. The idea of pirating the Montrose's cargo to his own growing smuggling trade obsessed him. Even at the current lower-than-average price per chest, the profit would be a fortune! If he could do it without Giles, there'd be no need to share his windfall. A few expenses, perhaps, but that was all. The danger would be enormous but worth the risk. It was an opportunity that came to a man once in a lifetime. All he had to do was grab it. It would take careful planning ... only a few contacts could be trusted, but he'd exploit them fully. And he would move quickly, that was imperative.

With relief, he remembered that Giles was in Macao. Sending him away with Lorielle had solved the pressing matters of the funeral and wedding. Now his absence was doubly pleasant because it gave Tyler time to set his budding plan in motion unobserved. How long would Giles and Lorielle dally on their wedding trip? Since Giles thought everything in Canton was moving smoothly, he might indulge his lust for Lorielle for sometime.

Eagerly Tyler reached for a pen and length of foolscap and began to make notes.

Chapter 8

Luan stepped from behind a delicately painted rice-paper screen near the head of the stairs as Spencer Raymond came along the hall.

"Lorielle is sleeping," he said with a reassuring smile.

Luan inclined her head with a solemn look, her eyes no longer haunted. She was comfortable in his presence, despite her earlier fears. Had he not kept his word not to speak of the encounter with Tse Hi in the garden? And had she not seen with her own eyes the adoration he felt for Lorielle as well as the contempt for her father?

"Does her father know she has returned?"

She made a quick negative movement with her head. "He has gone to the factory, Fair One," she murmured. She marveled at his manner, so unlike that of the Sinister Tongue. The Fair One spoke as he would to a female of rank privileged to ride in a sedan chair; Temple's tone was a constant reminder that he had paid a paltry price for her and she was not worthy of esteem.

"Watch over her," Spencer said gently. "See that she is not disturbed. And if Giles Copeland returns--" He left the thought unspoken. He would tend to Copeland himself with the greatest of pleasure. If he ever touched Lorielle again... Spencer reined his murderous thoughts with difficulty. Copeland had Tyler's backing and support. It would not be an easy matter to keep him away from Lorielle.

"I will guard her like the delicate new blossom of a white lily."

Spencer regarded her closely. It was a comfort to know that Lorielle would not be alone, and that Luan would be close by if danger came. But would the slim child-woman be able to stand against Tyler's demands?

Luan lowered her gaze and spoke hesitantly. "Will the Fair One tell the master of the house that my brother ventured on forbidden grounds?" Her voice trembled and she slid her hands into the sleeves of her silk san in a humble pose.

Surprised, Spencer studied her. "Why is Tsi Hi forbidden here?"

Her lips trembled. She was torn between wanting to trust him and her fear of Temple. Finally her concern for her brother overrode her reluctance. "He leads those who would drive the foreigners from our land and consign their opium to the sea. The Sinister Tongue and the Iron Headed Old Rat have sworn to search him out and destroy him. If my master learns he comes here, he will lay a snare."

"But your brother dares come to get the foreign mud nevertheless?" The scene in the garden became more puzzling. If Tse Hi feared for his own safety as well as his sister's, risking both for a parcel of opium seemed a foolish move.' "To whom does he take the opium?" Spencer asked.

She drew a tremulous breath and could not meet his gaze. "Our father. Have mercy, Fair One, do not tell--"

"I must know the truth so I cannot be tricked into speaking unwisely." Spencer put a gentle hand to Luan's chin and forced her to look at him. "Tell me about your father."

Pain filled her eyes and they glinted with tears. "He is old and cannot unshackle the devil that binds him. His body and mind are poisoned by his need for the pipe. He cannot bear the pain of living without it. My heart weeps at his pitiful state." A tear slid over her lashes. "His mind is beclouded. He can only lift his head to beg for the smoke that gives him dreams of peace. He sold the treasures of our house to pay for his opium. When there were no more, he sold me." There was no bitterness in her voice, only despair.

So that was Tyler's hold over the girl. He'd bought her as he would a load of tea. Exchanged a young girl's life for an old man's peaceful death.

Luan continued in a trembling voice. "Now the Sinister Tongue says that his debt to my father is paid and he will give no more foreign mud. I am forced to beg. Each time it becomes more difficult to convince my master. Soon he will not listen to my entreaties at all ... and my father will pass into the next world with a tormented soul and body." The tears trailed down her pale cheeks and her lashes glistened.

Spencer touched her face gently. "Your secret is safe. You can trust my word as surely as you have reason to doubt your master's." He smiled. "Warn your brother to take no more foolish risks. Temple might easily discover his presence as I did."

She stared unblinking. 'Tse Hi's heart is filled with anger and he does not listen to the words of a woman."

'Then you must convince him to listen to me. I will find a way to help you both--and your father. Trust me." He looked at her questioningly but once again she had retreated behind a solemn gaze that threw up a wall between them. Was she already doubting the wisdom of revealing so much? He did not press the issue. When she had time to think it over, he was sure she would know it was the only course open to her.

"Take care." With a last glance at Lorielle's door, Spencer hurried down the stairs and left the house.

The factory had come alive after the subdued activity in the aftermath of the riot. The doors of the go-downs were flung open, and the passageway along Hog Lane was jammed with carts onto which bales of wool and cotton were being loaded. Coolies bent under the weight of shoulder poles, formed a steady procession as agile youthful workers scrambled like crabs atop the slowly diminishing mountains of stores. Two clerks on high stools marked tallies under Barrington's watchful eye. Barrington glanced up when Spencer appeared in the doorway but dismissed him with a curt nod.

Spencer wondered what had brought on the sudden spate of trade. Obviously Tyler had struck a deal with the Hong and was eager to empty his storerooms. Did it mean that Changqua would deliver the consignments of tea and that the ships riding anchor at Whampoa would set sail soon? That's what Tyler had been pushing for, but the sudden rush now seemed incongruous with the lazy pace of the past week.

He moved away. The largest go-downs had never been locked to him, and a cursory inspection had revealed that these were the warehouses of the Company's ostensible legitimate trade. Not one chest of opium was stored there. Opium chests were concealed in smaller go-downs at the rear of the building. He made his way there now and found one door unlocked. Inside, a more subdued scene was taking place.

The room was deep in shadows; the shutters were drawn across the windows and the doors to the street were closed. Oil lamps swung on brass chains, filling the air with the pungent odor of smoke and casting a mealy light among the unmistakable chests of opium. Half a dozen coolies shuffled silently as they stacked tightly wrapped balls of opium onto dish-like carriers roped for shoulder poles. As each was filled, it was carefully covered by a length of linen, then topped with bundles of straw. An effective disguise against curious glances.... Tyler was moving out opium under cover.

"Hey there--!" Barrington's voice boomed.

Spencer turned to meet the man's frigid stare.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Raymond." A scowl creased Barrington's brow. "You’ll have to stand aside. We've no time this morning to aid your inquiries. The Hong's finally busted loose from their dragon chairs and consented to release our tea. The sooner we deliver our loads of cotton and wool, the sooner we'll have the tea chests aboard the ferries. Makes for a damned lot of extra work havin' the tea brought here like this, but they say our bargain don't include bringing it round to the wharf."

Spencer smiled apologetically and stepped aside as Barrington entered the go-down and closed the door firmly. The man was obviously embarrassed at being caught and lying clumsily. He was no doubt accountable, no matter who had been responsible for leaving the door unguarded. The departure of the opium was not meant to be general knowledge. Barrington's neck would be on the block if 'I'yler discovered his lapse of precaution. Spencer was certain that in spite of the crackdown, Tyler had found a way to sell his supply of the illegal drug. Had he made a private deal with Changqua or someone else in the Hong?

Corrupt officials might be bribed to risk one last consignment before bowing to the Emperor's edict, but they would exact their own profit without concern for the foreigners. Somehow Spencer could not accept the probability that Tyler would agree to clear his warehouse for a meager sum. No, Tyler had found a deal more to his liking and purse. Otherwise why hide the opium apart from the Company's other stores? Indeed, why risk bringing it directly into Canton at all7 It had already cost lives, and Tyler would see that the Chinese paid dearly.

Even Jardine had played a close hand this past week, seemingly devoting his ferries and trade to goods to which the Chinese did not object. If he was selling opium, he was doing it without arousing attention. Likely Tyler was planning to do the same, but Spencer had not been able to trace his movements. The opium was still in the factory, but it would not be for long judging by Barrington's sudden spurt of activity.

Spencer made his way upstairs and found a vacant room which afforded a view of both the rear door of the factory and the narrow outlet of the passage to Hog Lane. The opium would have to be brought through one exit or the other. Would Barrington escort it himself? Or Tyler? He'd risk being seen if he followed, but he was impatient with the slow progress of his investigation. If Tyler and the others were being forced to bow to 'the Emperor's demands to halt the traffic, this might be his only opportunity to uncover the truth. One thing was sure, neither Tyler nor Barrington would let the cache leave the factory unescorted.

He stood at the window for an hour listening to the sounds below. Once he heard Ty1er shout but was unable to distinguish the words. Other voices mingled, rose and fell, until at last the outer doors of the large go-down were flung open and the loaded carts emerged. The procession, flanked on all sides by Company sentinels, moved slowly through Hog Lane toward Thirteen Factories Street. Barrington was in the lead and his teaser snapped sharply to clear the way through the crowded street. As the line of coolies passed beneath the window, Spencer realized that the door of the go-down directly below had opened; coolies with the disguised loads of opium were slipping out to melt into the caravan.

So that was it. Barrington would move them out under cover of the larger delivery to the Consoo House. Spencer let himself out and sprinted down the stairs. He reached Thirteen Factories Street as the last cluster of coolies emerged from the Lane. Staying a safe distance behind, he had no difficulty following the straggling parade. And because he knew what to look for, he saw the opium bearers peel away from the line unobtrusively and set off down a narrow alley on a back street. He waited in the shadows until Barrington, who had led the way, rounded the corner of one building and headed toward the creek.

He followed at a safe distance, pressing through the crowd of peddlers and wanderers that closed quickly be hind the procession. He had little knowledge of this sector of the city that nestled against the ancient wall. There were myriad passageways and narrow streets in which Barrington might be swallowed up with his procession of bearers. Several times, Spencer thought he had lost his quarry, only to glimpse them again in the milling crowd. He pushed as close as he dared, hoping Barrington was too engrossed in holding his entourage together to worry about being followed.

They came to the southwest corner of the ancient wall, and the procession angled onto a shabby lane that came out near a large gate. The gateway was a magnificent rounded splash of color in the expanse of gray wall. Topped with brilliant blue tiles, the arched portal had carved columns and a richly carved frieze inlaid with gold leaf and painted with bright red and green dyes that had withstood centuries of heat and cold. The heavy iron geometric grillwork of the gates was painted blood red; beyond them, a noisy square was surrounded by small houses where the local mandarins took their rest and considered whether or not petitions being presented were worthy of acceptance.

Barrington’s party plodded past the gate and set out down a crooked street that penetrated a warren of shabby establishments. Spencer stepped from the pathway to avoid being noticed as Barrington hesitated before turning another angle of the narrow street. Close by, a woman in dark robes and a shawl covering her head blocked Spencer's way. Her head was bowed over a fistful of joss sticks, and she babbled softly as she entered a dim joss house and began to arrange her offering. Four ragamuffin children crowded behind her. Spencer almost pitched headlong over a solemn-eyed lad of knee height who stared at him with fearful eyes. The child darted past Spencer as his mother lighted the first stick and began to intone her prayer.

By the time Spencer reached the turnoff Barrington had taken, the procession had vanished. Cursing silently, he walked cautiously down the dank lane. A dozen doors faced the narrow passageway, all closed. The egress at the far end gave onto a rubbish heap where rats scurried amid filth and rotting garbage, and the stench was overpowering. Spencer grimaced and walked slowly back. He paused at each door to listen for telltale sounds that might indicate Barrington's presence, but the clamor from the street near the Petition Gate was an effective mask. To try the doors would be foolhardy--he might come face to face with the man he'd been following surreptitiously. Resigned, he returned to the end of the lane and stood ankle-deep in garbage to wait.

The odor of the heap seemed to permeate his clothes, his being, but he set his mind resolutely. From time to time he shuffled his feet to discourage the curious rats attracted by a fresh scent. A horde of huge cockroaches scurried across the wall like panicked soldiers. The sun beating on the stinking heap created an oppressive oven in the cramped space, but he willed himself to endure it. At long last his suffering was rewarded.

A door opened and coolies, their backs bent under the weight of their shoulder poles, padded out slowly. Barrington was right behind them. From the close watch he kept on the men, Spencer knew the baskets no longer held opium but silver.

So Tyler had sold his opium privately, not through the Hong ... unless one of the enterprising merchants also ran a private business away from the Consoo House.

He waited a full minute after Barrington disappeared. Now that his suspicions about Tyler were proven, his conscience was uneasy. Lorielle would be drawn into any scandal he exposed, catapulted into the dangerous game her father had chosen to play. Still, there were many like Tyler who dealt illegally whenever they could. It testified to the corruption of English and Chinese alike, and to the wicked grip opium had on the native population.

He slipped from his hiding place and started down the lane, when suddenly a dark figure stepped from a doorway. The hairs at Spencer's neck prickled and he tensed, ready to do battle at the first indication of trouble. He clenched his fists as the man turned and stared challengingly. His features were obscured by the gray-black shadows, but his padded garments marked him as Chinese. Spencer gauged his chances of passing without confrontation. A foreigner alone in the Chinese sector was fair game to any footpads bent on thievery. Did the man have cohorts waiting? The doorway had been empty a moment ago. How long had the man been watching? There'd been no sound, no movement to give away his presence when Barrington had passed. There was no retreat through the foul garbage heap.

Spencer drew a breath and walked on boldly, keeping a wary eye on the shadowed figure. They were almost abreast before he recognized Tse Hi's sullen face.

"The Fair One who does not sell opium visits the Street of Many Pipes," Tse Hi said scornfully. His eyes glinted as coldly as a winter sunrise.

"As does the opium dealer who is willing to risk his sister's head." He met Tse Hi's hard glare. A small tic at the corner of his jaw betrayed his anger.

"You sing the song of the mocking bird, yet you come to this place with foreign mud from the Sinister Tongue. My sister is a fool to trust your words."

His tone was bold, but Spencer detected a subtle change in his manner. Was it possible that Tse Hi did not discount his sister's faith, no matter how much he ridiculed it?

"Your sister trusts my heart, which she knows is generous and honest. She has told me about your father."

Surprise and anger ripped away Tse Hi's mask. Anger blazed in his eyes. "You lie!"

Spencer smiled sardonically.' 'How else would I know that your parent barely has the strength to lift his head from his couch to light his pipe? Or that your father sold Luan to the Sinister Tongue as concubine in exchange for opium? And that Temple now claims his debt is paid and he owes the house of Kwang nothing!"

Tse Hi was visibly shaken. His mouth opened, then closed wordlessly, and his piercing gaze studied Spencer. The red devil spoke truth that only Luan could have imparted. Still, he had threatened and put fear in Luan's heart. Had he forced her to tell him these things? She was strong, but no woman could withstand the pain of a bamboo sliver or a hot iron. Yet despite his suspicions, Tse Hi found his own trust in the Fair One growing. He had not called the guards, nor dragged the lowly trespasser before the master of the house; Tse Hi had lingered on Sanchou Road long enough to determine that. The Sinister Tongue had departed for the factory at his accustomed time without urgency.

Spencer said calmly, "Your sister's wise not to judge hastily." He saw that Tse Hi was wavering in his determination to brand him as one of the hated foreigners, though it was a difficult decision for one who had been betrayed and deceived in the past. Spencer pushed on relentlessly.

"You accuse me of coming here with opium, but you do not come here by chance, my friend. Have you kept a watchful eye because you knew the opium would arrive? Perhaps you have plans to steal it. .. ."

Tse Hi's temper flared again. "I followed--"

"Ah, then you know that I was not part of the caravan but also followed it." Spencer grinned at catching the man in his game of accusation.

Tse Hi glanced away momentarily, then frowned. "Why do you follow the Sinister Tongue's envoy?" he asked curiously.

The time for pretense was over. Either Tse Hi trusted him or not; there was no point in trying to cover his trail now. "I wanted to learn what became of the opium. The Emperor's edict forbids its sale, but the Sinister Tongue," he savored Temple's nickname, "declares himself more powerful than the Emperor's brush" He glanced toward the narrow, dark doorway Barrington had used. "What place is this?"

'The house of Pon Kwok, keeper of a den of opium. It was here my father first discovered the pleasures of the pipe." Tse Hi's voice had a razor edge as his gaze settled on Spencer malevolently.

The name meant nothing to Spencer. There were hundreds of opium dens in the city, and in each someone's father, or husband, or son, found his first smoke-filled dreams. Some older men who had taken their pleasure with the pipe over many years never departed these rooms, but paid a sum to be kept close to the source of their pleasure. He asked Tse Hi if such was the case with his father.

"No!" Anger edged his voice again. "I have taken my father home. A man should not die among evil doers who would hasten him to his ancestors."

"Yet you continue to give him opium. ...

Tse Hi expelled air slowly. 'To deny him would kill him."

Spencer frowned. Surely that was an exaggeration, a concession to the drug-addled brain of the addict. Men died from smoking opium, not from breaking the habit. Yet Luan had spoken similar words.

"He has taken the poison for many years. His strength melts away like snow on a mountaintop until only the bare branches of his soul are trapped inside the tree of life. He will die soon ... let it be peacefully."

Spencer was moved by the quiet eulogy and Tse Hi's reverence for life ... and death. That he could be so violently opposed to opium and everything it stood for, yet risk his life and principles to obtain a supply for his dying father, was an enigma of Oriental logic.

Tse Hi brushed aside sentiment and spoke in a knife edged tone. "Have you witnessed the destruction opium brings the frail body of mortal men? Have you seen for yourself the power of the poison? I think not, Fair One, or you would have no doubt of its evil" He'd retreated behind hatred once more; Spencer was the enemy.

"Show me," Spencer challenged. "If I cannot know without seeing, open my eyes."

Tse Hi regarded him coldly. "Foreigners cringe from the ugly sight."

"I am willing to see."

They regarded each other challengingly. It was a pitting of wills that had to be resolved if they were to be friends--or enemies. Spencer could do nothing without the whole truth. At last Tse Hi broke the silence.

"Come." He turned to the door of Pon Kwok's house and rapped. A moment later, the door eased open a crack and Tse Hi spoke rapidly in Chinese. The door swung to admit them.

A stooped, frail old man in a crimson san and black trousers led them down a long, narrow corridor. There was no light except for a single lantern fixed to a bracket at a halfway point and a blur of mealy yellow where the hall opened to the shop. A thousand odors clung in the stale, close air, giving it the rank climate of a musty cave. When they reached the room at the end of the hall, the old man slipped away silently, leaving Tee Hi and Spencer alone in the den. No, not alone. As Spencer glanced around, he be came aware that the room was filled with men. Along each wall, a row of low couches were separated by curtains. They were covered with straw mattresses and embroidered silk throws. On each, a figure lay sideways, head propped on a round pillow. Nestled close in the curve of each body, spirit lamps glowed eerily, their flames licking softly at the hazy glow.

Tse Hi led him to a couch and pointed at the occupant, The man was rotund and wore a crimson robe covered with a filigree of fine stitching in gold. His shaven head glistened around a tight queue, and his face was placid. He seemed unaware of their presence as he prepared a pipe. With a long needle, he took up a drop of opium from a glazed bowl and held it over the flickering flame of the lamp. His gaze fixed on it as though it might somehow vanish as he watched the globule gradually turn pale and soften. When it bubbled and began to sputter, he carefully transferred it from the point of the needle to the blackened bowl of his cane pipe. Its stem was about seventeen inches in length with a turned mouthpiece of buffalo horn. Six inches of the opposite end were encased in copper beautifully inlaid with silver; a handsomely embossed clay bowl about three inches in diameter and resembling a flattened turnip was set in a round copper socket midway along the stem. Leaning like one in a trance, the smoker tipped the bowl over the flame, put the mouthpiece to his lips and inhaled deeply, then lay back on his pillow to savor the full effect of the smoke drawn into his lungs. The drop of opium was consumed after three puffs; the man immediately took up another. When it had burned, the pipe slipped from his fingers as he drifted euphorically, oblivious to the two men staring down at him.

"He has smoked many pipes," Tse Hi said scornfully. "He sees rainbows converge to the spots of a peacock's tail and believes he sees heaven in the smoke." He turned angrily. "Only a fool sees life in the hues of changeable silk. Soon there will be no reality left for him" He waved a hand around the room. "All of them. They will hide in their dreams until death comes."

Spencer was still watching the man on the couch. He had the peaceful look of one who had dropped the cares of everyday life, one calm and content. None of the horrors that Tse Hi had described were evident in his peaceful expression or round figure. He might be sated with an excellent dinner and one-too-many snifter of fine brandy. Before Spencer could comment, Tse Hi drew him to a narrow doorway that led to another room similar to the first in size, but gloomier and stark. Instead of couches, two tiers of planks stood against the walls and in the center of the room like open coffins. The men occupying them were breathing cadavers, with sunken faces and emaciated limbs protruding from their rumpled clothing. Each bed was equipped with a small bracket for the spirit lamp, and each man's hand was not far from his pipe and bowl of opium They were inert and lost in their reveries. From time to time, one roused long enough to fix a pipe with shaking hand, inhale, then sink back tranquilly. Spencer stared wordlessly, filled with disgust and pity.

"When the habit becomes the master, Pon Kwok allows his customers to live out their days here—if they have the means to pay the price of his opium," Tse Hi said. He looked at Spencer. "They are the living dead."

"Do none escape?" It seemed incredible that men would give themselves up so completely to the siren's call, if they knew what lay at the end of the journey. It was like deliberately steering into the eye of a hurricane.

"Only if they see the folly sooner than these wretches. For them it is too late." Cold condemnation filled Tse Hi's eyes once more. "These are men of honorable families, yet they are content to die among strangers as long as they can have their dreams. If they cannot pay, they die in agony or survive in madness." He glanced around as a wretched moan pierced the quiet. A smoker thrashed as a nightmare intruded on his dreams.

"Even the peace they seek is an illusion," he said. Looking at Spencer, he sneered. "Now that you see, do you believe?" The disdain returned to his face as though he expected Spencer to deny the truth.

Spencer had seen enough; "I believe," he said honestly. Tee Hi looked surprised as Spencer added, "I will do what I can to help your fight. Luan told me you head a group--"

"A curse on the girl's tongue!" Tse Hi's eyes blazed.

"She spoke because she fears for your life. If you antagonize everyone as you do me, her fears may be justified. Can't you discuss anything without losing your temper? By all that's holy, man, don't you realize I'm trying to help?"

Tse Hi whirled and walked through the outer den and musty corridor to the alley. As he opened the door, a small knot of men pushed inside, but drew up abruptly on seeing Spencer. Tse Hi spoke sharply in Chinese and they vanished inside. Tse Hi regarded Spencer impassively.

"I will consider your words. If my sister comes to no harm for our meeting this morning, I will know you speak the truth. We will meet again, Fair One." With that, he stepped inside, closed the door and clicked the bolt.

Spencer stood a moment considering what he'd just seen. The group of men who had entered the opium den were not addicts. They were young and strong like Tse H. And they had been expected, he was sure of it. He was just as sure that they were Tse Hi's band of revolutionaries, and the opium house was their meeting place. At first the thought seemed ridiculous, but the more he considered it, the more logical it became. Neither Chinese nor foreigners would look here for insurgents. Tse Hi had made a wise choice, a wise choice indeed. Proof of Tyler Temple's guilt was in his hands.

Lorielle woke to the noise of her father's voice shouting in the hall. She tried to shut out the raucous sound and bury herself in the delectable peace that had encompassed her since her reunion with Spencer. Her body still tingled with the wonder of his gentle lovemaking, his kisses, his murmured endearments. She savored her new-found womanhood. She felt as though she'd traveled a long journey through life to come to happiness at last. Her father's shout rose again, and she shook the cobweb of dreams from her head. She frowned, suddenly recalling the events that had preceded her joy.

Abruptly, her door was flung open and her father strode into the chamber. His face was mottled with anger, his eyes were blazing.

"What the devil have you done? Where is Giles?" he demanded.

She sat up, pulling up the coverlet to hide her nakedness. Her temper flared, matching his.

"I would wish him at the bottom of the China Sea, but I assume he is still in Macao!" she declared spiritedly. "I have never been so humiliated in my life. How could you, Father--"

"What the devil are you blathering about? How did you get here?" His voice thundered like a blast of cannon.

"On one of Mr. Jardine's ferries. It was a miserable experience--but worth every moment since it meant escaping the pig you tried to marry me off to!" She was trembling with anger and fear. Never in her life had she spoken to her father in such a manner, but now her rage was uncontrollable.

Ty1er was momentarily stunned by her venomous tone. Then he took a step toward the bed and raised his hand threateningly. Lorielle glared unflinchingly.

"Would you flog me for disobedience, Father?" she asked coldly. His hand wavered and his jaw tightened, but she did not look away. As a wave of strength filled her, her fear ebbed. "I am not a child anymore. My physical strength is no match for yours, but my will is stronger, believe me. I will not be forced to marry Giles Copeland. I have never known a more contemptible man--"

"You will do as you are told!" he exploded. Rage blinded him, and he struck her a resounding slap on the cheek.

Tears filled her eyes as the hot sting of the blow coursed through her. She lifted her chin defiantly. "I will not marry Giles." The words hung in the air between them. For a moment, she thought he would strike her again, so furious was he.

His eyes narrowed and his body seemed to tremble as he tried to control the demon inside him. The blood pounded in Tyler's brain, clouding his vision and making each breath a fiery torture. He wanted to drag her from the bed and beat her insolence out until she whimpered and begged for mercy. But when he moved toward her and saw the hard, cold look in her eyes, he wavered. She had a defiant streak that he had only glimpsed before, he realized. As a child she'd set her jaw and taken her punishment without outcry ... and until now he'd assumed he'd always succeeded in breaking her will. But he was wrong. He had only forced a child to submit to authority. Her spirit was totally untamed.

Slowly, he lowered his arm. In a more subdued voice, he said, "Tell me what happened." Had Giles done something stupid to incur her wrath? With Lorielle grieving over her mother, she should have been too much in need of comfort to turn aside Giles' romantic overtures. He should have had her at the altar before she had a chance to protest!

Lorielle took a breath and let it out slowly. "You should have discussed the matter with me before you made plans for my life. I am not a shipment of opium to be sold to the highest bidder. I am capable of knowing my heart, and I shall choose my own husband."

He scowled as his anger resurfaced, but he restrained it and forced a level tone. "I had your welfare at heart, Lorielle. Your mother and I discussed your future, and she was in complete agreement that Giles was a suitable husband. I thought she had spoken to you and you were in agreement as well."

"She said nothing. And even if she had, I would not consent to marry a man I scarcely know--one whom I now loathe!"

"I’m sure it's a misunderstanding that can be easily settled," he said placatingly.

"No, Father. The misunderstanding is yours and Giles'. I will never marry him. After what he has done--" She felt a flush stain her cheeks as the memory of Giles' violation of her drugged body hooded her mind. She could not recount the disgusting details, even to convince her father the matter was ended. For the first time since her father had stormed into the room, she lowered her gaze.

He studied her with a calculating look. Giles had blundered badly, misjudged his own charm perhaps and not wooed Lorielle tenderly enough. Passion had probably clouded his judgment. There could be no doubt that he'd tried to force himself on her before she was willing. Nothing else would account for the blush that colored her face, he was sure. Had Giles claimed her virginity or had she escaped before he took his prize? No matter which, Lorielle would not relent easily. Giles would have to play a more subtle hand from now on. It would take time to wear down her resistance now, but she would relent in time.

"Very well, my dear, we will not discuss it further. I'm sure Giles won't be long in making his way back to Canton. I’ll have a talk with him."

"I never want to see him again!" she declared.

"That would be difficult here in Canton," Tyler said with an amused smile. "But calm yourself, Giles is a gentleman and will apologize for his transgressions, whatever they may be. And now I’ll leave you to your dressing." His glance touched the smooth bit of bare flesh where the coverlet had slipped from her shoulder. It surprised him that his daughter slept without a gown, but he was beginning to realize there were many things he did not know about her. If she exposed her flesh so brazenly, it was small wonder Giles had found it impossible to control his desire. With a nod of dismissal, he left.

Lorielle sank back onto the bed and pressed a cool hand to her cheek, which still smarted from her father's slap. Had she won? She'd forced her father to listen, but she was not sure he'd really accepted her decision. If he had, he would not have made the halfhearted apology for Giles' behavior. Would Giles admit the whole truth when the two men talked? She blushed thinking about it, then resolutely pushed away the thought. She could not change the past.

Quickly, she rose and slipped on a yellow silk robe that whispered softly on her skin. Hugging it close, she rang for Luan.

Chapter 9

The days that followed were idyllic for Lorielle. The misery of her misadventures in Macao faded from her thoughts as she found love and comfort in Spencer's arms. Her father spent his days and most evenings at the factory, and she barely saw him, much to her relief. Spencer, on the other hand, conducted his investigations in the few hours he was away from the house each day. And when he returned, Lorielle was waiting for him. They strolled the peaceful gardens or sat in the dappled sunlight and talked intimately. And with Luan on watch against her father's unexpected return, they shared exquisite, joyful hours in her bedroom exploring their new-found love. For Lorielle it was a time of unfolding; each moment with Spencer was a discovery so rare and cherished that she thought her heart would burst. His lovemaking was gentle, yet bold and demanding, and she learned the heights of ecstasy as they lay entwined in each other's arms.

Spencer told her of his youth in Cornwall and his days at sea. At age fifteen, he signed on as a cabin boy aboard a naval vessel captained by his uncle and was soon fighting greedy sea captains engaged in the outlawed but still a flourishing slave trade along the Barbary Coast. When he distinguished himself at the Niger delta breaking up a slavery operation financed by a consortium of Liverpool merchants and Georgia planters, he won a commission in King George's Royal Navy. Currently on leave from Her Majesty's service, he'd grasped the opportunity for new adventure in China when it was offered by Lord Valentine. The opium trade was as evil as slavery, according to some, and must be eradicated if British honor was to be upheld. He did not tell Lorielle that his mission involved more than examining the social conscience of the opium trade, or that her father was one of the principals who might be unmasked as a thief. Like Lorielle, he wanted nothing to mar the happiness they'd found.

They talked of England. He would take her there, Spencer promised. As soon as his work was done in China, they would sail with one of the clippers bound for home. Lorielle's imagination was stirred by the pictures Spencer drew with words. London ... did she want to live in one of the fine new mansions in Bedford Square or was a discreet rowhouse in a quiet mews more to her fancy, he teased. And when she could not choose, he declared she would have both--and a country house in Cornwall as well. They would sit on the high bluff looking out over the sea and remember their first encounter on the storm-lashed deck of the Windrifter.

He spoke of their life together so easily and naturally, Lorielle could no longer envision her future without him. When he proposed marriage, he took for granted that she would accept.

"I must make an honest woman of you before the good ladies of Canton realize what puts that sparkle in your eyes," he said with a devilish grin. "Besides, I dislike stirring myself from your bed and sneaking to my room before dawn. I would prefer to dally with you until the sun kisses your golden flesh each morning. The days are growing cold, and I gain only meager comfort from the fire in the grate." When she blushed, he kissed the tip of her ear and whispered, "Reverend Gutzlaff is due soon from Macao. I'll arrange for us to be married quietly and quickly. Time enough after the deed to inform your father."

The mention of Gutzlaff's name gave Lorielle a start, and an unbidden specter of Giles crossed her mind like a dark shadow. He had arranged their wedding to be performed by Dr. Gutzlaff, something the missionary was not likely to have forgotten. Would he seek out her father before granting Spencer's request? Hesitantly, Lorielle voiced her fears. Spencer listened solemnly, then smiled and drew her into his arms.

"I will talk to your father immediately. He won't stand in the way of our happiness, my pet," he said reassuringly. He stroked her gleaming hair and soothed her with kisses ... and he did not voice his doubts. He'd tried several times in the past days to corner Tyler for a private talk but failed. He was sure Tyler was avoiding him, though his excuses were always plausible enough. And Giles had returned this morning as well. Spencer heard the news from Major General Milton, who said Giles Copeland had gone directly to Temple's office and given orders they were not to be disturbed. Spencer was surprised at Milton's avid interest in Company affairs and the amount of information that came into his possession. He was a precise, bluff man with a hearty manner that encouraged people to discount his presence and speak openly. He was well informed about the East India Company's affairs, since he was a graduate of the military college at Addiscombe and had served fourteen years with the Company's army in India.

According to Milton, Copeland had been active in the opium trade in India before coming to Canton. Cyrus Benjamin Copeland had amassed a fortune as a trader on the profitable routes between England, India and China, dealing in whatever commodities brought the highest price. When he retired to enjoy the spoils of his plunder, his son had not been content to live on his father's largess but had set out for India to reap his own harvest. And he had done so successfully, according to Major General Milton. The General's telling of the story was little more than casual gossip, but Spencer added it to his growing store of facts. It puzzled him why Copeland was content working with Tyler when his own security was already so well assured.

But he said nothing of these things to Lorielle. She would find out soon enough that Giles was back in the city, and she would not be pleased. Spencer had made considerable progress with Tse Hi as well. Through Luan, he'd arranged several meetings with her brother and become well acquainted with the side of the opium traffic foreigners seldom saw. Tse Hi took him to other opium dens to view the enormity of the problem of addiction. They saw addicts of all ages in various states of decline. Tse Hi even took him to a school where smoking was widespread among young boys, some not yet into puberty.

"Here is proof of the evil of foreign mud," Tse Hi had declared with rising passion. "The child who views his father enjoying the pipe and listens to him extol the wonders of the dreams he finds in its smoke becomes adventurous early in life. Without the wisdom of age, they are powerless to break the habit they take up in innocence. In ten years' time, they will be worthless of mind and body!"

"Is no effort made to discourage them?" Spencer asked incredulously.

Tse Hi laughed scornfully. "Does the wind move the mountain? As long as the cursed Barbarians are allowed to bring the poison in, the foolish ones will pay its price. We do what we can, but the chimera cannot be repelled with swords made of feathers."

Spencer knew Tse Hi was speaking of his small cadre of men who were dedicated to fighting the evil plague that had descended on their people. Several times, Spencer had seen some of Tse Hi's men following or watching surreptitiously as he went about the old city. And he recognized two of the men he'd seen enter the house of Pon Kwok on the day Barrington had delivered Tyler's opium. Tse Hi's group was small but determined, and Spencer sensed that their activities were not confined to the good deeds he was permitted to see. They were engaged in a plot that would eventually spell disaster for the foreign merchants who were, in their eyes, the root of the problem.

Several times, Tse Hi left him abruptly to confer with a sullen-faced youth called Peh-t'ao. Although Spencer did not understand their angry confrontations, Peh-t'ao's mistrust of the foreigner his compatriot had befriended was obvious. He wanted no part of the Red Barbarian.

Tyler recognized Giles’ fury the moment Copeland strode into his office. He rose and greeted him heartily, hoping to forestall an outburst.

"Good to have you back, Giles. How are things in Macao?"

Giles ignored his proffered hand and turned to the clerk. "We want privacy, Hamilton. See that we’re not disturbed." When the clerk had gathered up his papers and shut the door behind him, Giles flung himself into a chair across from Tyler.

"You've heard?"

Tyler nodded unhappily. "Lorielle returned five days ago on a Jardine-Matheson ferry. She refuses to relate what happened in Macao, but her anger with you is obvious. A spat of some sort? I'm sure it will blow over--"

"She made an ass of me!" Giles pounded his fist on the desk so hard, a pen skittered dangerously close to the edge of the polished teak surface. Ty1er snatched it up and settled it securely in the tray.

"It would be best if I heard the whole story," he said.

Giles grunted heavily and sank back into the chair, pointing to the whisky tray on the sideboard. When Tyler had poured them each a glass, he drank his in two huge gulps. Tyler brought the bottle and put it in front of him.

"You led me to believe there'd be no trouble," Giles accused churlishly. "If you think I'll stand for this--"

"Please, Giles, tell me the story first. I thought it best not to push the matter with Lorielle in her distraught state. I tell you, the girl was in a temper. What the devil happened?"

Giles poured a second whisky and drank it more slowly as he recounted the episode in Macao. He left out nothing, relishing the memory of Lorielle's warm, pliant flesh as he described taking her. But his anger returned in full measure as he told of finding her gone the next morning and the ensuing search of the island he made.

"I was forced to see Gutzlaff and tell him the wedding was postponed. Every woman in the city came inquiring about Lorielle's health. They assumed she'd taken ill, and I had a devil of a time trying to explain. They asked a thousand questions--what was I to say?" He muttered an oath and finished off the whisky. "I finally had to admit that she'd run off in a temper. I blamed it on a lover's quarrel that would be smoothed over as soon as I could find her. I had no choice but to enlist aid in trying to discover where she'd gone. It was Orwell Henderson's wife who thought to ask among the Portuguese women. One's husband had seen Lorielle strike a bargain with one of J-M's ferry captains. You can wager the story was on every tongue before the day was out." He glowered as he raised the whisky glass once more.

Tyler nodded sympathetically and hid his consternation. He didn't like it that Giles had resorted to using opium to make Lorielle more tractable. The stuff was all right for the heathen Orientals, but it unnerved him to think Lorielle had taken it unwittingly. It was an underhanded ploy. Giles was a ruthless man. But since Lorielle showed no lingering effects, he supposed no harm was done. And the girl might be more tractable now that she'd had a taste of sex. She'd soon forget her pique and develop an appetite for the pleasure a man could give her. In the meantime, he bad to assuage Giles' anger. Commissioner Lin was due to arrive in the morning.

"I understand your resentment," he said. "But it will not do any good to force the issue while she's got her dander up. When she's had time to think it over, she'll come around, have no fear. Women are unpredictable. I erred in believing Mandra had spoken to Lorielle immediately once we'd settled the matter of the marriage between ourselves. If it hadn't been for the accident--" He sighed and shook his head.

Giles brushed aside the bid for amnesty. "I'm not a patient man, Tyler. Gutzlaff is making one of his trips up the coast and will be stopping over in Canton. I've already told him he can perform the ceremony here."

"He arrives-- ?"

"Tomorrow. The London Missionary Society has sent out another medical helper to join Parker. Gutzlaff is escorting him personally." He pressed forward and set his whisky glass on the desk with a firm thud. "The wedding can take place immediately following Gutzlaff's Sunday service in the chapel."

Tyler whistled softly. "So soon." Could he make Lorielle go along with such a plan? He hadn't discussed anything with her since the day of her return.

Giles regarded him coldly. "We made an agreement, Tyler. You'd be wise to remember that I have already fulfilled my part of it. My financial backing has enabled you to venture into a very profitable operation here. Your daughter was part of the price of our partnership."

"I have not forgotten," Tyler assured him quickly. Damn, if only Mandra had not died so inopportunely, there would have been plenty of time to arrange things comfortably. He worried his lip between his teeth. 'There are other complications," he said at last.

"Such as?"

"Much has been happening these past days. You've heard about Lin?"

'The word was all over Macao. When does he arrive?"

"In the morning." Tyler pursed his lips and studied Giles' thick features. "It may disrupt even the usual tranquil chapel service. Many of the rank and file are not alarmed in the least about Lin's arrival and are in a holiday mood. They plan to go out to watch his entry. Half the populace will throng to the waterfront, willing, I dare say, to risk their immortal souls by missing God's word one Sunday."

Giles scowled, but his pride would not give way. "The problem is not insurmountable. Perhaps Gutzlaff can be convinced to delay his service if most of his congregation will be occupied elsewhere. If not, he will have sufficient time after the commotion settles to conduct the ceremony privately. I would prefer a public affair to still wagging tongues, but it's the end result that counts. I want Lorielle in our connubial bed before I must turn my attention to other matters. See to it, Tyler, and this time, no mistakes."

"I'll speak with her today."

The subject of Lorielle settled, Giles put his mind to other concerns. "What of the supply in the go-downs? Have you arranged to sell the opium up the coast?"

Tyler gave him a self-satisfied smile. Giles had no cause to criticize his deportment in their flourishing piracy. Although Copeland had conceived and financed the plan at the outset, it was Temple who was the key in its implementation. "I've done better than that. Jardine had poor luck up the coast and had to take a short profit. Did you know that he has sailed for home?"

Giles nodded impatiently.

"Matheson has taken the precaution of ordering the receiving ships from Hong Kong to the southside of Lantao where he hopes they will be inconspicuous if the Chinese patrol the waters. He's convinced Lin's mischief will be over within the week, but many others do not share that opinion. Russell and some of the others have announced their intention to withdraw from the opium business."

"Are you proposing to delay our sales?"

"On the contrary," Tyler said. "I've managed to deal privately with several shopkeepers here in the city, though they are as concerned about Lin as we. They see a possible end to their monumental profits if Lin carries out his mission to sweep the city clean."

"You've sold it all?" Giles' eyes widened with surprised respect.

"Only two chests remain, but the price I got for the others will offset any loss we may be forced to take on those."

"I prefer to see only profit," Giles said meaningfully. "Let the Company sustain any loss that occurs through Lin's arrival. I'm sure you can find a buyer for the remaining two hundred and eighty pounds."

Tyler shook his head. "I've tried--"

"Try again," Giles said brusquely. "Now, let me see the accounts. I trust you took silver on delivery?"

Ty1er removed a small key from his chain to unlock a drawer of the desk. From it he extracted a leather-bound ledger, opened it and passed it across the desk to Giles. While he read, Tyler contemplated this newest demand. It would not be a simple matter to find a buyer. He'd already exhausted the dealers with whom he did business. He sighed inwardly. There was not a single opium shop that wasn't stocked to the rafters. The Hong merchants were trying to empty their warehouses before Lin arrived, since they were no more eager than the foreigners to risk losing a source of immense profit. Still, there might be a way. If he could get Luan to act as his emissary in the ancient city a buyer might be located. A threat that he would sacrifice her father to Lin's campaign would do it. He smiled inwardly. If he sold the last of the pilfered opium, and Giles was quickly wed to Lorielle, Copeland would be content on all scores. He might even decide to take his bride on a pleasant leave to England. Tyler could handle the Montrose undertaking alone, and share the booty with no one! The prospect cheered him for the first time in many days.

Lorielle stared at her father with growing apprehension. He'd returned from the factory unexpectedly just after Spencer left in search of him to inform them of the wedding plans they'd spent the afternoon making so happily. Her father's expression was guarded. He insisted on having tea brought to the small garden off the dining room, then sat asking about her day as though there were nothing more pressing than that the two of them pass a pleasant afternoon together. This behavior was so unlike him, that Lorielle could only wait for him to come to the heart of the matter-- for she was sure there was one. She wished fervently that Spencer had not gone. His presence would have sustained the courage she felt ebbing now as her father turned the conversation to the subject of her mother.

"Your mother shared my concern for your future, my dear. It has always been our dream that you will settle into a comfortable life in England. The East is a hard climate and does not offer the amenities of more civilized countries." He sighed softly. "Your mother longed to return. Though half her blood was Indian, she was always more comfortable with British ways. You're very much like her, Lorielle, and your happiness is as important to me as hers always was. How I regret bringing her here! I withstood her entreaties for a long time before I succumbed and arranged for the two of you to join me. If only I had not, she

would be alive today."

"Don't berate yourself, Father. What's done is done and cannot be changed," Lorielle said gently.

"I know, but it grieves me all the same." He smiled sadly. "Your mother was very dear to me. I miss her more than words can say."

Again Lorielle was surprised. She always viewed her parents’ marriage as one of meager warmth and affection. They'd often been separated for long periods of time when his work took him off, and after a warm reunion had quickly returned to their rather dispassionate treatment of each other. To hear him speak so tenderly of her mother now seemed calculated to put Lorielle in a more responsive frame of mind. He was playing on her sympathy and the gentle side of her nature, she was sure. Her own grief over her mother's death had already settled to a quiet sense of loss that needed no outward expression.

Tyler cleared his throat and sipped at the fragrant spice tea. In his large hand, the fragile porcelain cup seemed minute, and he held it gingerly. When he set it down, he met Lorielle's curious gaze.

"Your mother and I often talked of your future, as I said. It was her fondest wish that you marry well and enjoy every comfort. I gave her my word that I would see to it."

"Father, I--" Dread took an icy shape in Lorielle's breast.

He held up a restraining hand. "Let me have my say. I realize that you had an unpleasant experience in Macao. I have talked with Giles and he explained everything. Now, while I can hardly condone what he did, he meant you no harm. A man is driven by his passions. Giles was under the mistaken impression that you were aware of his intentions and had agreed to the marriage. Your mother was to have spoken to you--both Giles and I assumed she had. Under the circumstances, your outburst took him by surprise."

"You had no right--!" The dam of uncertainty burst and left Lorielle filled with shuddering rage.

Again, her father would not let her finish. "Lorielle, the matter is too important to waste time in petty tantrums. I had hoped, given a little time, you would appreciate the fine match I've made. Giles is an extremely wealthy man and he is very fond of you. You will have the station you deserve." His voice took on a note of authority and his hazel eyes grew hard.

Lorielle leaped up, nearly upsetting the table, but her father's hand shot out to grab her wrist. His fingers were a steel band around her flesh as he dragged her back to the chair.

"Stop acting like a child! You try my patience! You have been promised to Giles Copeland. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be--for all of us!"

"I won't--"

"You will, by all that's holy!" he thundered. "I hoped to reason with you as a woman, but since you persist in this folly, I see that I cannot. You forget that as your father I have control of everything that concerns you! You have not a pence or a place to put your head that I do not provide. You belong to me until such time as your husband takes over the responsibility of your care. Is that clear?"

She shook her head, not believing, not wanting to listen. It had been a mistake to anger him, but the thought of marrying Giles was so repugnant, she'd reacted instinctively.

"Well, you'll have only a short time to think it over. The wedding will take place tomorrow, and this time you are to behave yourself and not cause Giles any more embarrassment--or me. You've already created a great deal of trouble. I had the devil's own time placating Giles after the way you made him a laughingstock in Macao. But I assured him you had come to your senses--and you will, by God, or I'll thrash you!"

He stood suddenly, still gripping her arm, and dragged her to her feet. "I am not as easily deceived as Giles into thinking I can trust you, my pet. You will be locked in your room until the time of the ceremony, which will take place tomorrow." He strode across the tiled patio dragging her in his wake.

"Let me go!" She tried to pry his hand from her wrist but he dug his fingers cruelly into her flesh. In desperation, she kicked out viciously. He made an ugly sound as her slipper caught him sharply on the ankle, momentarily breaking his stride. Then without warning, he boxed her ear so sharply her vision exploded in a fireworks of fragmented colors. Her head rang and tears scalded her eyes.

Panting, Tyler forced her into motion again, holding her up when she stumbled. She was dimly aware of their passage through the dining room ... the hall. Then she was being propelled up the stairs at a staggering gait that forced her to keep her feet in motion or pitch her headlong to be dragged up. She no longer wasted breath screaming but bottled up her frenzy as she tried to think. He intended to lock her in her room. And he would not be fooled by a pretense of capitulation. He would not make the same mistake as Giles. Tyler flung open the door of her room and sent her sprawling inside with a shove. She stumbled and fell against the bed. She lay motionless as she heard the door slam. Her father's bellow was not diminished by the wall between them.

"Hui Toy!"

A moment later the servant's slippers shuffled along the hall.

"Post one of the strongest houseboys to guard the door. The mistress of the house is to remain inside until I come for her--do you understand?"

The Chinese servant's frightened voice whispered in response, and Tyler grunted.

"And another in the courtyard below. She's an agile female and might take a notion to drop from the balcony. See to it--chop-chop!"

Babbling, the servant hurried away. Lorielle raised her head and strained to hear the sound of her father's footsteps retreating, but instead his heavy breathing betrayed his presence right outside the door. The balcony—there was not a moment to lose. She slipped from the bed and raced on tiptoes across the polished floor. The tall windows had been closed against the chill of the afternoon, and she worked at the latch desperately, biting her lip as the balky fastening jammed, then released suddenly, nipping her flesh and drawing a pinpoint of blood. She sucked at it as she drew the windows open. The green silk curtains billowed in a surge of wind that cooled her fevered face. She stepped onto the balcony. Without warning, the door to the hall opened and her father was across the room and upon her in an instant.

"You little fool!" He tried to drag her inside but she fought like an enraged wildcat. Her nails raked his face and tore at his jacket, but she was no match for his strength. Again he flung her across the bed and stood glaring down at her.

"I warn you, I will give the servants orders to use whatever force is needed to keep you here. Don't be stupid enough to try another foolish escape."

She looked at him with mounting fury. He was no longer her father but a stranger, a savage to be feared--and some how outwitted. Her throat thickened with rage and her body trembled. Hot tears overflowed her eyelids but she did not wipe them away. Quick footsteps sounded in the hall, and Hui Toy peered in. Behind him, a wide-shouldered giant of a lad with ebony eyes and arms as thick around as tree trunks positioned himself directly outside the door. Tyler grunted and gave Lorielle a final warning.

"The courtyard is well guarded so it will do you no good to try the windows again. I suggest you use your time to think over what I've said. You are being offered a comfortable future. Don't jeopardize it. Giles will not be as patient a second time. Nor I." He wheeled and strode from the room.

Lorielle sprang after him, but the door closed before she reached it. Twisting the knob, she threw it open—and came face to face with the huge bulk of the strapping lad, who stood with arms crossed baring her path. Behind him, Hui Toy gave quick orders in Chinese. The lad grunted as he forced Lorielle aside and pulled the door shut firmly. In frustrated rage, she pounded it with her fists, letting her tears flow unchecked. She tried the latch again but a firm hand held it on the other side. Furious, she abandoned the effort and ran to the windows where the curtain still billowed softly in the breeze. From the balcony, she saw an other guard posted below, his hooded gaze directed at where she stood. Wearily, she reentered the bedroom and closed the windows, leaning her brow against the cool pane.

She'd been plunged from a rapturous dream into a dark nightmare! Only an hour before, she and Spencer had been making happy plans, and now she was a prisoner! If Spencer had not departed before her father's return-- Hope sprang suddenly. He would come back soon! When he did not find her father at the factory, Spencer would return to the house to await him here. Surely he would learn what had happened, and he would come to her aid. For a moment, she smiled through her tears. Yes, Spencer would force a way into the room and she would be safe in his arms.

But the cloud of euphoria dissipated quickly as logic assailed her. Her father would not divulge his intentions to Spencer or anyone else! He'd recognize the possibility of someone coming to her aid, and he would guard her more intensively if need be. What story would he concoct for Spencer to account for the guard outside her room? Or would he bother? It would be a simple matter for him to send Spencer packing back to the factory. And even though Spencer would suspect the truth, he would be powerless to countermand her father's orders.

Shivering, she sank onto the bed and pressed her flushed face to the cool silk spread. Her father would not tolerate interference now that his goal was so close at hand. Why in heaven's name was it so important to him that she marry Giles? She had caused him no trouble since her return from Macao, and his eagerness to be rid of her was unconscionable. It made a mockery of his contention that she would feel differently about Giles when she knew him longer.

She shuddered. She would never feel differently about Giles unless it was to loathe him more than she already did! She could never endure his touch. Not when she'd known the rapture of Spencer's tender caresses and the ecstasy of his body teaching her the gentle art of love. Moaning, she whispered Spencer's name softly through her tears. Slowly, her despair waned and she brushed her damp cheeks. It would do no good to wallow in self-pity. She needed her wits about her, for she was more determined than ever that her father would not win. Not while she had an ounce of strength or a breath to draw. There had to be a way!

But try as she would, she could not find a way to escape the exquisite room that had enchanted her but now had become a prison. The shadows in the courtyard lengthened, but the guard below the balcony did not relax his vigil. She made out the gray outline of his figure beneath the black-green bowers of a gnarled cypress. With fading hope, she pressed her ear to the door, then opened it cautiously to peer out. The houseboy was crouched on his haunches directly across from her room, his ebony eyes alert and his body tensed to spring. Even if she tried to attack him with whatever weapon she could find, it would be useless. He'd be on her before she could deliver a blow. Sighing, she sank onto the bed and stared into the deepening twilight, her energies drained.

She did not realize she dozed until a sound brought her up with a start. She sprang to her feet as the door opened. The bedchamber had grown dark, and she blinked in the sudden light that spilled in from the hall. Hui Toy held aloft a lamp as her father entered, followed by Luan carrying a tray. Hui Toy padded around the room lighting the lamps and laying a fire in the cold grate.

"Leave the tray," Tyler commanded as Luan set it on the table. Her glance stole to Lorielle. Her eyes were frightened, and she lowered them quickly, then bowed and hastily retreated from the room.

"I am not hungry, Father," Lorielle said flatly.

He shrugged. "Lack of food will sap your strength. Perhaps Giles will prefer you that way." He snapped his fingers at Hui Toy and waited until the servant had exited before following him out.

Lorielle struggled with her renewed anger but banished it quickly. She drew a chair to the table and uncovered the dishes. The steaming aroma of fresh vegetables, pork and lobster made her mouth water. She set upon the food ravenously, biting each morsel as though clamping off thoughts of Giles. The warmth of the fire and food restored Lorielle's energy. When she had finished the last scrap, she filled a teacup and sipped it as she wandered restlessly about the room.

Luan had been frightened--and sympathetic. There had been concern in her brief glance. Luan had already proved her devotion by guarding her intimate hours with Spencer against intrusion by her father. If Spencer came, Luan might find a way to speak to him. Lorielle's hopes soared. Perhaps that's what Luan had tried to impart with the stolen look. Maybe Spencer was already aware of her predicament. Excited, she set aside the teacup and savored the dim hope. It was something to cling to, a lifeline in a stormy sea of emotional turmoil.

But by morning, the hope had faded. Neither Luan nor her father appeared again. Lorielle slept fitfully and wakened to a gray, overcast sky. The coal had burned to ashes, and the room was cold. Shivering, she bathed with cold water from the pitcher, then opened the wardrobe. Her hand fell first to a full-skirted dress of pale rose peau de sole trimmed with a cascade of delicate silk roses. Annoyed, she put it back. She would not wear a festive garment for this black day! She went through the dresses until she found the unadorned blue linen she'd worn the day she made her escape from Macao. It had been freshly sponged and pressed. She put it on as a symbol of defiance—and hope.

She was sitting by the window when her father and two servants came. Hui Toy tended the fire and departed silently. Luan dawdled over the tray until Tyler snapped at her impatiently. Again, the girl met Lorielle's glance, but there was no chance to communicate further.

"I pray your change in demeanor comes from a change of heart, my dear," Tyler said.

She set her chin defiantly. "Nothing has changed, least of all my refusal to marry Giles Copeland!"

He sighed. "I hoped for acquiescence, but the wedding will take place at four this afternoon. See that you are ready." With that he turned and left her, once again securing the door as he exited.

Despite her resolve to keep up her strength, she could not eat. She inspected each dish but replaced the covers without tasting any. Her body felt like lead and a hard lump filled her throat. Still no word from Spencer. What had become of him? If only she could speak to Luan alone! She pushed aside the tray and went to the windows, pulling them open and stepping outside. The gray morning had not improved, and the air had a definite chill. She shivered and hugged her arms across her bosom as she looked for the guard below. He had been replaced by two black-garbed giants with gleaming bald heads. Father was taking no chances on the human frailty of a single guard who’d kept vigil all night. The man at the door had probably been relieved as well.

It was still hard to believe her father had turned into such a stranger. It would be easier to accept a complete rejection, she thought, than this frightening new concern with her future when he'd never exhibited any before. It had been her mother who fretted and dreamed dreams, who insisted that she must marry well. It was completely contrary to 'Tyler's nature to hold himself to promises made to her mother. He often stormed off in a rage when his wife pushed too hard. In more compliant moods, he gave in to her entreaties in order to keep peace, but these promises were quickly forgotten, much to her consternation.

Now Lorielle suspected there was something more to account for his determination. Giles Copeland had some hold over him, she was sure, and she was a pawn in their insidious bargain.

A sound made her turn. To her astonishment, Luan entered alone. As Lorielle rushed toward her, Luan put a warning finger to her lips. In a clear tone that would carry to the hall, she said, "I have come for the tray, Miss Lorielle."

Lorielle clutched her arm and whispered, "Spencer?"

Luan shook her head and her eyes were sorrowful. '"Your father sent him away." The words were a soft breath.

"He would not go!" Lorielle's heart wrenched.

"Your father told him important officials of the Company had arrived in Canton. It was his duty to open this house to them. He regretted it was necessary to request the Fair One to leave."

Lorielle sighed in frustration. Spencer would not be deceived by such a fabrication. He would know something was wrong. But she knew, too, that her father had given orders that Spencer was not to be allowed through the gates until after she was safely wed to Giles. She recalled the watchman's staunch refusal to allow her to pass when she'd first arrived. The servants were loyal to her father, else they would be sacked quickly. Only Luan--

She clutched the girl's arm, whispering. "You must help me find a way out. I cannot stay! Please, Luan. I beg you--"

Luan's pretty face was solemn. "The doors are guarded."

"Coax the man away. I’ll slip out--"

"It is dangerous--"

"I must try!" In her excitement, Lorielle's voice rose. Luan glanced at the door fearfully. In a hushed tone, Lorielle went on. "I know that you are not happy in my father's house. Would you subject me to the same fate by letting him force me to wed a man I despise? Have you no pity?" Lorielle saw the quick pain in the girl's eyes. Her plea had struck a responsive chord. She and Luan had not spoken of her father's harsh treatment and demands, but Lorielle sensed the fear that came from Luan's subjugation to her father's wishes. The relationship went beyond that of servant and master; Lorielle had seen Luan slip unhappily in and out of her father's rooms. At first she'd been shocked by her father's infidelity to her mother's memory but on reflection had realized he had undoubtedly been unfaithful to her for a long time. Despite her father's declaration that Luan had been engaged to serve Lorielle, she had actually been in the house eight months before Lorielle and her mother arrived in Canton. Lorielle's anger had given way to acceptance as she herself found peace and solace in Spencer's arms. Her father was no less human and had needs to be met, and Luan was his unfortunate victim. She did not delude herself that her father showed any compassion or love in his assignations with Luan. That much was apparent in every glance the girl settled on her master. It was as if she recoiled each time she was forced to pass close to him, each time she raised her glance to his. And Lorielle had noticed Luan's red, tear-swollen eyes on more than one occasion.

Luan was silent as she struggled with the dilemma Lorielle's request posed. The peril was great. The Sinister Tongue would eventually learn that it was she who helped his daughter. He would flog the servants until they told every movement they had made, every fluttering leaf they had observed. And he would know. ... But Lorielle was kind to her ... and the Fair One had befriended Tse Hi. She could not find it in her heart to sentence her mistress to the harsh fate her father had chosen, a fate so similar to her own. To be condemned to a satin cushion filled with harsh thorns would bring neither of them happiness. At last she met her mistress's imploring gaze.

"I will find a way."

Lorielle threw her arms around Luan and hugged her impulsively. "And I shall find a way to free you from your bondage to my father! I swear!" Tears of gratitude filled her eyes.

Luan moved away shyly. At the table, she rattled the dishes on the tray. Time was passing on swift wings. The guard would soon wonder what detained her. Lorielle watched her hopefully. How were they to accomplish the impossible? She would be sent to help Lorielle dress for the wedding, but by then it would be too late. The men would be in the house and the peril would be tenfold. If Lorielle was to escape, it had to be soon. And Luan had a dreadful dilemma of her own: her master had commanded her to find a buyer in the ancient city for his opium. She must do it before the sun reached its zenith, he had declared, or her father would suffer the horrible tortures that came with being denied the powerful mud that was destroying him. She must leave within the hour...

Lorielle came to her side and snatched up one of the rice cakes that had grown cold on the tray. Eating it quickly, she waited for Luan to offer a promise of salvation.

At last the girl said softly, "The foreign houses offer no protection. Your father will search you out. No place is safe."

"Then I shall get out of the foreign sector," Lorielle declared.

"It is forbidden."

"It is more impossible to stay here. Will you take me?" Lorielle grasped the glimmer of hope. If she could flee to the ancient city, her father would never find her.

Luan made her decision quickly. "I will take you." It was the only way. At the house of Kwang, Lorielle would be safe until the Fair One came for her. Other Europeans had gone behind the wall. They had permission from the mandarins and were usually medical men or those who preached the foreign savior, but if Lorielle did not wear the strange dress of the Red Barbarians…

She scrutinized her mistress. With the proper clothes, It might be done.

She picked up the breakfast tray. "I shall return with clothing. Be prepared to dress and leave quickly."

Lorielle's heart hammered. "I'll be ready." Whatever Luan's plan was, she would follow blindly in order to get away before Giles came to claim her. When Luan departed, Lorielle removed the blue dress and slipped on a dressing robe. From the armoire, she chose a pair of soft black slippers similar in style to the cloth ones Luan wore. Remembering the guards in the courtyard, she closed the windows and latched them. Let them believe she was closeted in her room as long as possible, she prayed. Nervously, she paced the floor, waiting for Luan's return. How would they get past the guard at the door? She gnawed her lip and tried to banish the worrisome thought. She must put her complete trust in Luan. They would not fail--they could not!

Chapter 10

It seemed an eternity until she heard Luan's melodious voice speaking soft, rapid Chinese to the guard in the hall. He answered gruffly at first but soon seemed to relax. Lorielle stood close to the door to listen, pressing her fist against her lips as she concentrated on the unintelligible sounds. She could not be sure, but the guard seemed first to be questioning, then excited. His voice rose and he uttered a raucous laugh. To this, Luan replied with a hushed giggle then a murmur of words. Everything was quiet for a moment, then the latch turned and Luan entered with an armload of linens. Her eyes danced as she closed the door with a last word to the guard. Then, without delay, she flung the pile of linens on the bed and scrambled through them to find a pair of deep blue silk koo and a jacket of plum-colored silk embroidered with peony and hydrangea motifs. Lorielle loosened the sash of the dressing gown and slipped out of it in a single motion, letting it fall at her feet.

Moments later she had the voluminous trousers on and Luan was drawing the san over her head. As the cool silk kissed her fevered skin, she shivered with excitement. Her obsidian eyes asked a thousand questions as Luan fastened

the frog closings at her shoulder.

Luan deftly rearranged Lorielle's hair in soft wings over her ears. "The new Commissioner approaches the city at this moment. I have tempted Quen with a vision of the splendid festival that is taking place on the river as the mandarin boats near. The entire city has gone to watch and explode firecrackers to welcome the ch'in-ch'ai. It would be a pity if Quen saw none of it."

"He's going?" Lorielle hardly dared believe their good fortune.

Luan nodded. I told him you would be engaged for many turns of the sandglass at your bath and dressing before you meet your betrothed on this day of your marriage. No man will be permitted into your chambers during these busy hours." She lifted her narrow shoulders in a suggestion of a shrug. "A pity to miss the rice wine sold from the Hog Lane merchants' carts because he must guard a woman who will not for a moment be away from my watchful eyes."

Blood pulsed in Lorielle's temples and her heart soared. "And the guards in the court?"

"The gate beyond the kitchen garden is unguarded. The locks can be opened from inside. We must go quickly."

"I'm ready." Lorielle pressed her hand to her cheeks and felt their stinging warmth. She breathed deeply several times to quiet her thundering heart. Then, slipping her hands into the sleeves of the san, and with head bowed and eyes downcast, she followed Luan into the hall.

The hall was empty and quiet. Their soft slippers slapped on the exquisitely tiled floor like the muted thrum of a woodpecker in a big cypress. At the end of the corridor, Luan pulled aside a red velvet curtain to reveal a narrow flight of stairs descending to the kitchen. Lorielle had never explored the labyrinthine passages of the house, and she was thankful that Luan was familiar with them. The stairs were dark, with no light except from a small, high window at the top of the well, but Luan's steps did not falter. Lorielle touched a hand to the wall to steady herself as she followed as quickly as she dared. It would be calamitous to lose her footing and tumble headlong now that they had hurdled the first mammoth obstacle. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the new commissioner had timed his arrival so opportunely. The commotion would claim her father's attention--and that of everyone at the factories. Spencer had told her about the Emperor's new delegate and the panic some of the merchants were exhibiting. Despite the wedding plans, her father would not miss the opportunity to have a look at the man who might have such a profound effect on his trade. Tyler would size up his new opponent much like a cock in the ring. And when the time came–if it indeed did–he would strike as viciously as a cock, and he would fight to the kill. The raw qualities of power and ambition that had always driven him might be his undoing now.

The kitchen was steamy with the pungent aroma of vinegar, spices and boiling shrimp. A birdlike man hovered over the brick hearth, chattering to himself as he lifted a lid and stirred the contents of a hissing pot. He did not look around as Luan and Lorielle slipped past the huge chopping block covered with fresh scallions, celery, sprouts and water chestnuts. The air outside bit sharply after the heat of the small kitchen. Lorielle glanced about hesitantly, then lowered her head as she padded after Luan across the courtyard. They entered a narrow garden that was a delightful arrangement of shrubs, trees, flowers and paths, though not nearly as lavish as the larger ones the family used. It was walled all around with tall bamboo spikes over which thick jasmine vines spread leathery leaves. At one corner, a wooden gate was set in an arched niche. Luan plunged her hand into the glossy jasmine leaves and extracted a key from its hiding place. The rasp of the lock was so loud in the tense stillness, Lorielle glanced around nervously. At that moment, the-cook's voice rose in a screech. The man raised a stick threateningly at the open window.

Lorielle's pulse skipped a beat as she glanced at Luan.

"He scolds the small son of Hui Toy who had stolen a honeycake," Luan said softly, pulling Lorielle through the gate and guiding her across a crooked lane that wound past outbuildings of the compound. At the street, Luan paused to assure herself the way was clear before they slipped out and melted into the crowd.

Lorielle walked with mincing steps in imitation of Luan's quick pace. The street was noisy and filled with bustling Chinese. They were beyond the suburban street where the Temple house stood, having come out onto a back lane that led away from the river and the factories. But even at that distance, the sounds of the celebration on the river carried clearly. Firecrackers exploded with a steady rat-a-tat-tat, accompanied by the sonorous clatter of gongs. The Commissioner's procession must have reached the landing; the factories would turn out to see the man who had been sent to hold sway over the profitable trade which had been theirs so long. According to Spencer, there were many who considered his arrival something of a carnival in itself. They viewed the Chinese authorities as a joke and tossed their edicts into the trash, though they accepted the hospitality of the Hong merchants to dine and enjoy entertainments.

Spencer! Lorielle's heart speeded its pace at the thought of him. Luan would get word to him of her whereabouts. As soon as they were together, they would wed, and the problem of Giles' persistent courtship would be erased. Spencer... Spencer...

At the street of the great wall, the excitement swelled. One of the gates was open, and a procession of horsemen and foot soldiers was forming. A mandarin of the fourth rank, the azure button atop his hat, was entering his sedan chair; around it, a retinue of Tartar officers, resplendent in quilted petticoats, satin boots and fans, gathered. At its head, two officers of the police proudly bore long, flat bamboo sticks for inflicting the bastinado to any unfortunate who incurred their wrath. Hidden among the milling throng, drummers beat an uneven cadence on copper loos. Luan pressed past quickly, lest they be caught in the procession and swept along in its wake. Everyone who was not duty-bound to a hard taskmaster was going to the waterfront. With such a festive day at hand, Luan thought, no one would notice two women slip through the gate. With a glance to make sure Lorielle was close behind, she pushed past a standard bearer holding aloft a fluttering silk banner embroidered with silver.

Lorielle darted past a prancing, gaudily bedecked horse that whinnied and pawed the ground so close that she felt its moist, hot breath on her face. Then they were inside the gate, caught in a bedazzling riot of color and noise. Despite the ever-present threat of danger, she felt a singing excitement. She'd had only a glimpse of the old city on one daring outing with Spencer, but she never imagined such turmoil. The crowded streets and lanes reminded her of Hog Lane and Thirteen Factories Street, with their multitude of shops and stalls. Here, taller buildings were set behind narrow courts, and there was no contamination of foreign influence. Not a European building was to be seen—nothing that remotely resembled the stiff, straight lines of the factories. Every structure instead had a gracefully curved roof of gleaming tile, and lacquered walls with intricate carvings or delicately painted friezes. Birdcages hung at open windows, and chirping songbirds danced on perches. Garlands of flowers and colorful banners hung from windows and doorways, where women and children lingered to watch the forming parade. A mirror-seller pushed through the crowd with his gleaming polished metal wares clanking softly on the long pole, their tasseled handles shimmering like sparkling rainbows. A flower man with a huge basket of artificial blossoms made of feathers and silk cried his wares in a high fluty tone as he held up bouquets ornamented with delicately fashioned butterflies or hummingbirds. When a child ran from a doorway and reached for a prize, her indulgent mother paid over a coin.

Luan led Lorielle through the crowd deftly, staying close to the buildings so they would not be trapped in the throng. Musicians, concealed by the paraders, played instruments with a fervor that made up for the lack of harmony. The procession began to struggle out the gate. Luan touched Lorielle's sleeve and pointed to a side street that would take them out of the main square. They came to a residential area, and the noise and turmoil were left behind. Here the houses were small and close, but serene. Tiny courtyards screened entrances, while high walls shielded others from sight. Several stood on stilts like fat birds perched on branches. Gracefully curved, tiled roofs spilled their charm to the simple thatches of smaller houses. The street was not prosperous yet it had a quiet dignity and charm. Lorielle wished she might explore it at a more leisurely pace, but Luan was hurrying her down yet another street ... and another...and another. They seemed lost in a maze, searching blindly for a way out, but Luan's steps never slowed. Here and there, Lorielle glimpsed more elegant neighborhoods, a park with grazing deer, a teeming marketplace. Once she felt a strong hand on her arm and wheeled in panic, only to see a wizened beggar, his body twisted painfully under his humped shoulders, his clawed hand outstretched. Luan spoke sharply to him and he muttered as they hurried off. It was some time before Lorielle's heartbeat quieted.

At last they came to a wide street of unpretentious houses. They were larger than the ones near the wall but modest in comparison to those the English leased near the river or the palace-like quarters of the Hong merchants. Miniature gardens flourished in scraps of ground and window boxes. A large orange cat stretched lazily as the two women passed through the gate of a small house set beyond the wall of a much larger one. Luan lifted the latch on the carved mahogany door and ushered Lorielle inside.

The room was almost barren of furniture. At one wall were two carved cushioned benches. Near the grill-covered ricepaper window, closed now against the chill, stood six chairs and a lacquered table with intricate dragon legs; its top was clear except for a porcelain bowl with a single orange in it. In the center of the room, a square iron stove stood with its firedoor open, the fire paddle poked into the cold ashes as though someone had been interrupted in cleaning the grate.

The room had a deserted air that gave the impression of having once been a joyous place but was now only a dim echo of the past. Lorielle felt a pang of regret for its bygone glory.

"I will announce our arrival," Luan said with a small how.

How easily she slipped back into the role of servant. Lorielle smiled quickly to put her at ease. She would never think of Luan as anything but friend from now on. She owed all her hope for happiness to her.

Luan padded across the room and slipped through a beaded curtain. The tinkling sound of glass whispered as she disappeared. Lorielle walked around the room, curious about the house to which Luan had brought her. Luan's father lived here. Had she and her brother lived here too? The house was small for a family though she knew many lived in far more cramped quarters neat the wall or on the sampans that crowded the river.

Despite its present state of decay the room still bore signs of a former grandeur. The ceiling boasted a delicately painted procession of chimeras and dragons, faint gold against a faded background of green hills. The lintels above the window and doorways depicted a procession of warriors on foot and horseback engaged in a fearsome battle with an unseen enemy. Each cherrywood figure was carved with exquisite care. How lovely they were, more so for the starkness of the room they adorned.

Footsteps approached the curtained doorway and Lorielle turned, expecting Luan. Instead, a young Chinese man pulled aside the curtain. For a moment, fear walked with a cold tread along Lorielle's spine, prickling the hairs at the nape of her neck. Had they come this far only to deliver themselves into danger? The man stared at her speculatively. He was not pleased to see her, that was obvious, yet he seemed to waver between his anger and good manners. Finally he entered, letting the beaded curtain swing heavily behind him.

"I am Tse Hi," he said. "Welcome to the house of Kwang. Our humble hospitality is yours." He bowed, but his smile mocked her, and there was no mistaking the hostility in his tone.

Luan's brother ... she felt relief but a strange weariness as well. He was angry that she was here, but apparently Luan had won out over his arguments, and she would be allowed to remain.

"I am indebted to you and to the house of Kwang. Your sister has come to my aid when I need her desperately. I shall always be grateful."

"Luan shows the heart of a dove and the courage of a hawk in bringing you here. Would that she displayed the wisdom of an owl."

Lorielle bristled. "Your sister is sympathetic to another woman’s plight. I have given her my promise of release from her bondage to my father in return for her help now."

He snorted. "Your promise? You would weave a silver cobweb to tie a dragon. Will your father listen to your entreaty on Luan's behalf when you cannot convince him to your own cause? Foolish woman, you speak through a hollow reed. You can do nothing for Luan except bring her to grief! Do you think your father will not suspect her? Did she not entice the guard from your door and spirit you out? Is she not missing from the house? You are both fools!" He stamped once, then marched out of the room, brushing aside the beads so they clattered, then whispered to a soft, tinkling sound.

Furious, Lorielle ran after him. "Tse Hi--I" She could not let him be angry with Luan. Let him take out his wrath on her, but she would not tolerate his berating his sister because of her compassion. Impatiently, she glanced at the fragile rice-paper doors along the hall. One stood ajar, and she hurried to it.

Luan was kneeling on the floor, her face buried in her hands. Tse Hi stood over her, his hand gripping her shoulder. Lorielle rushed in and thrust his hand away.

"Leave her alone!"

Tse Hi whirled, his face twisted with fury. For a moment, he was too surprised to act. He was unaccustomed to such boldness from a woman. Rage shook him, but he suppressed his angry retort. He turned away to glare at his

sister. Luan scrambled to her feet and looked at Lorielle with tear-filled eyes.

"My brother grieves. Forgive him the shortness of temper that causes him to speak so sharply. Our father lies dying. Each new breath may transport him to the portal of his ancestors. The house of Kwang is sorrowful."

A flush crept to Lorielle's cheeks. She'd been so ready to do battle, she had misinterpreted Tse Hi's stance. She had blundered cruelly into his grief, and now her heart ached with pity. She glanced toward the doorway where Tse Hi stood, his rigid back proud and defiant. She touched his arm gently.

"I beg your forgiveness, Tse Hi. I spoke hastily and foolishly. I meant only to defend Luan because I believed you were angry with her." Glancing back at Luan, she said, "Is there anything I can do to help? I am not trained in nursing, but--" She would make up in willingness what she lacked in skill.

Tse Hi regarded her curiously, still battling his conscience. His deep mistrust of the foreigners did not give way readily. He had already let the Fair One see the cursed shop of Pon Kwok and his small band of men, much to Peh-t'ao's distress. Peh-t'ao trusted no Barbarian. If he learned that the daughter of the Sinister Tongue was in the house of Kwang, his anger would spill like a flooding river. He would see danger to their plans to destroy the Red Barbarians and the evil mud. Was there danger in the Gentle One's presence? Could the daughter of the Sinister Tongue be trusted, or was she sent by her parent to cast an evil eye

on his enemies?

Luan trembled at the wretched deed of bargaining with their father's associates to buy the cursed mud. She feared it would bring shame to the house of Kwang once more, but she did not have the courage to defy her cruel master.

Tse Hi was filled with rage but said nothing. His own plans depended on information Luan brought from the house on Sanchou Road; it was justice that the Sinister Tongue seal his own doom with his greed. But the presence of his disobedient daughter in the house of Kwang could spell doom if he learned of it. He had never entered these doors, but the house was known to many who might speak unwisely. Still, Tse Hi smiled in his thoughts. There were many corners of the old city where the dust was not disturbed. He and his compatriots might hide a dozen women where no foreigner could find them. If the Gentle One betrayed Luan's trust, Tse Hi would claim her as a hostage until his own plans were carried out.

He glanced at his sister who was watching him guardedly. "I will not pain your heart by sending the female offspring of our enemy back to the fate her father has chosen for her." His cold gaze slid to Lorielle. "Nor will I relent in my battle against the men who bring shame and fear to the house of Kwang. Hear that your father is my enemy--I will destroy him!"

Lorielle's blood turned icy at the venomous words. Her own anger with her father had overshadowed the knowledge of his dreadful involvement with the opium traffic. Spencer had hinted that there might be trouble, but she had let her mind push the thought away as long as she was in Spencer's arms. She had given no consideration to the possibility that her father had enemies in Canton, but she realized now that he did--and that they were dangerous. Tse Hi was staring at her as though challenging an answer. With difficulty, she curbed her fear.

"I know nothing of my father's business. I regret that he has brought you despair. He is a man accustomed to power. If he has not used it wisely, it is my shame as well his. But I will do nothing to harm you or Luan, or the father whom you love." She spoke simply and quietly, the words coming from her heart in gratitude and affection. She loved her father hut she would not help him destroy so many lives.

A flicker of surprise crossed Tse Hi's face, but he was silent. With a brief glance at his sister, he left them alone.

Luan sighed softly. Tse Hi's tongue was sharp and his heart trapped in a shell of pain. But she was grateful he found kindness to allow Lorielle to stay. Still it would be wise to advise the Fair One as quickly as possible so the responsibility would be his. How happy her mistress was with him. Love softened her smile and brought the color of roses to her cheeks. The Fair One would take care of her and cherish her.

"I must hasten back," she said with a smile. She would not speak of the errand Tyler Temple had commissioned to her. Her mistress's heart was burdened too heavily already.

"Luan--you must, tell Spencer where I am. He will worry when he does not find me at the house."

"It will be done. Now I must depart. The house of Kwang holds little luxury, but my brother will see that you are fed." She raised a delicate hand toward a corner of the room, and Lorielle noticed for the first time the bare pallet on its wooden frame. "We can give you no more," Luan said humbly, her eyes downcast."

"It is more than I need," Lorielle assured her. The straw bed was far preferable to that of Giles!

"Do not venture outside," Luan warned. "My brother allows no one to enter but those he knows, and he tends our father with his own loving care--"

"He must let me help" Lorielle exclaimed. "I have some knowledge of illness and infirmity." It was an exaggeration, but she had once watched her ayah tend a dying servant.

'There is nothing to be done," Luan said sadly. "He lies in wait for death. It will come soon."

Lorielle found it amazing that despite the girl's grief, Luan could anticipate her father's passing with calmness. Luan had surprised her in many wars these past days.

"I'll sit with him while your brother is away. Perhaps I cannot do anything, but you will breathe easier knowing he is not alone."

Luan bowed her head. "My gratitude...." She motioned to a door across the hall. "He lies there. He does not speak or know night from day. Only opium brings him release from his pain." She lowered her eyes. "I must go. I will bring word soon." She left hurriedly and Lorielle was alone.

She Listened to the quiet sound of Luan's slippers in the hall, then heard Tse Hi's hushed, angry voice. His words sounded like clashing cymbals, interrupted only occasionally by Luan's soft answers. Lorielle did not understand them, but Tse Hi's tone left no doubt that he was still unhappy with her presence. Finally the house fell silent. Lorielle waited several minutes, listening. Had Tse Hi gone too? She suppressed a tremor. Was she more fearful of Tse Hi or of being alone with a dying old man? Summoning her courage, she tiptoed to the door and peered out. Seeing no one, she crossed to the door opposite and listened again. The rice-paper screen was a thin barrier between her and the man inside, yet she could not even detect the sound of his breathing. Carefully, she slid the translucent door open.

She held her breath. The room was magnificent! The contrast to the rest of the barren house overwhelmed her so that she could scarcely believe her eyes. A carved teakwood bed dominated the center of the room. It was covered with a red velvet throw, with pillows encased in yellow satin splashed brightly across it. A high window ran the length of the wall above the bed, and diffused light came through the opaque rice paper that served in the place of glass The sun cast long shadows of the intricate grillwork across the floor. On one wall were two lime wood chests bound with gleaming brass. There was also a rounded pedestal table, an armchair filled with plump pillows and a low footstool covered with a colorful detailed pattern worked in needlepoint. On the opposite wall was a tall rectangular shrine, its square opening housing an ivory Buddha and a small copper pot that held several burning joss sticks. The sweet aroma of the incense filled the room. And in a corner close to the bed, a small tiled brazier showed the rosy glow of a fire. The room was pleasantly warm in contrast to the rest of the house.

At first, she thought the room was empty, but as she neared the bed, she saw the figure lost in the depths of the feathery comforter. The gaunt body was no more than a scarecrow among the satin pillows. Lorielle stifled a gasp of astonishment. She had never seen anyone so thin. The man was a skeleton, with bird-claw wrists and fingers sticking from the wide cuffs of his silk robe. His skin was translucent, stretched over the bones of his skull like rice paper on a screen. His eyes were closed, and a delicate tracery of veins showed clearly on the papery lids. His lips had a blue cast, and Lorielle had the terrible feeling that if she were to hold a mirror to them, there would be no breath to cloud it. She could detect no movement of his chest under the embroidered dragon robe. She stared, trying to see a flutter in the wispy gray hairs of his beard. She glanced around quickly in search of Luan or Tse Hi, then returned her gaze to the figure on the bed as a tremulous sigh escaped the thin lips.

He was alive! Relief washed over Lorielle. She prayed that when the old man's time came, his son and daughter would be on hand to hear his last breaths. She wondered what dreadful disease had wasted his flesh and sapped his strength until he was such a shell. Luan had mentioned he was given opium to ease his pain. Thank heaven he had that small blessing. How could Tse Hi be so adamant about the drug when it brought relief to his own father? She sighed and sank onto the pillowed armchair where she could watch the dying man. If he woke, he might be too feeble to cry out. She would be a lot more confident if Tse Hi had given her instructions for his father's medication. She glanced at the table and chests, but there was no phial or cup. Sighing, she resumed her vigil.

How long would it take Luan to get word to Spencer? She tried to think where they would go

once they were reunited. Not back to the house or factory, that was certain. Her father had too many friends who might report seeing them if they so much as ventured into the foreign sector. Still, they could not remain here. They might be discovered, and the word would spread quickly. Even if they could somehow obtain permission from the authorities to stay, the news would reach the merchants very quickly. Their only hope was to flee down the river. She wondered if Spencer had gathered the information he'd been sent to acquire. If so, they might go to Macao and find a ship to sail for England. Was it true that the captain of a ship had the authority to perform marriage ceremonies? Her cheeks warmed at the memory of Spencer's lovemaking. If a ship's captain had no such power, it would not make a whit of difference to her. She already felt bound to Spencer in heart and body ... the words of a preacher would only sanctify the blissful union they'd already found.

Several hours later, Lorielle heard steps and leaped up from the chair where she'd fallen into a reverie. She glanced about quickly for a hiding place, but before she could move, the door pushed open. She didn't realize how frightened she was until she saw Tse Hi. She let out a tightly coiled breath.

"Thank heaven it's you--" She smiled and rubbed her hands together nervously. She was ill at ease, and his glowering expression did nothing to relieve her. He went to the bed and looked down at the old man.

"He has not wakened," Lorielle said softly.

"He will go to his ancestors in the arms of sleep," Tse Hi said.

Lorielle found the mixture of scorn and relief in his tone confusing. Surely he loved his father, else he would not tend him with such concern. The well-furnished room ...his devoted vigil ... But there was anger in his every motion, a smoldering rage beneath the surface of his words. In Calcutta she'd seen death many times, not first-hand but close enough to observe the grief of the family. Grief was open and bold, a purge of the heart and spirit of those left to mourn. Were customs so different here? The people? At best they were enigmatic, but she could not believe them cold with regard to family ties.

Determined to break through the barrier between them, Lorielle questioned Tse Hi about the nature of his father's illness.

"He dies of your father's greed!" The outburst was so sudden, Lorielle recoiled, eyes wide. "View him, Content One!" he commanded. "His body has the breath of life but his soul is dead. This is the price he pays for your greedy merchants and their factories. The Red Barbarians trade men's souls for silver. My father and thousands like him trade their lives for a pillow of dreams! They can never escape the demon of the pipe. It woos them like a siren, coaxing them deeper into dangerous shoals until they are trapped in a net of madness. View him, Content One, view him and let your heart weep!"

She stared with mouth agape. Was he saying that his father was dying of opium? That her father was responsible for this pitiful creature's condition? She could not accept his invective.

"The choice was your father's!" she fumed. "And now it is yours! He's obviously in no condition to administer the drug himself, yet you continue giving it to him. Deny him it if your conscience is so burdened!"

He laughed with an ugly sound. "The Content One has a river of passion but a mere trickling stream of knowledge. You see nothing." He turned away in disgust, but whirled to face her again. "My sister has offered you the shelter of the house of Kwang. The Fair One knows your whereabouts. He will come for you soon. Until then, you may honor our house by caring for its master." He tilted his head toward the pathetic figure on the bed. "Continue your vigil, Content One. My honorable father will soon waken and need the pipe, but I will not prepare it for him. Impart to him peace with your golden tongue. Save him from himself and from your father's sentence of death." He turned on his heel and strode from the room. The rice-paper screen rattled as his heavy footsteps vanished down the hall.

Shaking, Lorielle sank into the chair. She was enraged at Tse Hi's scathing condemnation. For a moment she wondered if he, too, smoked the opium pipe he claimed brought madness. He was not sane if he believed her father responsible for what his own father had wrought. Breathing deeply to undo the knot in her belly, she pushed herself from the chair and crossed to the bed. The old man had

become restless. His sunken face twitched pitifully, and under the translucent, papery lids, his eyes moved as though searching for the peace that had vanished. One hand jerked and the fingers clawed into the satin comforter.

She bent to smooth a wisp of damp hair from his forehead and was shocked by the clamminess of his skin. His hand twitched again, and his fingers tightened their death grip on the blanket. His body seemed to convulse with an inner torment, though he scarcely moved. Tse Hi had predicted he'd wake soon. How sure he'd been, and how accurate. The old man's eyelids fluttered and raised like a pale moon on a night sky.

She smiled reassuringly but his gaze was vacant. He moved restlessly and made an attempt to turn his skeletal body, only to draw miserably into a tight knot once more. His gaze seemed to search for relief as a shuddering sigh escaped his lips.

Lorielle spoke soothingly as she would to a child, assuring him he was not alone and she would do what she could. The words fell on deaf ears, and his thrashing increased. Soon he began to shiver uncontrollably. Quickly she pulled the comforter over him and tucked it beneath his chin. A tear formed in his eye and trickled slowly across his cheek.

He was a child, a helpless babe tormented by a nightmare! How could Tse Hi be so heartless? She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and stroked the old man's head in an effort to quiet him. All at once his body snapped like a broken spring. His legs straightened and his hands flung away the cover. Lorielle sprang up in alarm. He was retching agonizingly, though his stomach contained no food to reject. Sweat filmed his pallid skin and he moaned piteously. She looked about for a basin and when she found none, tried to sit beside the old man again and restrain him with her own strength, but it was like fighting the wind. He had no power in his muscles, but no matter how tightly she held him, he twisted like a wild beast in captivity, driven to escape the bars that held him. She was terrified that his fragile bones would snap, and she released him quickly. His moans were barely audible but had the agony of screams.

Hot tears stung her eyes. She could not bear to see his torment. The delicate body would not withstand the suffering very long. Was this what Tse Hi meant? A net of madness--was the old man demented? Fear danced along her spine in an icy fandango and she rushed from the room in search of Tse Hi.

The house was empty except for her and the tortured, pathetic creature whose cries shook the thin screens and echoed hollowly within the stone walls. Desperate, she searched again, room by room, hoping that Tse Hi would miraculously appear and deliver her from the monstrous burden he had placed in her care. The rooms were as barren as the first she'd seen. Except for pallets in the other bedrooms, the house had a grave, abandoned air. And in his sumptuous bedroom, the old man raved on maniacally.

Lorielle hurried back to the bedroom and opened the chests in search of salvation. The medicine had to be somewhere. A few drops of laudanum might quiet Kwang's ravings and still his pain long enough for her to collect her wits and find a way to make him comfortable until Tse Hi returned. Frantically, she pushed aside the few garments in the chest, but there was nothing else. In desperation, she went over the table again. At last she found a cunningly concealed drawer behind the intricate carving of the facing. In it lay a dark tightly wrapped ball of crumbling leaves and a peculiar looking pipe. She studied them curiously. She'd seen similar balls of opium roll from the broken chest on the waterfront. And the other had to be an opium pipe to create smoke dreams, but she hadn't the slightest idea how to work it. Behind her, the old man cried out like a dying fawn. As the sound ebbed to wracking moans, Lorielle sank into the chair and wept in frustration.

Chapter Eleven

Spencer's mistrust of Tyler and his fabricated story had not lessened by morning. After the unexpected conversation with Tyler and being escorted from the grounds of the house on Sanchou Road, Spencer had tried to gain entry back into the compound, only to find every door barred. He did not believe for a moment Temple's reason for his "temporary" relocation, and his concern for Lorielle mounted. If only he'd been able to have a moment with Luan--but she had not appeared during his brief sojourn in the house. Tyler had a hand in that, he was sure. Reluctantly he returned to the factory and spent a sleepless night.

With daylight, he tried to track down the source of the sudden change in Tyler's attitude. It was concerned with Giles Copeland's return, no doubt of that. Copeland had retired to his own dwelling in the suburban area behind the factories; Tyler came to the factory early but there was no opportunity to see him. He seemed to have a lot on his mind and the offices buzzed with excitement because of Commissioner Lin's pending arrival. The river swarmed with boats, and the factory flags streamed out in the morning breeze. In a holiday mood, Chinese and foreigners alike crowded the river front; several merchants hoarded a small schooner lying off the factories to go out to watch the Commissioner's arrival on the river. Everywhere, crowds jostled and hurried for vantage spots from which to view the momentous event. Street vendors were doing a brisk trade in every conceivable kind of food and trinkets.

Spencer realized the bustle would provide good cover for an expedition to the house on Sanchou Road. Tyler would be occupied for hours... the opportunity was too good to miss. He stood on the verandah of the English Factory and searched the exodus of merchants and clerks for a glimpse of Tyler. He'd feel more secure if he knew Tyler was fully occupied.

"Ah, there you are, I've been looking for you." Major General Milton emerged from the factory and clasped his hand. "What say we have a look? I'm told the Commissioner's entourage is only a quarter mile from the landing. I'm eager to see the buzzard who's set us rocking on our heels without having set foot on this hallowed ground. Come along, Spencer, let's see if he really breathes fire, eh?"

"I think not," Spencer said cheerfully. "I have work--"

"Nonsense! There isn't a lick of work being done anywhere this morning. You'll not find a soul to chat with." He took Spencer's arm companionably. "Besides, what better chance will we have to judge for ourselves if Lin poses a threat to our comfortable way of life, eh? Listen--" A cacophony of whistles blasted sharply. A sudden hush fell, then an undercurrent of excitement rippled. "The river police are clearing the way. Our eminent visitor approaches! There's a spot at the end of the garden--come along."

Grinning, Spencer fell in step. A few minutes would not matter. With Lin actually ashore, Ty1er would be sure to be occupied fully. And he couldn't deny his own eagerness to see Lin. The attitude of the merchants was divided. Some still believed the storm clouds were gathering with dark fury, but there were many who were not in the least alarmed. They were convinced that Lin would not differ from the Chinese officials they already dealt with—he would make a show of severity, satisfy the Court, squeeze the Hong and depart a rich man.

By the time they reached the small knot of men clustered at the landing at the foot of the garden, the procession of mandarin boats was already in sight. The crowd fell silent again as they stared at the imposing figure seated in the principal vessel. A large tasseled umbrella had been erected to shield him from the sun, but even its flamboyant colors did not detract from Lin's solemn demeanor. He was a large, corpulent man of about sixty, with a heavy black mustache and a long straggly beard.. His unsmiling countenance was devoid of the ready smiles lesser mandarins bestowed on festive occasions. He looked neither left nor right as he was rowed past the schooner where a handful of English merchants gawked openly. Behind the Commissioner's somber boat followed a gay procession of smaller vessels carrying the Viceroy, Governor and other high officials; the crews were bedecked in sparkling white uniforms trimmed with red, and conical rattan hats.

The boats pulled up at the common landing a short distance from the English garden.

Major General Milton cleared his throat. "I must say, he does seem a bit prepossessing. Of course, it could be a sham to impress us. Time will tell, time will tell."

Spencer did not voice an opinion. He was inclined to think the foreign merchants might be underestimating the forbidding man who'd been sent to tackle the task of upsetting their profitable applecart. Temple and the others would find Lin a formidable opponent, he thought. Would they knuckle under to his demands--or would they continue to fight their waning cause?

The Commissioner's boat landed and the bulky man made his way up the steps like a fat turtle. A contingent of coolies kowtowed along the path to the waiting sedan chair, then scrambled to lead the way across the square as his escort of lictors formed a procession around him. The fact that Lin did not engage in a ceremonial address to the gathered merchants was forbidding in itself. Spencer wondered how soon his first orders would reach their ears.

As they returned to the factory, they were joined by others who'd been viewing the proceedings from the wall. The exchange was lively and good-natured.

"Not a chance he’ll pass muster with the ladies. Did you see that scowl? Whooosh, charm's not the Commissioner's long suit. He'll lack for dinner invitations in these parts." The writer named Cobler shook his head knowingly. "Mrs. Quigley will bust a corset stay when she gets a peek at that one!"

The others laughed.

"Since when's charm needed at a Quigley party?" another demanded.

"Here now, the Major General and Mr. Raymond might think you blokes mean it," Johnson murmured with an apologetic glance at Spencer and Milton. Spencer grinned and winked broadly.

"Besides," a sallow-faced man with a slim mustache added, "The good women of Canton have a hell of a time with pidgin. They're not eager to invite the Chinks unless their husbands insist--and I don't think they’ll offer to entertain the Commissioner before they find out what he's up to."

The conversation drifted to the line Lin's enforcement would take, and again there was disagreement. It was not an easy matter to settle, but everyone seemed eager to prove himself right.

Johnson broke off suddenly and turned toward the gate, waving his arms and shouting. "Hey there--this is private property. Get yourself back outside the gate!"

The target of his command was a young Chinese who had entered the English garden and stood staring at the men on the path. He did not move as Johnson yelled but waited as though expecting it to be rescinded.

"Get out--get along with you!" Johnson started toward him threateningly.

"Let me take care of it, Johnson. I'll wager there's a bottle of whisky open already in the hall Be good enough to pour me a glass, eh? I'll be along in a minute." Slapping Johnson on the back with a show of camaraderie, Spencer urged him to follow the others to the factory. Grumbling, but eager for a drop of refreshment after an hour in the sun, Johnson ambled off. Major General Milton glanced back curiously but did not break his stride.

Spencer waited until they had reached the steps of the verandah then walked to where Tse Hi waited. "What are you doing here?"

Tse Hi's lip curled. "I gave my sister my word that I would carry her message. I derive no pleasure from your English garden or the presence of Red Barbarians."

"Luan's sent word of Lorielle?" He grabbed Tse Hi's arm as though to force the news out. Tse Hi glanced down at where Spencer's hand lay on his jacket as though it were an insect he might crush. Spencer reined his anxiety with effort and dropped his hand.

"Lorielle?' he asked again.

"She is at the house of my father."

"Inside the wall!"

Tse Hi scowled. "Luan was frightened and threw caution to the winds. The daughter of the Sinister Tongue fears her father and Copeland. She begged my sister to help her. There was no other place of safety."

"She's not harmed--?" If Tyler had--! A cord tightened in his neck and his fists clenched.

"She is well, but she cannot remain in the house of Kwang. I fear for my sister. The Sinister Tongue will punish her as well as his daughter. And he grows bolder in his demands. He has sent Luan to do his evil work with the foreign mud. She must find men to buy it before the ch'in-ch'ai takes it from him." A look of scorn returned to Tse Hi's face.

Spencer could not hide his surprise. Tse Hi often spoke hastily, but he did not lie. What in the world was Tyler thinking to send Luan on such a mission? It was worse than foolish--it was dangerous. No matter how he terrorized her into loyalty, he couldn't be sure that others would not double-cross him. He was not well liked, nor did the rank and file Chinese opium dealers stand securely on honesty. If one saw an opportunity to cheat a foreigner, he would not hesitate to engage in larceny–or even murder.

Take me to Lorielle," he said abruptly.

Tse Hi smiled arrogantly. "You would compound my sister's folly. I am not so foolish to risk leading you through the streets of the old city. The Kwang house stands on the Street of a Thousand Songbirds near the Market of Spices."

With that, he turned and was gone.

Spencer's anger roiled and he took a step to follow, then saw it was useless. The youth had already been swallowed up in the crowd outside the gate. Spencer was painfully aware of how much Tse Hi's news upset him. Lorielle's flight meant that Tyler Temple and Giles Copeland were once more trying to force marriage plans on her–but they had not succeeded, thanks to her daring. The spunk that had gotten her into dangerous situations before, and for which he had taken her to task, now stood her in good stead. She'd kept her vow that she would not give in to her father's demands–or Giles–and she'd proven her love.

He felt a warm stir of desire and longing. Abruptly, he made his way to the factory. He'd waste no time in finding the house of Kwang. Thank God Luan had taken Lorielle there. Despite Tse Hi's disclaimer, she would be safe there if Tse Hi could be convinced to let her remain. The news that Tyler was attempting to sell opium directly to dealers inside the city was also disquieting and very significant. He was running scared because of Lin's arrival and trying to dispose of the stores in the go-downs before the seething cauldron of trouble boiled over. Had he already exhausted all other possibilities to dispose of the supply? The factory had been quiet these past days, and Tyler had seemed content to bide his time. Spencer had been lulled into believing he'd already accomplished his goal, but such was not the case, it seemed. Using Luan was risky on Ty1er's part, but it could be the break Spencer was waiting for. Luan might be frightened enough to confide in him. Proof that Tyler was engaged in private trade would not only verify Valentine's doubts about the honesty of some Company officials but strengthen his conviction that the opium trade must cease. It was unconscionable to deal in human misery. Opium was as cruel as slavery and just as surely consigned men to a living death. It was time for both to be abolished completely.

Major General Milton and the others waylaid Spencer as he entered the factory and insisted he join them for a drink. The conversation drifted from. the effect of Lin's arrival to the prospect of the end of the season, which would soon be at hand. Another month of trade, interrupted as it was, would see the foreign ships clear the river with their cargoes of tea and silks. Merchants would retire to Macao for the summer. The problem of Commissioner Lin could be laid to rest; by the end of the summer hiatus, it would perhaps vanish of its own accord as the supply of opium on the mainland dwindled and dealers and smokers alike became eager for a new supply. The furor would pass, and business would resume.

Spencer chafed restlessly and made his escape as soon as possible. He made discreet inquiries about Tyler's whereabouts and, assured that he was still engaged in his office, departed for the old city.

Lorielle shivered with exhaustion. The sounds of the dying man's torment throbbed inside her head with agonizing pain. She'd lost track of time; each hour was an eternity of hell. Her attempts to lessen Kwang's suffering had little effect. She put wood on the fire to keep the room warm, since the old man thrashed the covers off as quickly as she put them on. For long periods, he lay curled in embryonic withdrawal with no signs of life except for soft moans and the tears which squeezed from under his closed lids. Again and again she studied the strange smoking pipe and tried to light it. She pressed a small amount of the opium into the bowl and held it over the fire, hoping to ignite it so she might offer it to the old man, but it was useless. The gray paste smoldered, but by the time she carried the pipe to the bed, the small puff of smoke evaporated and the pipe was already growing cold. She dared not attempt to keep it going by puffing on it. She was sure the drug worked quickly, and she could not risk clouding her mind with its effects. She recalled all too clearly the sense of drifting euphoria induced by the wine Giles had given her, the listlessness and inability to ward off Giles' nightmarish advances.

When she heard footsteps at last, she leaped from the chair and ran to the door. Spencer stood in the hall, glancing at the partially open doors. She flung herself into his arms.

"Spencer!" She buried her face at his chest and let the dam of tears burst. Her relief left her weak with joy, and she clung to him with trembling arms.

"My sweet--hush now, don't weep--" He soothed her trembling body with caresses, thrilling to the touch of his arms holding her close. Her ordeal had left her strained and weary looking, and he vowed silently that she would never return to her father's dominion as long as he had breath to shield her. He lifted her face and dried her tears then brought her lips to his to kiss her possessively.

Her mouth quivered as she welcomed him, then her body pressed his in a sweet embrace. For a long ecstatic interval, she knew only the overwhelming need of his closeness, the strength of his arms and mouth. Her weariness and fright were washed away. She was whole again as he murmured with wordless passion. When at last he released her lips, she gazed at him with rapturous eyes. Slowly she became aware of the sounds in the room behind her.

He followed the direction of her gaze, frowning as he saw the figure on the bed. He realized that Tse Hi's father was in the throws of withdrawal from the opium. He went to the bed.

"How long has he been this way?"

She shuddered. "It seems an eternity. He's getting worse. I feel so helpless."

Spencer felt a surge of anger that Tse Hi had left Lorielle to cope with the old man's torment, that his hatred for the foreigners was so immense that he'd subject his father to such suffering to show them the horrible consequences. The old man's agony was pitiful; his wasted body would not be able to endure the pain much longer. Though Tse Hi had alluded to the horror, seeing it filled Spencer's mouth with a bitter taste and made his neck cord.

"He needs opium," he said tightly.

"It's here--" Lorielle rushed to the table to bring the pipe. "I could not light it."

He gazed at her tenderly. "You tried?"

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. "I wanted to help the poor man." She glanced at the bed but averted her eyes quickly. Each labored breath the old man took wracked her soul.

Spencer took he pipe and opium ball. "It is a delicate process, but I have seen it done." Glancing about, he spied the spirit lamp and took it to the stove. After holding it to the fire, he shielded the wavering blue-yellow lick of flame with a hand as he carried it to the bed. He sat beside the thrashing man and raised his head so Lorielle could prop a pillow under it. Then he took up a drop of the opium on the needle. Kwang's gaze fixed on him with despair, pleading for mercy. Spencer murmured softly, and the man's groaning quieted. It was as though he knew deliverance was at hand. His twisting body stilled and his eyes fixed hypnotically on the tiny flame of the lamp.

Spencer brought the lamp closer and put the pipe to the old man’s mouth. He was so weakened it lay between his trembling lips like a leaf fluttering in the wind. Spencer kept the grip on it as he touched the opium to the flame and watched it swell. Quickly he tipped the pipe bowl over it as the heavy white smoke began to eddy. The old man inhaled deeply, driven by instinct and habit. When the opium was consumed, Spencer lighted another bit, then another.

Lorielle watched in amazement as the old man's body quieted and at last lay peacefully. His agony had vanished and he relaxed onto the pillow, eyes closed. He seemed to drift weightlessly, his pain and cares gone. A small smile touched his lips as though he were listening to sounds beyond their hearing ... a thousand songbirds among the rustling leaves of mulberry ... the tranquil rush of a waterfall over the rocks of a mountain stream.

Spencer put aside the smoking equipment, then blew out the flame of the lamp.

"He'll be peaceful now." He drew her away from the bed and took her in his arms. Guilt at his delay in finding her was heavy on his conscience. Had he understood Tse Hi's message more clearly, Lorielle would have been spared the ordeal of viewing Kwang's degradation. How long would the old man have the strength, to prolong his own life by drawing on the pipe? It could not be much longer--he was already wasted to a ghost of humanity that might be snuffed out at any moment. Another pain-wracked withdrawal such as that he'd just borne would still his feeble heart and end his living death. It would be kinder in the long run to let him go, but after even a brief glimpse of the addict's hell Spencer could no longer fault Tse Hi's decision to allow his father to pass into eternity peacefully. It was a tribute of respect to what Kwang had once been.

"Come away for a bit," Spencer coaxed and slipped his arm about Lorielle as he led her from the bedroom where the sweet smell of opium still clung in the air.

"You're sure he won't waken?" Her worried glance flicked to the small figure reposing beneath the red satin comforter. It seemed unbelievable that Kwang could have slipped back into a euphoric state so quickly.

"It will be hours. You must not torment yourself, there is nothing more to be done."

"He is so pitiful!"

"Hush. .. ." He urged her along the hall to the main room where they sat together on one of the benches. Spencer drew her close, and she rested her head on his strong shoulder.

"I don't know what I would have done--I was beside myself."

He cupped her chin and raised her face so he could chide her with a stern but loving glance. "You must put it from your mind. It is over and we cannot change it. But I'm here now, you're not alone." He saw the doubt and fear go from her eyes to be replaced by soft, warm love. Tenderly, be kissed her. Her warmth roused him, and his hand moved to whisper at her breast.

She shivered and clung to him, losing herself in the comfort of his love. How safe it was, how wonderful, to be reunited ... with his promise that they would never part.

She longed to remain in his arms and erase the dreadful hours of separation they'd endured. Could it be only twenty-four hours, a single day? No, it had been an eternity. Life without him was a hellish abyss that she never wanted to endure again. Sighing, she surrendered to his kisses once more. His mouth claimed hers greedily and she savored the probing invitation of his tongue. Senses aroused, she would have given herself to him gladly despite the inadequacies of their surroundings. She was aware only of her engulfing need and desire.

He felt her body yield, and for a heady moment, he almost let passion rule his head. But it would be foolhardy when Tse Hi might return at any moment. Gently, he murmured her name and pressed his lips to the delicate, sweet-smelling lobe of her ear.

"We must find a way to insure that your father cannot threaten you again," he said gently. How long would Tyler be occupied with his concern over the opium?

Alarmed, she looked up. "He has arranged my wedding to Giles for this afternoon."

Fire glinted in Spencer's eyes, and he looked at her with a rush of love. "And so you fled?"

"Yes. I will wed no one but you, my love, I've sworn that with every breath."

He smiled. "Nor will I allow any different course of events," he said tenderly. "We must arrange it quickly so that your father will be forced to abandon his foolish plan."

Her quick surge of joy was dampened as the impossibility of the situation dawned on her. She'd fled her familiar surroundings. They were aliens in the old city, and there was no Christian missionary here to say their vows. Lacking them, she dared not return to the foreign sector.

"But how?" she asked with a trembling heart.

"Here now," he admonished. "It is not as impossible as your seriousness would indicate. It may be that I can persuade one of the new missionaries to perform the ceremony. I'm told that Mr. Gutztaff has brought with him several men of the cloth to help his endeavors here." He grinned roguishly and fingered the elaborately embroidered plum-colored silk san she wore. "Or perhaps the nuptials of a Chinese ceremony would suffice. The bride is locked in a splendid carved and gilt sedan chair and taken to her espoused. In the event he does not find her pleasing when he unlocks the sedan, he is entitled to return her to her parents much as he would toss a fish back into the sea" His eyes twinkled. "An extremely civilized and practical method, I think, except that the groom is obliged then to return double the lady's dowry."

Laughter bubbled as she caught his air of merriment. She gave him a saucy look. "Since I come to you with a dowry of misery and misfortune, it would be a difficult choice to make, Mr. Raymond."

"Indeed, I would consider carefully before heaping additional woes upon myself when I can claim instead a beautiful bride who has already unfolded her passionate nature."

She felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks as he gazed at her and her smiling face was reflected in the azure pool of his eyes. "Am I so wanton?" she asked.

Without altering his gaze, he drew her close again. "Seductive and totally desirable. I love you--" His emotions ran rampant and his body stirred with wanting her. He felt the warm full curve of her breast under the silk jacket, the beating of her heart against his. "I will never let you go…"

Lorielle moved to the urgency of his kiss, lost in the rapturous renewal of their love, secure that she could face the future with Spencer so willing to share her burdens. Her body came alive and tingled under the message of his loving promise. To be his forever was the only happiness she sought. Nothing else mattered. His tongue met hers in intimate silence that spoke a thousand words, and she sighed in contentment.

At last he summoned will to release her. A small frown puckered his brow.

"It would be best if I see to the things that must be done," he said. The frown deepened. "It will not be a simple matter and may take a bit of time. Will you be all right?"

The thought of remaining in the Kwang house alone with the old man filled her with dread, and she cast a worried look toward the bedroom.

He gently reassured her. "He will rest comfortably until nightfall. Tse Hi will return by then. His devotion to his father is too great to allow the old man to suffer needlessly. He'll come back before the effects of the opium wane."

"How can you be sure? He showed no compassion in leaving his father in my care when I was naive enough to believe Mr. Kwang was ill with a malady that could be eased by a modicum of nursing skills." Her anger at Tse Hi returned in double measure as she recalled the old man's suffering.

Spencer took her face between his hands. His palms were cool on the hushed angry cheeks.

"When a man is angry, he strikes out blindly at times. Tsi Hi wants to protect his family and everything he believes in, but he also wants to exact revenge for what the foreigners have done to them. He blames them for his father's condition and for Luan having been made a--" He broke off, realizing what he'd been about to say.

Lorielle flushed and her gaze fell momentarily. "I know what my father has done to Luan. It leaves me sick with disgust. To buy the life of another is to sell one's own soul. I shall never be able to forgive--"

"Hush, my sweet. Your father has done a terrible thing, but not without cooperation. Is what your father did any more despicable than what Kwang's tormented body and mind caused him to do? By Chinese custom, a man can sell what is his, even a child." He indicated the barren room. "He had nothing else left."

She looked around with wide eyes. "He sold everything?"

Spencer nodded. "But Tse Hi is too proud to let his father die in shame. He bought back many of the furnishings of his father's chambers so the old man can die without losing face. Everything he does is for his father. He asks nothing for himself." His tender gaze touched her. " I’ll wager my boots he's back before his father begins to suffer again." He knew now that Tse Hi had come to the factory to tell him where Lorielle was so he'd get to her in time to fix Kwang's opium pipe. Tse Hi had gambled on a sure thing ... he had not gambled at all.

Lorielle sighed. The Chinese philosophy was so strange and different, it was difficult to understand. Spencer seemed to have made far more progress than she. She smiled with new courage.

"I'11 be all right alone," she said. "As long as I have your promise you'll come back soon." She closed her hands over his and brought his palm to her lips.

"You have that, my love. And in the meantime, I will send word by Luan or Tsi Hi whenever I can. You must not worry. Promise?"

When she nodded, he drew her to her feet and kissed her warmly. "Now, let's look in on your patient before I go."

Chapter 12

Trying to arrange his marriage to Lorielle was an undertaking more easily said than done, Spencer discovered. The realization that the Reverend Gutzlaff was entirely in sympathy with Tyler's desire to force the union between Giles and Lorielle was a blow. Spencer discovered that the missionary was enjoying Temple's hospitality in Canton, as were the three fledgling crusaders who'd accompanied him. Of these, two were medical men with no power in the church. The third, a thin-faced, stooped man named Idine, was an ordained minister of the gospel, but his nervousness in his new parish and his zealous desire to save heathen souls kept him at Gotzlaff's side constantly. Try as he did, Spencer could find no way to speak to him alone and try to gain his cooperation. It was not a subject to broach hastily, since it seemed almost certain that Idine would confide in his superior.

Spencer didn't learn what story Tyler invented for Gutzlaff to account for the second postponement of Lorielle's wedding. It had not been announced publicly, so there was no need to expose himself to ridicule by admitting his daughter had again fled the bridegroom he'd chosen. Neither Tyler nor Giles were able to hide their agitation, but in the tension over Commissioner Lin's arrival, it went unnoticed. Spencer discovered that Tyler had made discreet inquiries about Lorielle without disclosing the cause of his concern. And he very soon recognized that Tyler was having him watched. In turn, Spencer doubled his own safeguards to insure that he was not followed when he left the factory to visit the Kwang house.

During his visits Spencer became more involved with Tse Hi and his band of men. With growing certainty, he realized they were actively plotting some action against Tyler Temple. On one visit to the Kwang house, he chanced upon Tse Hi and Luan arguing and his knowledge of the Chinese language was sufficient to know they were talking about Temple. When Luan left, Spencer confronted Tse Hi and demanded an explanation.

"Anything that involves Temple concerns Lorielle," he argued. "I have a right to know. I won't try to stop you but I will do whatever is necessary to protect Lorielle."

Tse Hi scoffed. The Gentle One is in no danger as long as she remains here and you do not interfere."

"Interfere in what?" Spencer persisted. He'd felt for some time that Tyler was skirting disaster. If he persisted in selling opium with Lin in the city, he might be headed for that disaster.

Tse Hi pondered. His own sister was deeply involved ... perhaps it was wise to involve the Gentle One as well. She could not flee the sanctuary of the house of Kwang. If the Fair One wished to protect her, he would be forced to remain silent about the plan even give aid if it became necessary. And details that would expose his men to danger need not be revealed. Let the Fair One know the magnitude of evil the Sinister Tongue held in his heart.

He told Spencer about the mission that had been forced upon Luan and the determination of the Sinister Tongue to pursue his evil.

Spencer was incredulous. "He plays a dangerous game, my friend, and you may find yourself in an even more dangerous one if you try to stop him." Although Tse Hi had not disclosed any such intention, Spencer was sure he planned to prevent the sale--by force, if necessary. It would be against everything he stood for not to do so.

"Luan will not return to the house of the Sinister Tongue," Tse Hi declared adamantly. "He has not honored the pact with my father. The seal is broken. She is no longer in bondage to him." He would say no more.

Spencer was not reassured, but he knew it was useless to argue. No matter what, Lorielle was safer here than anyplace else. Even if Tyler learned her whereabouts, it would be impossible for him to take her by force. Tse Hi made

sure the house was well guarded, and he'd double the precautions once Luan was home.

When Spencer was not with her, Lorielle passed her days watching over the dying man who had been left in her care. She learned to light the opium pipe and give it to him when he woke and to feed him broths and light foods whenever he was not too stuporous to consume them. She watched his meager strength diminish day by day, and her heart went out to the pitiful creature he had become. Tse Hi's hostility gradually relented as she proved her trustworthiness. Her presence had not brought foreigners to the house, nor bad Luan been subjected to punishment for her part in helping Lorielle escape. Luan made several furtive visits, and she and her brother conversed in low tones in Chinese. Afterward, she was deeply worried but would not discuss these talks with Lorielle.

At Tse Hi's insistence, Luan told him every detail of the arrangements she made with the keeper of a shop in the heart of the city to sell the Sinister Tongue's private cache of opium. She worried that he would take dangerous steps to prevent the transaction, but Tse Hi was strangely placid and told her to follow Temple's instructions.

Tse Hi accepted Lorielle's presence and took pains to be sure she was not discovered--as much for his own safety as hers. He posted sentinels in the Street of a Thousand Songbirds to warn of the approach of anyone who was not part of his small band of trusted friends. Since Lin's arrival, the zealous group met daily to discuss the part they would play in the rebellion that was certain to come. There was no word yet from Lin's headquarters at the Yueh-hua Academy close to the Consoo House but it was known that the Commissioner spent his days conferring with Canton mandarins, laying his strategy and preparing his first edict. It came eight days after his arrival.

The document was posted in the square in front of the factories, and a crowd gathered before the Hoppo had driven the last nail. Everyone strained to read the translation.

"I, Lin, Imperial High Commissioner of the Court of Heaven, President of the Board of War and Viceroy of Hu-Kuang, issue these my commands to the Barbarians of every nation." It went on pompously to detail the multitude of favors that had been bestowed upon the foreign merchants by the Emperor and the ingratitude that had been given in return by seducing and deluding the sons of the

Middle Kingdom by selling them opium. A murmur stirred through the crowd as the list of their supposed sins was read aloud by one of the clerks who occupied a vantage spot close to the post on which the notice hung. It quieted quickly as he began to read again.

"Let the Barbarians deliver to me every particle of opium on board their store ships. There must not be the smallest particle concealed or withheld. And at the same time let the said Barbarians enter into a bond never hereafter to bring opium in their ships and to submit, should any be brought, to the extreme penalty of the law against the parties involved."

An indignant shout went up. "Turn over our cargoes! Does he take us for imbeciles? I'm not going to forfeit a season's profit!" Merchants shook their heads at the audacity of Lin's demands. Some angrily vowed they would never comply, while others rubbed their chins reflectively and worried that the new Commissioner might indeed have the power to enforce the decree. When at last the gathering fell silent again, the reader went on.

Lin's edict declared that if the merchants were contrite, they might be pardoned for their grievous sins of the past and, as a mark of extraordinary favor, be granted some measure of Imperial benefaction. However, if they disobeyed, the Army and Navy would be used to force them, and all trade would be closed permanently. Three days were given for compliance. The edict closed with the warning, "Do not indulge in idle expectations or seek to postpone matters, deferring to repent until its lateness renders it ineffectual. A special Edict!"

For several moments, an uneasy quiet hung over the square as the full impact of the notice was absorbed. Then a rush of chatter and nervous laughter erupted.

"It's only another flowery bit of prose meant to put the fear of God into us so we'll capitulate. Lin plans to sell the opium himself and steal what's rightfully ours."

"He's threatening war."

"If it's war he wants, we'll give it to him."

"He may have the power to carry out--" This bit of heresy was quickly shouted down.

"An army of gaggling geese in silk robes! Use your heads, men. Lin is bluffing. We'll bring warships up from Macao."

"There's only the Larne," someone else shouted. "Eighteen guns against the whole force of the Chinese? And with thirty miles of river to travel? Lin can seal us off before the Larne enters the Bogue."

Groups began to split from the crowd as the arguments continued. The news had taken everyone by surprise, and they aired opinions and guesses wildly without agreement or solution. The foreigners were still divided into two factions, the believers and the scoffers; neither could convince the other.

As soon as the reading of the Edict was finished, Giles impatiently drew Tyler back to the privacy of the factory office. There he exploded.

"If there's any bite to Lin's bark, this can spell trouble."

Tyler tried to reassure him. "The season is all but over. There's little trade to halt. The tempest will blow over quickly."

Giles' face darkened. The Montrose is already en route from India. She carries a thousand chests."

Tyler’s pulse skipped. Giles was aware of the last shipment due! He realized he'd misjudged his partner by thinking he had not kept himself well informed on every aspect of the Company trade as well as their own pirate operation. Giles had no intention of departing without collecting every shilling of profit he could.

"It's insane to allow any ship to make port. My responsibility to the Company--"

Giles slammed a fist on the desk. "I don't give a damn about the Company! I've already seen to it that the Montrose's manifest shows fewer chests than she holds. Eighty chests translates to thirty thousand pounds sterling in our coffers."

Tyler bristled and did not disguise his anger. "Only if we manage to sell it! Damn it, Giles, Lin has taken his stand and there isn't a chance in hell he'll let more ships come in. And even if we can manage to unload at sea, the price has already fallen sharply. Matheson got one-fourth the usual rate up the coast."

Giles gave him a sly smile. "You managed quite well on the sales you recently concluded."

"It was not easy--"

"It can be done again. If Matheson and the others are running scared, the field is left open for more enterprising men like ourselves."

Ty1er expelled an exasperated breath. "You ask the impossible."

Giles grew angry again and leaned toward the desk. ''Nothing is impossible, Tyler. Bold men succeed where others falter. This is a time for boldness."

"No. I will not jeopardize everything. We have already amassed a tidy sum and must content ourselves with that." Tyler was seething. It was easy for Giles to demand boldness of others while he risked nothing. If he could convince Giles that the Montrose was a lost cause, he might still be able to activate his own plans. Even a reduced price on a thousand chests was enough to tempt him, and now the thought of besting Copeland spurred his greed.

"You are a fool!" Giles snorted. "This is the chance we've been waiting for!"

"It is madness. You don't enter into the direct dealings, else you'd recognize the folly. I tell you, many of the merchants are talking about pulling out of the trade altogether. I refuse to risk everything."

"You refuse?" Giles' tone was threatening.

"I must, at least until we see the results of Lin's edict. If things quiet down before the Montrose reaches Chinese waters, perhaps something can be done. Otherwise, I’ll order her turned back. Better to hold off sales until next season

than to lose everything."

Giles' face suffused with ugly blotches of red, and for a moment Tyler thought he would explode again. But Giles settled back into the chair morosely. Temple masked a smile of triumph. Giles had played the gentleman-merchant role throughout their partnership--and now he had no choice but to follow Tyler's lead. He had no contact with the Hong or the independent buyers Temple knew. Giles

was incapable of selling so much as a ball of opium without Tyler's help--and he was being forced to admit that bitter truth now.

Giles' eyes narrowed and his mouth set in an ugly line. "I am in a position I dislike, Tyler, but for the moment you have the upper hand, at least regarding the Montrose. But our remaining stock of opium is another matter. Have you

arranged to sell it or are you still dallying and mincing about?"

Relieved but at the same time annoyed, Tyler controlled his tone. "It takes time to deal directly with den keepers behind the wall. They're under as much pressure as we are and are proceeding cautiously."

"You've had plenty of time," Giles snarled. "Eight days--and now Lin is spouting demands. Do you propose to turn over our opium meekly?"

Patiently, Tyler replied, "The arrangements are made and can still be carried out. There's some risk the courier may be caught, but it's one we'll have to take."

"See that he is not!" Giles snarled. "I'll give no quarter on that score. I demand full payment for my share, whether it comes from the dealer or from your pocket."

The cauldron of Tyler's anger boiled. He took all the risks while Giles sat back lapping up a full bowl of cream like a contented cat. Now he dared spit and hiss because the saucer might be whisked away with a single drop remaining. It was a temptation to answer in kind, but he resisted.

"I am taking every precaution, rest assured."

Giles settled back with a smug look. "That's better. Success in this venture will offset some of my irritation at your failure to find Lorielle." His thoughts were momentarily distracted by more pleasurable ones of what he would do when Lorielle was at last flushed out of hiding. She'd pay dearly for her insults--and he'd see that he had full recompense for his unsated desire. He had not told Tyler, but he had already arranged to sail for England the moment Lorielle was delivered to him. By the end of the long voyage, she would be tamed to submission and know her place as his wife.

Tyler smiled without revealing his enormous relief. Giles’ fears were quieted for the moment. He prayed they would remain that way. Tyler was confident he'd turn up Lorielle soon. It was unbelievable that he'd been unable to trace her movements, though he knew as surely as he drew breath that Luan had aided her. But no amount of coaxing or threats of beating had gotten the truth from the stupid girl. He couldn't shake her story that Lorielle had vanished while Luan readied a bath. When he confronted her with the guard's confession that he'd left his post at her encouragement, Luan steadfastly refused to admit playing any part in Lorielle's escape. Tyler finally had stopped badgering her, he still needed her for the more important mission of delivering the opium behind the walls of the old city. Secretly he made plans to follow her, not only to assure himself he was not double-crossed but because he was certain that Luan would lead him to Lorielle as well. If his daughter was hiding in the warren of the Chinese city, Luan would go to her. He knew it as surely as he breathed.

Spencer Raymond listened to the Edict with growing apprehension. His first fear was for Lorielle. If the merchants did not comply with Lin's command, the old city would become a fortress. It would be impossible for anyone to pass freely through the gates, or to gain access surreptitiously. Lorielle would be a virtual prisoner.

Unlike those who made light of Lin's intention, Spencer was convinced that the threats were far from idle. Tse Hi and the others were ready to back all efforts to stem the tide of opium through their own plans or by supporting Lin's. Tse Hi's band would provide a core of violence if fighting erupted. And Lorielle would be in the thick of it at the Kwang house. It was urgent to get her away, but Spencer's search for another safe place had failed. There were no unoccupied houses in the foreign sector or any family he dared ask to keep her. After careful consideration, he decided the only hope lay in finding a ship to carry them both to Macao. His conscience and fighting spirit bade him stay and see the opium matter through to its end, but he would not risk Lorielle's life. He had the information he'd been sent to gather, and evidence of Tyler Temple's duplicity as well. His conscience niggled at the thought of exposing Lorielle's father; she had suffered enough, and he had no desire to add to her woes. Perhaps the Company would be lenient if Temple withdrew quietly. Many men had amassed fortunes in the trade, honestly and otherwise. There were nabobs aplenty enjoying the spoils of their service in the East.

Before nightfall, Major General Milton confirmed Spencer's fears about the immediacy of Lin's threats. Milton reported that an edict had been issued to the Hong merchants, one no less absolute than the one delivered to the foreigners. On their knees before the Commissioner, the Chinese merchants had been reprimanded for being too friendly with the Barbarians and trying to shield them. Their instructions to change their ways and enforce Lin's orders were emphatic--comply or face a death warrant for as many among their number as the Commissioner deemed fitting to prove his intent. They were quaking, Milton declared sagely, and would not dare disobey.

Public notices had been posted throughout the city entreating the people to surrender their opium pipes. Those who did would be helped to break the habit; those who did not would be ferreted out and forced to endure withdrawal without compassion. Lin also commanded schoolmasters to report anyone who used the drug and to supervise the formation of groups of five students, each of whom would be responsible for the good behavior of the others so that smokers could easily be identified.

Lin had entered the arena at full gallop.

Milton also imparted the information that Tyler had sent word to Macao by a Chinese boat that the last ship of the season, which was due any day, be detained. Even James Matheson had ordered his opium aboard the receiving ship Hercules at Lantao to be loaded on clippers and sent up the coast for safekeeping. The next day, before the furor over the first edicts died down, Lin fired another round in his salvo. The foreigners were forbidden to leave for Macao, even though the season was virtually over and many were already packing for the annual migration south. The order amounted to their detention in Canton, something that had never happened before. The reaction was explosive. Few doubted now that Lin was a dangerous opponent who could not be dismissed lightly. He meant to force the foreigners and Chinese alike into compliance. Merchants with families in China were especially worried. A hasty meeting of the Chamber of Commerce was called. Afterward Ellis Quigley carried a letter to the Hong stating that Lin's orders involved such complicated interests the merchants could not commit themselves to action without first appointing a committee to look into the matter. They would have a full report within a week and would then be able to discuss the surrender of the opium. It was an evasive tactic designed to gain time, but it was the sort of move the Chinese understood and often engaged in themselves; the merchants were confident Lin would accept.

Quigley also demanded a permit for the women and children to set sail for Macao.

"They have no part in this," he declared. "They have always offered you the hospitality of their homes. My own Elisabeth has welcomed you as joyously as she does her own countrymen. You have shared our food and wine and friendship. You cannot subject them to such trembling of the heart as Lin imposes. I beg you, let them depart safely."

Changqua rolled his eyes heavenward. "I am everlastingly grateful for the friendship of the fan-qui. Have I not returned the intimacy in full measure? Are not my doors open to my cherished friends at any time? Aiii, it grieves my soul torturously that my diligent efforts to acquaint the ch'in-ch'ai with the virtuous nature of the Red Barbarians have borne no fruit. My words fall on barren ground."

'The hell with virtuous nature!" Quigley exploded. "I'm talking about the lives of women and children!"

Changqua sighed and pressed his palms together with a pious look. "I will present your petition to the ch'in-ch'ai."

Quigley had no choice but to let the matter rest there. Only Lin had the power to rescind the order and allow the women to leave. As the day wore on, the merchants' apprehension grew. At midmorning, the shutters on the customs house were closed without warning. No business would be conducted. The usually jolly customs official spread his hands helplessly and moaned that he acted under the Commissioner's orders. By early afternoon, armed patrol boats appeared on the river.

Tyler Temple and Giles Copeland stood on the verandah of the factory and studied the red sails of the junks weaving hapless patterns on the river below Respondentia Walk. Copeland regretted his delay in leaving Canton. He still didn't believe Lin could force the merchants to surrender their opium, but he was uneasy under the tension building on all sides. Ty1er had finally completed arrangements for the sale of the last of their opium; the delivery was to be made tonight. He'd feel better with the silver in hand, but it would not be easy to get out of the city. He'd offered handsome payment to a sampan man to spirit him down the inland passages the following night, but it was a risky business. He was in danger of being caught or betrayed by the boatmen--and punished according to God-knew-what Chinese laws. Lin might well be offering rewards for turning in disobedient foreigners.

In addition, Tyler had been unsuccessful in locating Lorielle, and Giles was furious. Well, he would not put himself in danger any longer in order to avenge himself on that snippet of a girl! He would wait for her in Macao.

Tyler surveyed the patrolling junks uneasily. He'd heard a rumor that troops were assembling in the suburbs as well, but he did not relay this latest bit of gossip to Giles. Copeland was already enraged by the slowness at which the sale of their private cache of opium was progressing. It would not be easy for Tyler's mission to proceed, or for him to follow Luan, if there were soldiers on the streets. The Hong still had not responded to Quigley's petition. What the devil was Lin up to? Did he really believe he could carry out his threats? Several merchants were talking of turning over their supplies as Lin demanded. The English Factory had five hundred chests of Company stores on hand. Tyler was willing to sacrifice whatever portion of them he must to pacify the Commissioner, especially if it would relax Lin's vigil. And if Lin destroyed the opium, it would be in short supply by the time the Montrose reached Chinese waters. That would work in his favor. Buyers would have to pay top price for the suddenly short commodity. For no matter what Lin did, he would never be able to break the habits of the thousands who were slave to the drug. They would require fresh supplies, and Tyler would have them.

"I've made my decision to quit the trade," Giles said unexpectedly.

Tyler regarded him with surprise. "Because of Lin's threats?"

Giles shrugged. "They have precipitated my action. I have no desire to pit my fortunes against his zeal. But more than that, I am ready to return to England. It was never my intention to remain in Chins any longer than was necessary to do what I came for." He regarded Tyler with a contemptuous smile. "You may recall, I considered leaving last year. It was your promise of Lorielle as my bride that

kept me another season."

Tyler avoided his gaze. "She will be forced out of hiding soon. If there's trouble brewing, she won't be fool enough to remain in the Chinese city. Nor will her protectors relish the thought of punishment for concealing her. The authorities will not look kindly on those who harbor the daughter of a Company merchant. When she's turned out on the street, Lorielle will hasten home soon enough"

Giles snorted. "You aren't even sure she's in the old city. Your inquiries have turned up nothing!"

Tyler pursed his lips. What Giles said was true, but it didn't prove anything. If Luan had hidden Lorielle, she would take every precaution to insure she would not be discovered. Did Giles imagine that Lorielle would sit about in a garden where any passerby could see her. Or that she would frequent the marketplace or shops and mingle with her neighbors. Bah! Giles was a blithering idiot. Were it not for their pact which Giles would see filled to the letter, he'd wish Lorielle success in her escape from him. He would be as demanding a husband as he was a business partner. Lorielle's life would not be serene.

"They take time, Giles, but they will produce results, never fear. And I think before long."

Giles looked at him keenly. "You’ve learned something?"

Tyler shook his head quickly. "Not directly, but I expect to very soon." He had not told Giles his suspicions concerning Luan. He preferred dealing with the matter without interference. He was eager to fulfill the bargain they'd struck but a thread of mistrust had woven itself into the tapestry of their relationship. The sooner he was rid of Giles, the better.

The Hong merchants came to the factory late that evening. When the Chamber had been hastily summoned, Changqua was in an agitated state and the others sat trembling visibly. Obviously, the news was not good.

"We took the words of your letter to the Commissioner, who gave them to the Prefect to examine." Changqua sent a gaze heavenward. "On hearing them read, the ch'in-ch'ai smote the air and thundered in the voice of a dragon that you were trifling with us, but woe unto the Barbarians who would trifle with him. If the opium is not delivered up within two hours of the cock's crow, he will go to the Council Hall of the Hong and show what he will do."

Unable to contain his fear, the frail Hanqua who had always dealt honestly with the foreign merchants said, "If no opium is given up, assuredly two of us will be strangled tomorrow morning."

"Nonsense," Matheson interjected. He looked around at his associates. "It's a trick. Lin's ordered them to wrench our hearts with pity."

Murmured dissent rippled until Temple held up a quieting hand.

"Do we dare assume it's an empty threat? Who among you is willing to risk the lives of any of these men who have worked so closely with us all these years?" He looked at Matheson, who lowered his gaze. Tyler went on. "We're already confined to our homes and factories. Additional restrictions will be imposed if we aggravate Lin further. I say we offer him some chests and restore peace."

Changqua seized upon the hope and bowed gratefully. "You will not be the losers," he declared. "We will make it up to you afterwards."

"I’ll give two hundred chests," Tyler announced boldly. It was a mere token of the quantity in the go-downs, but Chanqua regarded him with tearful eyes.

"The English Company has long been a treasured friend to every Hong merchant."

Tyler challenged the other members of the Chamber. "Matheson? Dennison? Ah of you--what will you give to save our friends? Need I remind you that we have little choice? Come now, not one among you can deny our reliance on these good men of the Hong."

Matheson looked grim but he capitulated. "I11 match your two hundred chests," he said.

In moments, the others had chimed in with amounts they would surrender to what they were convinced now was a sensible gesture. When the tally was completed, a total of one thousand thirty-seven chests had been pledged. The Hong merchants beamed and assured their friends that the Commissioner would be as joyful as they were. The generosity of the English merchants would not be forgotten.

When at last they departed, only Matheson grumbled. "A damned fine bit of play-acting--we're fools for being taken in by it. We're handing over a great deal of merchandise, gentlemen. We won't be able to explain that to our stockholders easily." Shaking his head, he took his leave.

But Tyler was convinced they'd done the right thing to appease the Commissioner. And if there were any who disagreed, it was too late to back out now. They'd given their word; it would be a bargain kept.

At the house of Kwang, Tse Hi and three of his compatriots sat in the barren guest hall drinking tea. Conversation had fallen off except for an occasional remark when some sound reached them from the Street of a Thousand Songbirds or the Market of Spices, where shops were doing a flurry of business before they closed for the night. As the temple gongs boomed, a crier called the hour in a melancholy chant; the men glanced at each other expectantly. The time was past that Yen-Fang should return, and they grew restless. When at last his footsteps sounded in the lane, all eyes went to the door. He entered, breathless from the rapid pace at which he'd traveled from the foreign sector. The silk lantern above the table swayed and cast a wavering shadow across the room. When he had seated himself and Tse Hi had poured tea, Yen-Fang gave his report.

Tse Hi listened gravely to the news that the ch'in-ch'ai looked with extreme displeasure on the Barbarians' petition to delay surrendering their opium. In answer, he had demanded the opium be delivered to him by morning or his actions would be decisive. He had ignored their plea to allow the females and young to depart the city. In turn, the Barbarians had offered up a thousand chests of the foreign mud.

Tse Hi looked about at his men. "The jackals have encountered the tiger, still they bait his appetite."

"Lin will lure them into his lair and devour them bite by bite until his belly is filled," Peh-t'ao declared hotly.

Tse Hi nodded. ‘’They walk into his den without fear, and they cut off their retreat unknowingly. And the Sinister Tongue, what of him?"

Yen-Fang scowled. "He moves ahead with his plan. The moment the salt Merchants departed, he slipped away to Sanchou Road. At this moment he readies your sister for her journey."

"How many bearers carry the mud?"

"Four, with Hui Toy to walk with Luan and insure her return with the cursed silver."

"And no Red Barbarian to watch over them?"

"None, except for the Sinister Tongue himself. He trusts no one."

They were silent until the tea cups were empty. Tse Hi pushed away his chair and stood. "It is time. They enter the city at the Gate of the Sixth Moon. We wait for them there."

Silently, the men rose and slipped out of the house one by one.

Lorielle stirred restlessly on the pallet in the room close to the Kwang's chamber. The murmur of voices from the guest hall was no more alarming than the breeze rustling the leaves of the bamboo palm outside the window, yet she shivered unaccountably. Though she did not understand a word of the subdued discussions between Tse Hi and his friends, she sensed an undercurrent of danger in the clandestine meetings. And she knew Spencer did. He'd been at the house several times when the men were here, and though Spencer did not discuss these times with her, she was not blind to the worried air they gave him.

Perhaps the problem was the growing unrest in the city since the arrival of the new Commissioner. Both Spencer and Tse Hi told her bits of gossip from the factories, and she knew that a tide of change had begun. It was as though she were totally apart from it in the seclusion of the Kwang house, yet she was inexorably bound to the destiny of both the English and the Chinese.

For the most part, she had managed to put her anger with her father from her thoughts. He had not raised a hue and cry following her escape, though, according to Spencer, he had investigated every possible route she might have taken. By now he surely knew she had not sought refuge among his friends. Passage by boat from Canton would have been impossible without his knowledge. Reasonably, he would suspect she was in the old city. Yet be had not come searching for her here. Instead of being reassured, she found this disturbing. Wouldn’t he consider the Kwang house a prime possibility, since Luan was her only intimate? It wasn't like him to drop the search so readily, or to relent in his badgering of Luan about her disappearance. But he had done both.

If only Spencer could hasten their departure. She closed her eyes and savored the dream of England and the contentment that would be hers as Spencer's wife. She longed for his strong arms and the urgency of his embrace, the feel of the faint night stubble at his cheeks to heighten her awareness. Her body craved the sweetness of his lovemaking, and the rapture of their mutual fulfillment.

She started as a door opened and closed softly. Straining, she detected quiet footfalls along the lane. As they faded, she realized Tse Hi and his friends had departed. She was alone in the house, except for the stuporous man in the next room. She turned and drew the cover about her, determined to sleep so she would be rested when the old man woke near dawn and required his pipe. But sleep would not come. She stared into the darkness long after the temple gongs marked the passing of the old day.

Chapter 13

Spencer returned to the factory just as the meeting of the Chamber and the Hong was breaking up. He watched the procession of Chinese merchants pass through the gate and make its way down Hog Lane. Inside, an air of cheerfulness prevailed. Johnson, who had taken notes for the Company's records, eagerly related the outcome of the session.

"We've made concessions, and the Hong is satisfied. More than a thousand chests pledged. Lin's got his victory, though it's a high price we're paying so he can save face. But if it puts an end to his blasted edicts and threats, well worth it, I'd say." He shook his head wearily. "It’ll be a long day on the morrow. We've got to deliver shortly after sunup. I'm off for some sleep. ‘Night, sir."

"Good night, Johnson." Spencer contemplated joining the merchants in the reception room where they were discussing their compromise over brandy, but decided against it. There would be the usual grievances with nothing further to be settled. He wondered who had swung the vote. Temple and Matheson would have been vital; they represented the largest shareholders' interests. Without them, the others never would have relinquished a thousand chests. Interesting that Tyler found it expedient to go along with the plan. He'd staunchly refused to give quarter to the authorities before. Did he see the futility of his resistance to Lin's orders, or was the surrender a sop designed to lull Lin into thinking he was victorious? A thousand chests were only a fraction of the opium in Canton and on the holding ships in the Bogue. Lin wouldn't be fooled. Still, his acceptance or refusal would prove once and for all how ferociously he intended to attack the opium problem.

Spencer climbed the stairs to the room he'd reclaimed when Ty1er exiled him from the house on Sanchou Road. Stripping, he washed quickly to rid himself of the grime of the creek banks where he'd spent hours searching for a boatman with whom to strike a bargain. He sighed as he tumbled into bed and closed his eyes. His perseverance had paid off. One of the men Tse Hi had told him about finally agreed to ferry him and Lorielle as far as French Island. There arrangements could be made for them to board a fishing junk headed for Kowloon. The could make their way to Macao and secure passage aboard a clipper headed for home. Tomorrow at this time, he and Lorielle would be on their way, and Tyler would be none the wiser. Lorielle would be safe and his forever. He fell into deep sleep with a smile on his lips.

"Damn it--watch those loads!" Tyler pushed aside the bearer who had accidentally stumbled over one of the baskets being readied. The man cowered. Impatiently, Tyler drew back the cover and inspected the neat packages of opium that had been carefully disguised. He'd brought the contents of the remaining two chests secretly to the house on Sanchou Road, but only as much as Hui Toy could carry at one time. He had taken no chances on having some sharp-eyed soldier stop him en route from the factory to the house and question a procession of servants. The sight of one retainer with his master had aroused no suspicion. The last of the opium was now safe in the baskets that would be carried into the old city. Hui Toy had cleverly hollowed out sweet, ripe melons to be pressed around the balls. If he and the bearers were stopped, they would identify themselves as poor peasants returning from the marketplace with unsold wares. As an added precaution, Hui Toy had placed several intact melons atop each load to offer to the guards in payment for letting them pass.

Luan watched fearfully as the preparations went on. She was garbed in black, her padded jacket hiding the delicate curves of her womanhood and her hair drawn back into a tight pigtail so she looked more like a lad than the comely woman she was. She had pleaded to be allowed to remain behind on this dangerous mission, but Tyler would not hear of it. Only she knew Jungchao with whom she'd made arrangements to buy the opium. Tyler wanted no slip-ups at the last moment. Once Luan was sure Jungchao didn't plan to steal the illicit cargo, Hui Toy would make sure the full price was paid.

The bearers had been chosen carefully--young, strapping lads who would easily pass for lazy sons who had delayed their "father" so late at the marketplace.

When everything was ready, Tyler followed the six to the rear gate beyond the servants' garden. It was a moonless night, with a biting damp wind that foretold rain. Though he shivered in the heavy jacket he'd donned, Tyler viewed the miserable night as a good portent. Soldiers and guards wouldn't be eager to be abroad any more than necessary. They'd huddle in sheltered places and warm themselves with wine instead of taking their duties seriously. Lin had not relaxed his vigil on the foreigners; hopefully his latest edict would lull him into thinking matters were at rest until dawn. And a few hours were all that Tyler needed.

Hui Toy slipped out into the lane, followed by Luan and the bearers with their heavy shoulder poles. The dark procession blended into the shadows. By the time it reached the edge of the compound, Tyler could barely make out the slow-moving figures. He eased the gate shut and hurried to keep them in sight. He didn't dare lag or he'd lose sight of them. The presence of the dagger he'd slipped in his belt was reassuring.

On the back street, Luan took the lead. She glanced about hesitantly as Hui Toy motioned her to be underway. She knew the city well, and the night held no fear for her, but never before had she been abroad on such an errand. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a caged bird and her hands trembled. She slid them into her sleeves and bowed her head as she hurried on.

Tyler cursed the darkness. He almost missed the corner where Luan had turned toward the western gate. He'd been so sure she would go through the one near the creek that he'd plunged past the winding path that led to the Gate of the Sixth Moon. Now he drew up abruptly as he reached the square.

The torches along the wall were lit, and soft lantern glow spilled from the windows of the guard house. The gate, closed and barred for the night, was recessed in its deep black arch. A solitary guard walking slowly along the wall halted to stare down at the assemblage that disobeyed the curfew and disturbed his solitude. A farm family returning from market. So late ... Fools, they should be on their pallets resting for the dawn. Impatiently he answered the old man's call, angrily at first, then relenting as the man pleaded for permission to pass. A thousand pardons be granted his transgressions if he would but allow the weary peddler to return home, where his wife would fall upon him with a stick for his miserable failure. Had he not already suffered the curse of lazy sons who passed too much time in the rum shops instead of selling his superb melons? The juiciest of the crop would pass into the guard's hands if he took pity on a poor wretch.

Thoughts of the sweet fruit tempted the guard, and at last he called down to the gatekeeper to throw back the bar. The six scurried through. Hui Toy uncovered a basket and took out a prize for the guard.

"Enough for my fellows who wait their watch, old man," the guard demanded. "Your fruits will be in pitiful condition by morning, having sat all day in sun. Perhaps it would be best if I confiscate them all."

Hui Toy fell to his knees and pressed his hands together. "Would you seal my doom, good friend? To return to my wife without money or the wares that should have brought it will set her upon my with the fury of a lioness. I beg you, have mercy!"

Laughing, the guard relented. "Six then, and be wise enough to remember your benefactor when you pass this way again."

Hui Toy scrambled to his feet and hastened to select enough melons to satisfy the man. He piled the fruit into the arms of the gatekeeper, who struggled to hold them all as he climbed the broad stone steps that led up to the parapet. Hui Toy signaled the bearers, and they hurried across the tiny square before the guard could delay them.

As the gate opened, Tyler slipped across the clearing and pressed into a niche. He held his breath as he listened to the exchange. The guard might order the gate closed before he had a chance to slip through. For the first time in his China service, Tyler wished he'd learned more than a smattering of the language. It was gibberish to his ears. He let out a breath as the gateman passed out of sight with the armload of melons. A moment later, he heard the man's heavy footfalls on the steps leading to the top of the wall. In a flash, Tyler was through the gate. Luan and Hui Toy were already vanishing into the mouth of a narrow street. Skirting the pool of light from the lantern above the gate keeper's small cubicle, Tyler rushed after them.

The street was a helter-skelter patchwork of tiny shops and stalls shuttered for the night. The air was heavy with the aromas of food, spices and livestock. Somewhere nearby, a water buffalo tethered in a stall snorted restlessly, and the smell of fresh dung rose pungently. Tyler swore silently as a pig wallowed across the path, startling him. He drew up abruptly as he saw Luan stop before a shop where a light glowed behind drawn shutters.

He watched as she raised a hand to tap, but before she could complete the motion, the shadows erupted and the lane filled with stealthy, running figures. The startled bearers tried to bolt, but they were surrounded. The laden baskets, yanked from their shoulders, fell to the stones. Luan uttered a low cry that was swiftly silenced as one of the marauders pressed a hand over her mouth. Hui Toy crouched and his hand dipped into his jacket, but before he could draw his dagger, another of the bandits clubbed him. He fell heavily.

Tyler sprang forward instinctively, but realized his mistake instantly. One of the bandits broke away and ran toward him. Panicked, Tyler wheeled and raced back into the dark street, heedless of the noise of the heavy gasping breaths that tore from his chest. A trap—and Luan and Hui Toy had walked right into it! The opium dealer? No—Luan! She'd betrayed him! How else would the thieves know when and where she would bring the opium? He cursed as he plunged ahead blindly. He had to reach the gate--get out of the old city--! The darkness that had been a boon was now a treacherous foe as he tried to pick out the turning that led into the lane. He bolted past a stall and blundered into a cul-de-sac. Behind him, his pursuer was gaining… his retreat was cut off ... the man was only a few yards behind.

He threw himself to the ground, rolling sideways into a pile of debris and dirty straw. Before he came to a stop, he had his dagger out. With supreme effort, he stilled his breathing and waited as the footsteps halted.

A shifting shadow betrayed his pursuer's entry into the small space between the shops. Motionless, Tyler held his breath as the man inched forward. When his outstretched hand encountered the rough wall, the man wheeled.

Tyler sprang, the dagger thrusting. It plunged into the man's belly and he twisted. The man's hand arched upward then wavered like a leaf caught in the current. The knife he was holding thudded into the dirt as he went down like a disengaged puppet.

Ty1er bent over him and jerked the dagger from the soft flesh. He kicked at the body but the man did not move.

Tyler became aware of his own ragged breathing thundering in his ears. Quickly, he wiped the blade on the man's jacket. Then holding it ahead of him as a probe, he made his way back to the lane. Peering into the darkness, he strained for any sound that would warn him of danger. Which way had he come? Blast--! Every shop looked the same! He glanced at the sky for a break in the darkness that would give him a clue. Nothing. He could not stay here. He cautiously made his way to the left, pausing at each break between the stalls and shops to search for the lane to the Gate of the Sixth Moon. In minutes, he knew he was lost. He was in a maze of narrow streets and blind alleys, each more confusing than the last. When he came out onto a paved street of larger shops under a canopy of tiled roof, he stopped. A short distance to his right was an ornate arch, its carved facade pale against the sky. Three stone lions lifted their heads toward the heavens at either side of the tiered pagoda roof; near the entrance to the vaulted span, small trails of joss smoke eddied from a shrine. Temple recognized it as a widow's arch, a memorial erected to honor women who, faithful to the memory of their husbands, devoted themselves to good works and the service of their in-laws. Like burial grounds, the arches always faced south. Grinning, Temple turned onto the wide street and set out in that direction. It would bring him to the wall; from it, he could find his way to the gate. He stayed close to the dark shops and again blessed the cover of clouds. Once he ducked into a doorway as a bent figure appeared unexpectedly ahead of him, and watched until the man shuffled out of sight.

Eventually he came to the bleak rise of the city wall. A gatekeeper's lantern glowed feebly in the distance to the east. It was impossible to tell if that was the point at which he'd come through, but he no longer cared. Once in the suburbs, he'd find his way easily enough.

He scanned the wall for guards as he approached the gatekeeper's cubicle on tiptoe. The old man was dozing on his stool, his head sunk on his chest, snoring softly. Tyler delivered a hard blow to the exposed skinny neck, and the man toppled soundlessly to the floor. Exalted, Tyler had the gate unbarred in seconds and slipped through.

A harsh cry stopped him in his tracks. Pulse thundering, Tyler faced the soldier who accosted him. The man stood in a comical pose, arms akimbo, feet splayed, as he babbled angrily, apparently demanding to know where Tyler was going. Tyler tried to bluff with a rush of words and gestures, but the man was not pacified. He gestured and babbled again, grabbing Tyler's arm and shoving him back through the gate. Panicked, Tyler balked. If the unconscious gatekeeper was discovered--

The soldier waggled a finger and tried to push Tyler toward the gate again. When he did not move, the soldier drew his sword threateningly. At the same instant, he began to shout.

Tyler leaped and knocked aside the sword as he sent the man sprawling. The soldier yelped in rage.

"Shut up, you fool!" The cry grated on Tyler's nerves like salt in a wound. On the wall, light spilled from the guardhouse and a querulous voice called out.

Tyler’s panic exploded. He grabbed for the soldier's throat. If he alerted the others, they'd converge on him in moments! He'd be trapped, and with Lin's ugly mood, any explanation he offered would be rejected out of hand--if he was given a chance to make one at all! He tightened the pressure of his fingers slowly, hoping to render the soldier unconscious, but the terrified man began to fight for his life, kicking and hitting out blindly. It was like trying to hold a wild animal.

Above them, the guard called out again. The soldier uttered a strangled cry as he clutched Tyler's wrists and tried to free himself from the death hold. Then there was a commotion on the wall--shouts--running footsteps. Blind with panic, Tyler tightened his grip until the soldier finally went limp. Tyler glanced at the wall where lanterns had appeared. Wheeling, he raced toward the dim line of buildings across the square, plunging into the first lane without slowing his speed. His shoulder scraped the rough stone of a wall, and he heard his coat tear. The pulse in his temples became a gong and his chest was exploding with pain, but he did not stop.

He raced blindly in and out of narrow streets until he came onto the broad vista of Sanchou Road. Gasping, he paused and glanced in both directions. Near a garden wall, he picked out the figure of a soldier on patrol and quickly pressed back into the shadows. When at last the guard disappeared, he forced himself to a slow walk. Five minutes later he was at the back gate of the house. He lifted the latch and slipped into the garden.

For a long while, he leaned against the wall, trembling. When at last his brain cleared, he made his way to the house. The garden lanterns were still burning, and he paused to remove the torn jacket and thrust it behind one of the benches. He combed his fingers through his hair, then straightened his shoulders and went inside.

The guest hall was ablaze with lamps. He frowned and glanced inside. Astonished, he saw three Hong merchants Changqua, Howqua and Gowqua, sitting on the satin-cushioned sofas. Changqua rose quickly, smiling and bowing.

"The Red Barbarian honors his friends of the Hong who disturb his sleep like a storm in the night." Changqua bobbed in rapid bows. Changqua mistook Tyler’s scowl of confusion for displeasure. His round face became a tragic mask. "The Commissioner himself has ordered us to come, though we entreated him to let the matter rest until the sun crept over the Hill of the New Day."

"What the devil are you talking about," Tyler interrupted impatiently. Some of the fear that had gripped him since his encounter with the footpads was beginning to ebb. He realized the presence of the three salt merchants could not possibly be connected to the narrow escape he'd just had. But he was uneasy at the mention of Lin.

Changqua lowered his head obsequiously. "Aiii, our supplications went unheard, our pleading unavailed. The ch'in-ch'ai commands us to an earnest severity of deportment as we carry his words to you."

Tyler was regaining his aplomb. "What is so devilishly important to the Commissioner that I am dragged from my bed? We've already pledged our opium and have until morning to produce it." If Changqua believed he'd been asleep, so much the better. An alibi would be a handy thing to have if there was trouble over the incident at the gate. He couldn't be sure he hadn't been recognized, or that the soldier hadn't revealed some damning information to his cohorts. This unexpected call from the Hong might be a godsend.

Changqua wagged his head solemnly. "Aiii, the ch'in-ch'ai refuses to accept the generous offer. One thousand chests do not please him. He demands that you come to speak of this with him. We are to escort you into the walled city."

Lin demanding to see him? Tyler rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he digested the news. It could be a trap. Inside the city, he'd be wholly in Lin's power. Having just had one escapade among the Chinese, he didn't like the thought of exposing himself to danger again. Sure as he was of Changqua and the others, Lin was another matter. This was not a decision to be made lightly, or alone.

"The ch'in-ch'ai's request is highly irregular. Why have I been singled out?" he asked.

Changqua sighed laboriously. "You are the most powerful. You alone have six times the number of chests the merchants pledge. The ch'in-ch'ai demands it all, and the stores of every merchant in Canton." His expression was so woebegone, Tyler was convinced of his sincerity and despair. Obviously, the Hong were awed by the powerful Commissioner who was enforcing his demands to the letter, and their arguments were useless against his determination. But to send for him …

"I see.... Well, I'm sure the matter can be handled better in the morning. Tell the Commissioner I will consult my friends and give him my answer tomorrow."

"The ch'in-ch'ai demands--"

"I don't give a damn what he demands! You've delivered his message, now deliver mine. I am willing to discuss the matter in a reasonable way tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall return to the bed from which you have dragged me. A night's rest will clear my head of the annoyance I presently feel over the Commissioner's thoughtlessness." With a curt nod, he left them and marched up the stairs. In his chambers, he gave in to a fit of trembling that had been suppressed since he watched the attack on Hui Toy and the caravan. He poured himself a brandy from a ceramic decanter. Another extremely unpleasant task awaited him: facing Giles with the news of their loss. If Giles delayed his departure too long, there'd be hell to pay when the Montrose arrived. He poured himself another brandy and began to undress. He did not even have the solace of Luan to warm his bed. Damn!

Fear gripped Luan as she saw the movement in the shadows. Her hand wavered, and before it could descend to summon Jungchao, she was grabbed from behind and pulled away from the door. Instinct warned her it would be futile to scream, but she could not stifle her exclamation of surprise as the dark figure descended on her and she recognized her brother. He clamped his hand over her mouth quickly. His eyes warned silence. Frightened, she nodded obediently. He released her to help his men who had surrounded Hui Toy and the bearers. Hui Toy was poised ready to spring, a dagger glinting in the pale light from Jungchao's shop window. Before he could thrust, Peh-t'ao overpowered him from behind, wrenching the dagger away. A swift blow sent Hui Toy to the ground. Another man suddenly sprinted away, shoes thudding softly on the stones. Luan was aware only of a darting shadow before the running man vanished. The bearers, threatened by urgent whispers from Tse Hi's men, relinquished their loads and fled. Tse Hi's band took up the poles and made a fast retreat along one of the narrow streets that led toward the heart of the city. Tsi Hi gripped her hand and whispered for her to come. Then they were running after his men.

Thoughts tumbled through her head. She could not believe her brother would make such a daring raid to steal the Sinister Tongue’s foreign mud. How could she face her master’s wrath when he learned she had failed?

Her chest ached with the fire of haste, but Tsi Hi did not let her slow until they passed the Temple of the Fox with its high steps and tall columns. She realized they were going to the house of their father. Just beyond the temple was the entrance to the Street of a Thousand Songbirds. The men with the opium had vanished in the darkness. On the deserted street, she and Tsi Hi slowed to a walk. They might be returning from the marketplace. Only the tight pain in her chest reminded her that every step led deeper into the web her brother wove. She could never return to the house on Sanchou Road. She was exiled--free!--from the Sinister Tongue forever.

They entered the house by the small door near the brick kitchen. Tsi Hi led her to the great hall.

"The wise hare does not question his deliverance from the fox," he said. "Our father will be pleased to have his daughter home to tend him in his final days."

She nodded. She would ask no questions. It was better she knew no more.

"Does our father’s misery abate?"

"Only when he dreams with the foreign poison. His path in this world grows fainter. He will soon join our beloved ancestors."

"And my gentle mistress?"

"She tends him lovingly as a nightingale its nest. Her heart is not burdened with the avarice of the Sinister Tongue. She has become a daughter of the house of Kwang."

Luan was pleased that her brother spoke so kindly of one he had sworn to be an enemy. She lowered her gaze. "It is good," she said softly, touched by his admission and acceptance of Lorielle, whom she had grown to love as a sister. She turned at a sound in the doorway.

Lorielle clutched the yellow silk robe Tsi Hi had given her from his sister’s things. The glow of warmth from Tsi Hi’s overheard words filled her, and she forgot the iciness of the tiles under her bare feet. She had lain awake after Tsi Hi and his friends left the house, strangely disturbed by the silence that usually comforted her. She started at every sound, and when at last she heard the door open softly, she was fully alert. And when she heard Luan’s voice instead of the men she expected, she jumped from bed at once. Now she flushed as Tsi Hi’s gaze met hers. She smiled at Luan.

"How delighted I am to see you!" she exclaimed. "Tsi Hi did not tell me you were coming." She studied Luan’s placid face. "All is well? Spencer--?"

Luan glanced at her brother. He said, "The Fair One bides his time because the ch’in-ch’ai holds the factories in an iron grip. He sends word of his devotion and his promise to come to you before the moon is full."

Lorielle knew that Spencer took a grave risk each time he ventured into the old city. His danger was much greater than hers if he was caught. Tsi Hi had told her about Commissioner Lin’s edicts, and she knew that the position of foreigners in Canton was precarious. Yet she believed with all her heart that Spencer would find a solution to their dilemma, and they would be together soon. She must wait patiently.

She did not ask about her father. She had come to accept Tsi Hi’s reluctance to talk about him. Her own filial disobedience had given her a new perspective, and she could no longer defend her father’s actions—especially after her own observation of the effects of the opium trade.

She smiled at Luan warmly. "How pleased I am that I sleep lightly and heard your voice. I have missed you these past days. I would be sad to have you slip away before I can thank you again for everything you have done."

"Luan returns to stay," Tsi Hi said.

Lorielle looked at him in surprise, then at Luan. "To stay! How marvelous, but how—"

Tsi Hi turned abruptly, putting an end to the conversation. Lorielle let the matter drop. She smiled at Luan again, then shifted her chilled feet. Luan was instantly solicitous.

"Return to your bed and warm yourself, mistress. The dawn comes soon, and my father will wake. Disturb not yourself. I will tend him."

Lorielle went to her and hugged her impulsively. "I’m glad you've come home. With both of us to care for your father, Tse Hi's mind will be at ease." Smiling, she returned to her bedroom. When the house grew quiet, she fell asleep despite the riot of thoughts that raced through her mind.

Chapter 14

Spencer shivered and rolled over in bed to glance out the window. Through the open casement, he saw the misty gray dawn of the courtyard. The leaves of a star jasmine glistened wetly and sprayed droplets of moisture in the cold, damp breeze. He rose and closed the casement after peering up at the small square of sky visible above the factory roof. Not a promising day, but well suited to his purpose. If the clouds held until nightfall, they'd offer additional cover for the perilous journey he and Lorielle had to make. Rain would make the long sampan ride unpleasant, but it would also lessen their chance of being halted by some idle soldier or patrol boat along the riverbank.

He had arranged for Tse Hi to tell Luan to pack a few things for Lorielle, enough to see her to Macao. She would dress in Chinese clothes for the journey, but once at the Portuguese island, she would be more comfortable and less conspicuous in her own garments. He smiled, recalling his last visit to the Kwang house when Lorielle dressed in Luan's clothes and plaited her hair to a long pigtail. With a straw hat on her bowed head and her hands tucked into her sleeves, she would have caused no head to turn had she walked through the Market of Spices.

"You see," she teased. "I shall have no trouble getting past the most observant of guards! But you--" She shook her head in mock despair. "Even were we to blacken your hair with coal from the grate, your complexion would give you away. The Fair One--Tse Hi named you aptly. Would that he had called you the Clever One so you would find a way out of our predicament!"

He's snatched her up and carried her to the thin pallet where she fell, laughing, into his arms.

"And why is it Tse Hi has not chosen a more suitable name for you?" He frowned and pretended to concentrate.

"The Disobedient One? No, for though you have been willful against your father and Copeland, you have unquestioningly followed orders here. Hmmm, the Lovely One? No, that might fit a head of cabbage as well. Ah--I have it: the Passionate One. Never have I known a woman so eager for lovemaking." He pulled her close and tried to kiss her, but she drew back and looked at him with a saucy smile.

"Have you had so many that you can make such a judgment?"

He held up his hands and pretended to count on his fingers, but at her worried look, he took her in his arms again and kissed her tenderly. "A man gains experience with women at an early age, my sweet. Would you have me come to you a bumbling, fumbling dolt who could not teach you the wonders you have discovered?"

She blushed and shook her head, all teasing forgotten as their lips met again. And her curiosity had been quickly swept away in the rising tide of passion that overwhelmed her. Over and over, she'd whispered that she cared nothing about other women he'd known as long as she now laid claim to the sweet ecstasy of his love.

Spencer sighed impatiently at the surge of need in his loins as he dressed this gloomy morning. It would not be long until she was his forever, and he could fulfill the promises he'd whispered.

Downstairs, the factory was astir with preparations for delivering the two hundred chests of opium promised to Lin. Barrington was supervising men in the go-downs, while Johnson methodically prepared a waybill to be presented for an official stamp as proof that the Commissioner's edict had been met.

Spencer crossed to the dining room and settled down to a hearty breakfast of porridge, eggs and toast, chatting pleasantly with Major General Milton, who was eager to retell the terms of the agreement between the merchants and the Hong.

To Spencer's surprise, Milton ventured his opinion that the Commissioner would not accept the offer.

"Lin is in too deep to back out now. To concede this major victory would weaken his entire campaign. I think he’ll counterattack."

"Lin's fighting a civil issue, not a war, General. He’ll see compromise as a sensible way to settle the dispute." Spencer's mind was distracted as he contemplated the hours until he could depart for the Kwang house. His possessions had to be packed and carried to the creek, at least as much as he could transport without arousing suspicion. It wouldn't do to have some curious clerk question his departure.

Milton leaned close. "The counterattack has already begun. Lin is demanding that Tyler Temple go to the Governor's palace for a private audience." He closed one eye in a solemn wink. "I dare say Lin doesn't plan to thank Temple for the insult of a thousand chests."

"Temple would be a fool to go--"

"Aha, you do agree with me. Lin is not deceived by the move our friends have made. He wants the whole pie, not just a bit of crust." Milton smiled smugly.

Spencer smiled, too, to hide his tension. Milton was a gossip monger, but his acuity could not be denied. If Tyler entered the walled city, he would be wholly in Lin's power. He could be held hostage to insure compliance by the other merchants. Tyler would foresee that danger and not go.

"Strategy, Raymond. Important in any battle. Temple has two choices. One: he refuses and forces Lin to make the next move. There's the risk that the next move will be more forceful than those he's made so far, but anticipating this, the merchants may be able to offset its destructive power. A forewarned army can prepare. Two: he accepts the challenge but deploys his own forces before Lin realizes he's plunging through the lines."

Spencer was thoughtful. Battles planned at the campaign table were easier to plot than those involving the lives of hundreds of men. Would Tyler see his acceptance or refusal of Lin's demand as an opportunity for a tactical move? His attitude had always been one of contempt for the Chinese. Spencer suspected he'd make a decision brashly based an his own power and determination. He questioned Milton.

"What do the merchants gain if Tyler refuses?"

Milton frowned and moved his porridge bowl and silverware as though lining up men for battle. "The Chinese have boxed us here." He moved the sugar bowl to one side of the wall he'd created with a knife. "The only hope is to break through directly." He nudged the wall with the bowl, then returned it to its place. "It can be done by forcing Lin to open negotiations again. Eventually, another compromise will be reached. Though we’ll probably have to concede additional demands, Lin will open the river and let our ships out. Tea and silks are the spoils at stake, and we must find a way to get them through, eh?" He looked pleased with himself. "We agree to surrender the opium only if our ships are free to leave port."

"And if Temple accepts, what different gain will be achieved then?"

"Time," Milton said smugly. "Lin is lulled into believing we are bowing to his power. And time is our most important ally at the moment. If we can stall long enough to give Elliot time to come up from Macao, the picture changes greatly. Fire power." He whispered the words as though they were a closely guarded secret. "The Larne is already in Chinese waters. In a few weeks, the Volage and the Hyacinth can come up from India. An additional forty-six guns will swing the balance of power in our favor. The Chinese have done nothing to strengthen their defenses along the river. Our warships can easily outmaneuver the fixed guns. If Lin believes we are still the hapless blubbering fools he takes us for, he will relax his guard, thinking we've capitulated. Instead, we strike hard when he least expects it." He shoved the sugar bowl through the defenses of the flatware and hit the porridge bowl. "So, his blockade is broken and we force a way right up the coast. Under fire, he is forced to open not only Canton but other ports as well."

It was an interesting theory, but Milton was viewing the situation only from a military standpoint. He was too quick to discount the stranglehold Lin had on the merchants. They were already forbidden to leave Canton; Lin was not likely to rescind that order until his demands were satisfied. It was possible, of course, to get word out but it would take time to bring in warships. Lin could starve the merchants into submission--as well as delay their exports. Still, Milton's theories had merit.

Spencer told him so, praising his interpretation of both alternatives. "Let's hope Temple has a modicum of your foresight, General. What was his reply to the Commissioner?"

"Evasive tactics," Milton said pompously. "He delayed his answer until he had an opportunity to consult his friends this morning."

"And has he?"

'They're meeting in his office at this moment. I’ll wager Lin sends his reply before the deadline. The caravans of opium will not move from the factories unless Lin has satisfaction, mark my words."

A commotion in the hall drew them to the door. Several clerks were scurrying toward Tyler's office, followed by a melancholy spectacle. The two leading Hong merchants filed down the hall with shuffling steps. They wore iron chains around their necks like criminals on their way to execution. The buttons of rank had been stripped from their caps, and their expressions were so woebegone, several of the clerks who were still at breakfast tittered with nervous surprise. The dining room fell silent as Temple's office door was flung open and the merchants confronted the pageant.

Changqua pleaded their cause sorrowfully. "You have brought us to this. When we reported to His Excellency that you would not obey his summons, he degraded us from our ranks and bound on us prisoner's chains." He lifted a hand so that the heavy iron links clattered ominously. "Aiii, he threatens if we do not bring you to him this morning, he will take the lives of two of our number. The eldest male child of Howqua is already cast in prison, as is Gowqua, the third of our body. If you do not return with us now, we too shall be put in a dungeon to await our fate." He wrung his hands and cast down his gaze. "These are days of darkness," he moaned. "During the night a miserable soldier guarding the Gate of Peaceful Heaven was set upon by a Barbarian and the breath taken from his nostrils. The ch'in-ch'ai demands a price be paid for that lowly life. The Sinister Tongue must deliver the guilty one as he delivers the foreign mud." He clattered his chains again. "We entreat you to show compassion for your dear friends."

For a moment, Tyler was too stunned to answer. A ripple of consternation stirred among the men crowded in the doorway.

Matheson was skeptical. "I don't believe a word of it. The whole thing is another charade to play upon our sympathies. Dead soldiers--imprisoned Hong merchants—faugh! If the Commissioner wants to sacrifice his own men, let him. It will strengthen our position, not weaken it."

Changqua looked up in alarm. "Our frightened tongues speak the truth. Our lives are delicately balanced on the scale of the ch'in-ch'ai's wrath. He vows that he will plead no more. We have his final edict."

At this Matheson exploded in anger. "Were you to accede, Temple, Lin will push further and further. He'll demand my presence next, then work his way through the lot of us." He glanced round at the worried merchants. "Each of us will be imprisoned and tortured until we surrender our opium and sign the bond to be of good behavior. And as for the supposed dead soldier, I say poppycock. I haven't heard a word about any trouble. We're not fools enough to hang around the gates after dark. The whole thing is pure fabrication. I tell you it's a ruse!"

"Perhaps not," Tyler said hesitantly as he met Changqua's worried gaze. "It might help to talk with Lin. We'll get nowhere until we do. He's refused to see us until now." His pulse was thundering and a cold knot formed in his belly. He'd been recognized as English last night. Was this a trick to get him into Lin's hands?

"If he's eager to talk, why does he insist on having you behind the wall?" Matheson demanded. "The Hong has always dealt openly at the factories or the Consoo House, but Lin has removed himself to the Governor's palace. It's a trap, I tell you."

Several of the other merchants chimed in to support Matheson's assessment. Temple must not be duped into leaving the foreign sector unless he had a safe-conduct from Lin himself. This was argued back and forth, much to the consternation of the two chained Chinese merchants. Changqua wailed that he dared not carry back such an answer. His dear friends would never enjoy the pleasure of his countenance again were he to report another failure to Lin. His pleas were so earnest they were almost comical, but the merchants no longer laughed.

Spencer recalled Major General Milton's remarks about Temple's choices. Some attempt at reasonable dialogue had to be made if further punitive action from Lin was to be forestalled, but he could not blame Tyler for refusing.

To everyone's surprise, Major General Milton spoke up. "We've come to an impasse, gentlemen. Rightly, Temple is reluctant to grant Lin's request. He's too valuable here to risk putting his freedom in jeopardy. If Changqua and Howqua are too frightened to relay our message, I suggest another of our number do so. I think Lin will give safe conduct to an emissary."

For a moment, silence reigned. The Hong merchants looked hopeful.

Spencer stepped forward. "I’ll volunteer," he said. A murmur bloke out among the men, but Milton silenced it.

"Damned noble of you, Raymond, but the Commissioner will not consider an outsider suitable. He's dealing with the Company, and so it must be a Company man."

Again, the murmur surfaced as the men looked at one another, each hoping someone else would rise to the task. Several of the men looked at Ellis Quigley, who was second in command to Temple. He shook his head ruefully.

"I must think of Elisabeth--"

Some of the others excused themselves on the same grounds, until at last David Lancaster, third in command at the English factory, who had only a short time ago returned from leave in India, said he would carry the message to Commissioner Lin. Two senior clerks volunteered to accompany him, since they could speak a bit of Chinese and might prove useful.

The Hong merchants were so grateful they almost fell on their knees. They assured their English friends that this time the ch'in-ch'ai would listen and all would be well. The five departed with an air of confidence.

Lancaster and the two clerks were back in less than three hours. They had not been permitted to see Lin but had an interview with four senior officials of his staff, who asked indignantly how Temple dared disobey the High Commissioner's summons. They insisted if he did not come within the hour, Commissioner Lin would have him dragged from his house. Lancaster was dismissed—almost thrown out--with this final word. The factories buzzed over the news. They'd tried and failed. What would happen next?

Shortly after Lancaster's departure Giles Copeland had arrived in an ugly mood. The Commissioner's latest demands paled when Giles heard the more alarming news that Tyler’s expedition the previous night had failed. Alone with Tyler in the office he raged over the loss of the opium and the money. Had the decision been his to make, he would gladly throw his doddering partner into Lin's lap just to assuage his own anger. Even Tyler's story of his narrow escape did not ease Giles' fury.

"And you have not found your errant daughter either?" he asked scornfully. "Am I supposed to sit on my hands until you devise another stupid plan? You're a fool, Tyler. Lin is making Canton hellishly uncomfortable. I don’t intend to remain here much longer. You've been damned little help these past weeks. Can you do nothing right?!"

Tyler’s rage exploded. "I've done more than our bargain called for!" A vein in his temple pulsed as he pounded a fist on the desk. He would not tolerate Giles' arrogance any longer! "You've already gotten more than a fair return on your paltry investment of five thousand pounds for our first shipment of opium! You would have accomplished nothing without me. I remind you that it is I who have taken all the risks, while you sat safely counting your profits! Damn it, I've done everything I can."

Copeland was taken aback by the outburst, but he recovered his arrogance quickly. "And badly, I must say. I'm not accustomed to failure among my associates, Tyler. Nor do I allow people to renege on agreements. I am leaving for Macao as soon as possible. I have matters to attend to and can just as easily wait there for you to deliver Lorielle. If you have not done so by the end of the month, I sail for England--and I will see to it your name is so blackened so you'll never enjoy the spoils of your plunder!"

For a moment, the two men faced each other with naked hatred. All pretense at friendliness was gone; either would have killed the other on the spot if the opportunity afforded itself. But neither was foolhardy enough to risk his own neck in such an evenly matched battle. Finally, Giles turned on his heel and marched out. Tyler was left shaking with rage that spilled over not only to Giles but to Lorielle. If she had not been so headstrong and reckless, part of his problem would at least be solved. Damn her--and damn Spencer Raymond. Tyler was more certain than ever that the man knew more than he was telling, that he knew where Lorielle was and was seeing her. Damn the three of them to bloody hell! Fuming, he poured himself a large brandy and downed it in a gulp. He'd have revenge on all of them.

Spencer passed the morning readying himself for the final trip into the old city and the journey with Lorielle. He packed the things he needed in a small packet, including the journal in which he finished recording his findings on Temple's activities and the opium situation in Canton. He was still uneasy about exposing Tyler, but only because he worried that Lorielle would have to endure the heartache of seeing her father branded a thief.

He heard about Lin's refusal to see Tyler’s emissaries as he was leaving the factory for Hog Lane, where he planned to purchase nondescript Chinese trousers and jacket as disguise. The news disturbed him since it foretold a tightening of Lin's cordon around the foreign sector. The Commissioner would make sure his quarry did not escape; be might even carry out his threat to drag Temple into his presence. Tyler would double his precautions. He probably wouldn't leave the factory. He'd be easy prey alone in the house on Sanchou Road.

Spencer decided he'd leave for the old city immediately. To avoid passing Tyler’s office, he made his way to the rear door. It would be an easy matter to slip around to Hog Lane and complete his purchases, then take off before anyone noted his absence. He pulled the door open. To his astonishment, he found himself staring at a brick wall!

Dumbfounded, he touched it to assure himself he hadn't suddenly gone mad. The bricks were cold and the mortar still damp. The wall had just been constructed.

"I say, what the devil--?" Major General Milton's voice thundered behind him.

Spencer looked around, his face still mirroring shock. "the door's been sealed off," he said, shaking his head.

Milton's eyes were round with astonishment. He drew several heavy breaths. "The Commissioner intends to keep us prisoners until Temple surrenders."

Several men had heard the General roar and hurried into the hall. Seeing the bricked-over door, they babbled with angry excitement. One ran to announce the latest affront to Tyler, who dashed from his office to see for himself. The hall became a madhouse in moments. Someone suggested fashioning a battering ram to knock apart the wall--they could tumble it in seconds. Someone else quickly pointed out that if Lin had ordered containment, there'd probably be armed soldiers in Thirteen Factories Street. Tyler roared to Johnson to send men to investigate and to see if the other factories had been similarly sealed.

Spencer took advantage of the confusion to slip out the front way and hurry around to Hog Lane. It too had been completely barricaded where it opened onto Thirteen Factories Street. The shops and stalls along the street, normally alive with activity, were empty, their shutters drawn. A lone blind beggar, his feet badly crippled, sat immobile in a doorway. When he heard Spencer's steps, he held out a hand and chanted a piteous cry, more in fright than supplication. Cursing softly, Spencer retraced his steps. Respondentia Walk looked like a wasted battlefield without the multitude that usually occupied it. Lin had worked swiftly. Old China Street was also sealed off completely. In New China Street, a narrow entryway had been left with a pole across it, but six armed soldiers guarded it.

Men were pouring out of the factories to discover what Spencer already knew: they were prisoners. Every exit had been cut off, unless they chose to leap into the river and swim. Several of the men with wives and children in the suburbs were near panic. They were ready to storm the barricades until word came that hundreds of soldiers were gathered in Thirteen Factories Street. Someone hesitantly proposed that the siege might be lifted if Tyler gave into Lin's demand, but the idea was quickly shouted down as cooler heads pointed out that no man would be safe if Lin succeeded in capturing hostages. But there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the merchants, one and all, would be forced to surrender their opium.

Spencer slipped back inside the factory. He had to get to Lorielle! In an upstairs bedroom, pausing only to grab up a woolen cap, he opened the casement and scrambled up the vine he and Phillips had used once before. On the roof, he could hear that the swell of angry voices from the river front had gained in volume. He sent up a silent prayer that the commotion would distract the soldiers long enough for him to slip past. Quickly, he crept across the rooftops and made his way to the Creek Factory. Edging to the parapet, he glanced down. The street behind the factories was jammed. Soldiers clustered at the barricaded doors and lanes; hundreds more milled with the noisy crowd that pushed and jostled around the imprisoned Barbarians. Fires had been lighted, and pots of oil heated over them. The sound of gongs added to the din like a solemn warning. Directly below, two soldiers marched slowly back and forth along the end of the street. From time to time, they paused to watch the throng almost wistfully. They'd prefer being in the thick of it to the lackluster duty they'd drawn.

Spencer waited until they had begun a new circuit away from the creek, then scrambled over the parapet and down the vine-tangled drainpipe. The crowd's racket covered the scraping of his boots on the wet stone. In moments, he dropped to the ground and peered around the corner. The soldiers had not yet turned back. Quickly, he slid down the muddy bank to the edge of the creek and pressed himself into the dank ground. Holding his breath, he listened as the measured steps approached. He could hear the low chatter of the two soldiers, but they turned and started back without inspecting the creek bank. Spencer let his breath out, slowly counting to five. Then, on hands and knees, he scrambled forward along the bank.

The disturbance at the factories caused no stir among the simple people who lived aboard the sampans clustered in the muddy, foul creek. On one, a gray-haired grandmother emptied a honeypot over the stern, unmindful of the stench that blanketed the air. She rinsed the wooden bucket, then went back inside where a thin trail of smoke spiraled into the wet morning. Dozens of boats pushed against the current or were moored at poles. Several people glanced curiously as Spencer crept by, but they were too busy with the daily scrabble for survival to concern themselves over the presence of a mud-splattered foreigner.

Slipping and sliding in the thick slime, he made his way around piles of refuse and straw mats where peasants had set up shop. The odors of fish, dried vegetables and the ever-present smoking fires clung in the damp air. Once he glimpsed the wide hat of a soldier coming toward him just in time to flatten himself into the lee of the shoulder-high bank. After what seemed like hours he reached the bend of the creek where it flowed under the city wall. The noise and activity became a din. The Chinese were not deterred by the drizzling rain or the disturbance at the distant foreign quarter; the inclement weather was as common to them as their life breath, the affairs of the Barbarians as remote as another world.

He halted several yards from the low arch where the creek passed under the wall. Above it, a sentry house perched like a vulture. During daylight hours, the populace was free to come and go as they pleased, but foreigners were forbidden. Would some sharp-eyed soldier distinguish him from the rest? At an open window, a figure paused to glance down. When he moved on, Spencer darted ahead. The span came right to the water's edge. Two sampans crowding for space forced him against the clammy stone wall. He skidded knee-deep into the water and his cap was knocked off. He grabbed for it as it started to drift away in the current. Cursing silently, he wrung it out and recapped his telltale blond hair.

Inside the wall, the creek widened and was solidly blocked with boats. Canal boats from the inland waters crushed relentlessly at the landings, their tall masts struck as they unloaded or took on cargo. Along the shore, crews waited to tow the vessels into the current where they could make sail.

Spencer yanked his boots from the sucking mud and climbed the bank. He'd have to cross the square; there was no other way. With head low and shoulders hunched he began walking slowly, damning the luck that had prevented him from getting Chinese garments that would make him less conspicuous. Nevertheless he forced himself to keep a slow, easy pace that would not draw attention. Suddenly, a shout thundered behind him. His throat went dry as two soldiers emerged from a shop and started after him, pulling their swords as they ran.

Spencer bolted into the first lane he saw--only to be plunged into a crowded marketplace. As he tried to shove past a startled lad, the sodden cap flew from his head and was lost underfoot. At the sight of his golden hair, the youth screamed and waved at the advancing soldiers as he grabbed Spencer. Spencer fought wildly, but the lad's grip was like iron. The crowd, incited by the struggle, pressed close. For a moment, they blocked the soldiers' way. Spencer ducked and tried to catch the lad off guard, but his boots slipped on the muddled pavement and he pitched forward. Before he could right himself, he was grabbed from behind and pinned by powerful arms. Desperately, he kicked out, lunged, then butted with his head--but it was no use. The incensed crowd held him fast until the soldiers broke through. One of the soldiers jabbered and pressed his sword to Spencer's neck menacingly. Then someone was binding his hands and slipping an end of the rope tightly around his neck. The stiff hemp seared his flesh. Half dragging him, the soldiers forced him to his feet, their swords piercing his jacket and nicking his flesh. The jeering crowd formed a cordon around them as he was led through the square.

Tyler returned to the factory in stunned rage. Lin had gone too far! His determination could no longer be underestimated or laid to saving face. He intended to force the merchants to give up all their opium, and he was proving he had the power to do it!

Restless, he barred himself in his office and paced as he considered this new show of force. All the opium would have to be surrendered, no way around it. To continue refusing might drive Lin to God-knew-what. The Company shareholders would be furious, and rightly so, but the matter was out of his hands. The Commissioner's other demand for the Englishman who'd killed the soldier the night before was another festering boil. How could the guards identify anyone? They couldn't have gotten more than a glimpse of him—surely not enough to recognize his face. No, if there'd been any inkling of his identity, the police would have come for him immediately. It was a stroke of luck after all, having the unexpected visit from the three Hong merchants. As long as they didn't suspect he hadn't gotten out of bed to answer their call, he had a solid alibi, at least for a time. But if the authorities didn't ferret out a suspect soon, they might delve deeper. If his household staff was questioned, the truth might come out.

Damn! Prevented from getting to Sanchou Road, he didn't even know if Hui Toy had escaped the jackals who'd stolen the opium. If he had returned to the house, would his loyalty waver now that Tyler was not there to buy or coerce his silence? Worry gnawed at him rodent-like. He had no desire to suffer the tortures of a Chinese prison. And if the least amount of suspicion was cast his way, his position in Canton would become untenable. Lin would have him watched day and night. There'd be no way to bring in the cargo from the Montrose.

Bloody hell!

Tyler spent most of the day in moody isolation. When Matheson called to discuss the sealing off of the city and the reactions among the merchants, Tyler snorted.

"We have little choice now, James. Lin has made his intention clear."

The answer annoyed Matheson, but he'd already exhausted all his arguments with the other merchants. They were united against his opinion that they should hold out awhile longer. He'd hoped to find support from Temple, but now even that was not forthcoming.

Tyler shook his head. "Even Jardine would acknowledge the wisdom of giving up at this stage. Our hands are tied. We have no choice but to give over the opium Lin demands. Then perhaps we can concentrate on salvaging what is left of the trade. Be thankful at least that William had the foresight to ship out as much tea as he did." He smiled sardonically. "And the loss is more our shareholders' than ours--something else to give thanks for."

Matheson grumbled nevertheless. "I don't like the idea of handing over anything--my own or the stockholders. It sets a bad precedent."

Tyler concluded the conversation impatiently and returned to his solitary brooding when Matheson had taken his leave. The Montrose would make China waters shortly. The cargo in her holds would more than make up for his losses on the surrendered opium, especially if he did not have to share the windfall with Giles. The thought of Copeland renewed his anger, and he hoped churlishly that Lin had taken strong measures against the foreigners in the suburbs as well as those in the factories. It would give him enormous pleasure to learn that the silver Giles had secreted in his house had been confiscated! He sighed, knowing the hope was nothing more than a childish wish for revenge. Lin's wrath was directed at the merchants who dealt in the drug he wanted to eradicate, not at civilians. Giles had never figured prominently in the Company trade. Lin was probably not aware of his existence. Only Tyler's neck was on the block.

By evening, two new developments temporarily relieved Tyler’s mind of the problems he'd worried about all day. The first was the unexpected arrival of Captain Elliot from Macao. News of the detention of the British had reached him, and he'd taken action immediately. After reporting by letter to Lord Palmerston and declaring his belief that a firm tone and attitude would check the rash spirit of the mandarins, he had ordered British merchant ships to positions of defense in the anchorage near Hong Kong. If the Chinese attacked, they wouldn't be taken by surprise there. The merchantmen would also become a refuge to which Her Majesty's subjects could send their property for safe keeping, and their persons as well if it became necessary. Captain Blake of the H.M.S. Larne, which carried eighteen guns, was put in charge of the fleet, with orders to fire upon any war junks that threatened them. Elliot realized full well that he was ordering the British Navy to protect a smuggling fleet, but his first duty was toward British life and property.

This precaution taken, Elliot set out for Canton to take charge of the situation there. The cutter had to make its way around barricades in the river, but it hadn't been fired upon nor had Elliot been accosted. This encouraged him to believe that Lin didn't intend to overrun the factories with armed rabble or deal in some other brutal way with the foreigners. In conference with the merchants, Elliot proposed they continue to counter Lin's actions and demands with diplomacy: bargain if they had to, threaten if necessary. With a sly smile, he suggested that an offer to surrender the opium might be made in return for a promise that other ports be opened. After all, wasn't that what they really wanted?

Hardly had Elliot finished his impassioned speech, when a second astonishing event took place. One of the clerks rushed in to announce that Respondentia Walk was occupied by armed soldiers. The Chinese servants in the factories had vanished. Supplies of food and water, which had slowed to a trickle from boats along the creek since morning, had now been cut off completely. The factories were totally isolated. Even the Hong merchants would not enter the forbidden area. Lin had sent a strongly worded command that the situation would not alter until the opium was surrendered and until the murderer of the soldier was turned over to Chinese justice.

Elliot demanded to know the details of the murder, and one of the men complied. Of course they knew only what had come from the Chinese themselves, he explained, and there was much speculation that the "murder" might be a complete fabrication on Lin's part to squeeze them tighter in his grip. They had no culprit to give him; even if they had, they would never surrender an Englishman to Chinese justice.

Even as their discussion took place, the gongs of the troops occupying Thirteen Factories Street resounded sonorously, tolling the death knell for Elliot's confident plans before they could be put into action.

Chapter 15

As the evening wore on, Lorielle grew restless and could not shake the fear that something had happened to Spencer. She was dressed and waiting. The small parcel of clothes Luan had packed was ready by the door. They were to begin their journey soon after dark, but the temple gongs already had rung well into the night. She paced nervously, pausing only to stand at the darkened window and watch the lane, where slanting sheets of rain beat against the rooftops.

"Why doesn't he come?" she asked over and over. Luan tried her best to reassure Lorielle. Tse Hi had gone to help collect opium pipes that were being turned in by frightened smokers. She had not seen him since dawn. Unless he returned, they would have no news of the outside world. What had happened to prevent Spencer's departure? Her father ...? Giles ...? Either was capable of violence, but Lorielle's real fear was that Commissioner Lin had somehow brought about a calamity. Tse Hi had told them about the Commissioner's edict that the foreigners could not leave Canton. Had Spencer run afoul of the soldiers posted to carry out his orders?

At midnight, Luan tried to persuade Lorielle to lie down, but Lorielle was too distraught to think of sleep. She was still standing at the window peering into the rain-swept darkness when Tse Hi finally returned. She rushed to him and her questions burst forth in a torrent.

"Where is Spencer? Have you seen him? Has something happened?" She stopped abruptly when she saw the grave expression on Tse Hi's face. Her breath caught as fear gripped her in its icy tendrils. "Is he all right?" she whispered hoarsely. Oh, God, don't let anything happen to him! A fit of trembling seized her with such intensity that Luan put an arm around her.

Tsi Hi said gravely, "He is a prisoner of the Emperor's soldiers."

"A prisoner?" A picture of the man who had been dragged to the execution cross sprang to her mind. "Is he all right ... ?" She could barely form the words.

Tse Hi reassured her. "He is not harmed. He is held in the Dungeon of Traitors."

"But he's not a traitor!" Tears stung her eyes and her lips quivered.

"The ch'in-ch'ai has sealed off the houses of the Barbarians until every pound of foreign mud is delivered up. The Sinister Tongue is commanded to honor the ch'in-ch'ai with his presence. Because the Sinister Tongue does not respect the edict, no person may look upon the countenances of the Barbarians or engage in serving them. No fan-qui may venture beyond the wall of the city. The Fair One was captured in the Street of Yellow Water, inside the wall."

All along, she and Spencer had known the risk of entering the old city, but it had been a fear they'd brushed aside easily because they had no choice. But now the fear had become a horrible reality.

"He is accused of disobedience to the ch'in-ch'ai, and also of murder," Tse Hi said.

"Murder?" She stared at him incredulously. "Spencer would not--" She broke off helplessly.

"A soldier was killed one night ago at the Gate of Peaceful Heaven." Tse Hi glanced at Luan, whose eyes glazed with fear. He held her gaze in warning as he said, "Another of the Red Barbarians ventured into the city after dark. It is not known what his evil errand was. As he tried to slip out through the gate, a soldier spied him and was strangled within sight of the guards on the wall. The fan-qui escaped in the darkness."

"But if that happened twenty-four hours ago, how can they blame Spencer?" Lorielle was aware of an unspoken message that passed between Tse Hi and his sister. Did they have some knowledge of the crime of which Spencer stood charged? They had not come in until very late last night. She glanced at Luan and saw fear in her eyes. Her stomach knotted. She had entrusted her life to these two, as had Spencer. She could not believe Luan and Tse Hi would betray them!

Tse Hi set his jaw, "To be accused one needs only an accuser. The ch'in-ch'ai demands a Barbarian to account for the soldier's life. The capture of the Fair One allows the finger of guilt to be pointed. There is no proof."

Lorielle's eyes brimmed with tears and she looked away. "What will become of him?" she asked in a quavering whisper.

Tse Hi was silent. His mind had been troubled ever since he learned the Fair One was imprisoned. The Fair One had not followed Luan last night, and he had not killed the soldier. Jin-How had lived long enough to whisper the name of his assailant. The Sinister Tongue had plunged the knife into his trusted friend's belly and cut away his life. And the Sinister Tongue had also taken the life of the soldier at the Gate of Peaceful Heaven. It could be no other.

"Will they--execute him?" Lorielle's voice broke with a shuddering sob.

Tee Hi's heart was sorrowful for the female who had suffered so much. "No, Gentle One, he will not be executed," he vowed savagely. Quickly he turned and left the two women. A moment later they heard the door close behind him.

Inconsolable, Lorielle let Luan lead her to the sparse bedchamber where she lay sleepless on the lonely pallet until the gray dawn broke.

In the days that followed, the mood at the factories swung between uneasiness and a growing spirit of amusement. The absence of the Chinese servants who had served them so faithfully forced the merchants to handle the myriad chores of daily living. Many of the younger men found the novelty of cooking, washing up, drawing water and lighting fires a welcome diversion from the boredom that resulted from lack of work, and they entered into the tasks with the enjoyment of going on a picnic. The situation was not as grave as it first seemed. Although the Commissioner

took precautions to prevent them from escaping or sending messages for help, there was no risk of starvation. The factories were well stocked with flour and salt beef, and each morning a dozen baskets of fresh produce were found inside the single well-guarded passage left open at New China Street--clandestine gifts from their friends in the Hong.

Despite the general good nature that prevailed, Elliot stuck to his decision to surrender the opium. He professed deep concern for the lives and liberty of the foreigners detained in Canton and maintained that giving in was the only way to insure those lives. On the third morning after his arrival, he posted a notice announcing that he required that all Her Majesty's subjects deliver to Lin the opium under their control, both in the factory go-downs and on the ships anchored at Whampoa and in the Bogue. As the Crown's representative, he guaranteed that they would be indemnified.

Although there was some grumbling, the demand was generally accepted with complacency. Most merchants were eager to have the business over with so they could escape their confinement and sojourn to Macao for the summer months. They also realized that compliance with Elliot's order was good business. Selling opium had probably become impossible. Even if a buyer were found, there could be no bargaining over the price. And when the new crop arrived in autumn, they would be heavily overstocked if they didn't get rid of the stores on hand. If Lin destroyed the opium as he vowed to do, so much the better; it would create a greater demand or new supplies and drive the price back up to where a man could make a decent profit.

But Tyler, for one, wondered if Elliot was empowered to promise payment for the losses. The bill would have to be met by the British taxpayers and should be approved by Parliament; but if Elliot was willing to sanction it, the responsibility passed from the merchants' hands. Tyler reported his own willingness to comply. He ordered Barrington to begin an inventory and Johnson to calculate the indemnity--at midseason prices--that was due. At a rough estimate, Tyler figured Elliot would find himself with something over twenty thousand chests of opium to deliver when all the merchants gave him their books. A veritable windfall that should certainly satisfy the Commissioner fully.

Another burden was also lifted from Tyler's shoulders. News came that an Englishman trying to enter the old city had been captured by Chinese soldiers, and the man was being charged with the murder Tyler himself had committed. That the man was Spencer Raymond was a bonus that gave him great satisfaction. It did not disturb him a whit that Raymond might be executed for a crime he himself had committed. In fact, he was pleased. It would alleviate his worry about being accused, and it would get rid of Spencer Raymond once and for all. Whatever information he'd collected for Lord Valentine would die with him. And without Raymond's protection, Lorielle would be flushed from hiding. Tyler could turn her over to Giles and thus rid himself of another thorn in his side.

The days wore on with maddening slowness. The relief that had prevailed after the acceptance of Elliot's decision gave way to discontent when Lin did not relax the pressure on the foreigners. The blockade of the river was not lifted, nor were the barriers or guards removed. A rumor circulated that a boatman with a foreign-devil letter hidden in his clothes had been tortured to death. Clearly, Lin intended to enforce his restrictions until all the opium had been confiscated, including that on the holding ships. The factories turned in their opium, but Lin declared he would send his own officers to Whampoa and Lintin to oversee the deliveries there. Elliot balked at this lack of good faith and held out until Lin reluctantly allowed Elliot's second superintendent to start for Macao by the inner passage so he might be present as the physical surrender of the foreign mud took place.

Boredom set in at the factories. With only their household chores to attend to, the factory personnel and sailors found time heavy on their hands. They amused themselves playing ball and leapfrog, arranging foot races, and organizing rat hunts, but these diversions soon paled. And without new supplies of the potent rum from the Hog Lane shops, they quickly exhausted their cache of liquor and could not find solace in drink.

And if the imprisoned men in the factories were frustrated, Lorielle was even more so. She worried day and night about Spencer. Each time Tse Hi returned to the house, she besieged him with questions in the hope that he would at last offer some promising news. But none was forthcoming. Tse Hi had been able to ascertain that Spencer was alive and as well as might be expected in the foul prison not far from China Street, beyond the factories. The news that Spencer was incarcerated on the other side of the wall--so close to the house on Sanchou Road--made Lorielle restless with the desire to return to the British community to be near him. Luan and Tse Hi refused to let her go.

"When the time comes for the Fair One's deliverance, you will be with him."

"You're planning to free him?" Lorielle's heart leaped with joyful hope.

Tse Hi would say no more. It was cruel to raise hope for a task that was probably impossible. And one that was so distasteful to a part of his conscience. To strike out against the authorities he supported so wholeheartedly was a move he would not consider under other circumstances. But his debt to the Fair One had to be paid.

Aiii, it was not a simple task to find a way to effect a prisoner's escape from the pits in which they were kept. With the help of several of his men, Tse Hi had tried, but none had gained entrance to the cells. His success had been confined to befriending one of the soldiers on guard and obtaining bits of information from him. He learned that the only time the prisoners were brought out was when they were taken to trial at the Court House, and then under such conditions as to make escape impossible. It was cruel to burden the heart of the Gentle One with the revelation that the Fair One would be chained and carried in a box with only a hole for his head to show through. The short route from the prison to the Court House was well guarded, as was the room of justice where the judges would decree his fate. Tse Hi was troubled by the difficulty of the task he'd vowed to accomplish, and he also had to contend with the refusal of Peh-t'ao and some of the others to endanger themselves for the life of a fan-qui.

At last Tse Hi got word that the Fair One would be taken to trial on the first day of the Fourth Moon. The fan-qui kept their promise to deliver up their mud to the ch'in-ch'ai. The factory go-downs had been emptied and the cargoes of the ships at Whampoa had also been given over, but Lin had not allowed the passage boats to Macao to begin running. There were still many opium vessels on the coast which had not surrendered their loads, and he suspected that the foreigners were trying to hold back.

A gust of anger swept the factories. The merchants sent irate letters of protest to the Commissioner, demanding not only that he keep his promise to allow them passage to Macao but that the English prisoner be released. That could not be done without a trial, the Chinese officials declared, but they were worried enough to set the date for the review of his charges. Many speculated that Raymond would be freed, since it would be disadvantageous for the Chinese to arouse further sentiment against their government. But many others feared the unfortunate one who had been caught disobeying the Commissioner's edicts would be made an example of, to bolster Lin's posture of power.

Tse Hi decided to strike while the opportunity was at hand. Peh-t'ao steadfastly refused to take part in the action, and Tse Hi wisely did not reveal the details of his plan to his disgruntled comrade.

The morning of the trial, a crowd swelled along the street between the prison and the Kung-Soo hall where the justices would sit. The hall had been destroyed in the great fire of 1822 and never rebuilt; it stood mostly in ruins. Its apartments and altars had been cleaned, however, and the chair of state was placed in the center of the main hall, with a table and writing materials for the Kwang-chow-foo, Mayor of Canton, who would preside. The prisoner would be brought and his cage set in the courtyard to await the arrival of the Mayor and his assistant justices.

The trial of a fan-qui lent a festive air to the day. To see a hated Red Barbarian chained and caged promised to provide considerable entertainment. When the prison gongs sounded the departure of the fan-qui, Tse Hi and five of his men mingled with the crowd that pressed for a glimpse of the procession. Tse Hi hugged his arms to his body, feeling the pressure of the knife and hatchet concealed under his san. When the Fair One's prison cage was set down in the courtyard, attention would turn to the mandarin's procession. The deed must be done before the Mayor reached the court.

He glanced toward each of his men, signaling silently that the time was near. Along the street from the prison, the thundering gong struck again. A shout went up, then a hushed silence fell. Four soldiers walked behind the gong-bearer, smiling cheerfully at the watchers as though the pageant had been staged for their benefit.

The coolies bearing the prisoner's box entered the lane. Tse Hi pressed close to the gate. Across from him, Wenwei and Yuan took their positions. A quick glance showed that the others were also ready: Niu Kien directly behind, two others near the entrance to the narrow passage that followed the wall of the Kung-Soo hall. It was the escape route they would use, close so it could be reached quickly and uncluttered by shops and stalls so there would be no traffic to impede them.

The resonant gong thundered again, and Tse Hi saw the first of the soldiers emerge from the lane. Once again he glanced about at his band as the prison parade passed by the throng and the gates were flung open. The Fair One's face was grim, but his head was held high. The sun glinted on the golden hair into which a wooden ticket had been fastened to give the prisoner's name and tell his crime. A murmur rippled in the crowd, and many of the onlookers began to jeer at the amusing sight.

The Fair One seemed neither to hear nor see his taunters as his gaze swept about. As it touched Tse Hi, recognition betrayed itself only in a brightening of his eyes. Tse Hi nodded once and touched his finger to his cheek. At the opposite side of the gate, Wenwei uttered a sharp yell as he jostled the man in front of him. Yuan turned and shouted back, then shoved Wenwei almost off his feet. In moments, they were scuffling and shouting wildly, drawing the attention of the crowd. At the gate, Tse Hi and Niu Kien leaped forward with hatchets drawn. The startled coolies halted, then scrambled for safety as the cage they were carrying was quickly chopped asunder and the prisoner dragged out. It was a moment before the soldiers who had already entered the courtyard realized what was happening. By then, Tse Hi and Niu Kien had Spencer lifted to their shoulders and were pushing through toward the clearing their two henchmen near me lane had forced. Behind them, Wenwei and Yuan maneuvered the circle of onlookers to block the gate, then ended their fight abruptly and darted after the others. There was a great shout as the soldiers plunged after them, but the small band was already racing down the alley, slowing only long enough to scatter handfuls of iron pellets from the pouches tied at their waists. Behind them, the soldiers skidded and tumbled as they lost their footing. In moments, the entrance to the lane was hopelessly jammed by a mass of fallen and stumbling bodies.

Spencer sucked air into his lungs as he was jounced and pitched this way and that on the two men's shoulders. He lay limp and let his head bounce against Tse Hi's back, but he couldn't suppress a grin at the comical sight behind them. His neck was chafed raw under the bite of the iron chain, and his wrists and ankles felt as if they were being cut through, yet he could not contain his elation. The days in solitary confinement had offered no hope of rescue or escape, but the moment he spied Tse Hi in the crowd by the gate, his hopes had soared. Then everything happened so quickly, he hadn't had time to think. And now he was free!

At the rear of the Kung-Soo hall, Tse Hi and Niu Kien changed course abruptly and pushed through a gate in a high wall. The others came right behind them and barred the gate, then hurried to a low shed behind a shabby building. Inside, the air was hot and dry. The two men lowered Spencer to the floor. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realized they were in an ironworker's shop. It was empty except for the seven of them. At one corner, a fire blazed in a stone pit; a pair of long pincers lay heating in the glowing coals. Spencer raised his chained arms as Wenwei lifted the red-hot pincers and came toward him. The blades ate through the links of the chain and sent up an acrid stench of molten iron. A moment later the chain clanked loose and Tse Hi was unwrapping it.

Wenwei returned the pincers to the fire. Tse Hi pulled a san and a straw hat from a dark niche beside the door. Spencer put them on quickly. The san was tight across his shoulders but he managed to fasten the closings so his ragged shirt was hidden. Tse Hi quickly undid the wooden ticket from his hair and Spencer perched the conical straw hat over his unruly curls. Silently, Tee Hi motioned him to follow.

Niu Kien and the others had already vanished when they emerged into a tiny courtyard. Spencer and Tse Hi let themselves out a narrow gate and made their way along a twisting passage barely wide enough for one man to pass through at a time. It was a maze between a dozen buildings, and it was foul with the odor of excrement collected in a shallow trough.

As they came out onto a suburban street, Tse Hi indicated another alley that angled eastward. Spencer followed without question. Not a word had been spoken since the dramatic rescue. Spencer marveled at the perfect harmony with which the band worked--each man knew his task and performed it without hesitation or error. He owed his life to their swift, sure action. He knew only too well that he might have been sentenced to die for whatever infraction of the law, he had been imprisoned for. He hadn't understood the charges shouted at him by a police official, but the capture of a foreigner seemed to be a triumph that was not treated lightly. His demand to be brought into the presence of someone who spoke English had been completely ignored.

With growing curiosity, he studied the house toward which they were heading. It was vaguely familiar, even though he knew he'd never been on this back street before. With a start, he realized suddenly that it was the Temple house on Sanchou Road. He looked at Tse Hi questioningly.

Tse Hi unfastened a gate and led Spencer through a tiny garden, then another gate. Spencer recognized the servants' courtyard. They entered a small house where a pot bubbled and hissed on an open fire.

"You will be safe here until dark," Tse Hi said.

"And then?"

"And then you will be taken to a boat to carry you down the river." He smiled as Spencer started to protest. 'The Gentle One will go with you."

Spencer's brain reeled. He could not believe his good fortune.

"Luan will bring her to the junk after dusk. It is not safe for her to depart from the house of Kwang until then."

Spencer laughed softly. "You are a wonder, my friend. I shall find a way to repay you for what you have done and the care you have taken of Lorielle."

Tse Hi met his gaze. "The scales of life are balanced like the petals of a spring blossom. It is said the life of one saved is owned by the man who saves it."

"Then I am in your debt with every breath," Spencer said without reservation. "And that of your men. But now--" he said urgently. 'Tell me news of the city. I have heard nothing since my arrest."

Tse Hi related the Commissioner's edicts and the progress of the surrender of the opium. He admitted that the restraints upon the foreigners had not yet been lifted.

"And your work?"

"It moves as slowly. We have taken the opium of the Sinister Tongue. He remains in the house of the foreign mud, but he has not relinquished his dream of riches."

Spencer scowled, puzzled.' "f he has surrendered the opium, how is this possible?"

"He waits for the arrival of another ship."

"The season is over."

"He has sent the clipper Montrose to safe waters to wait his command. The father of Yuan has heard it from the scrambling dragons poised to meet it."

"He will defy Lin's orders so boldly?" Spencer said.

"A man possessed of the devil of greed knows no caution. The Sinister Tongue holds himself above the law of my people and his." He smiled contemptuously. "He will not succeed in his plan." Turning to the hissing pot on the fire, he lifted the lid. The aroma of a rich broth made Spencer ravenous. Tse Hi said, "Fill your belly. You are safe here. The house is empty except for the old gatekeeper who is willing to share his meal with a weary traveler. I will return when it is time." With that he slipped out and Spencer was alone.

Greedily, Spencer spooned the thick soup into a large bowl and ate quickly. It warmed him and restored some of the strength that had been sapped from his body during his imprisonment. The strong meat flavor delighted his palate after the swill he'd existed on for almost a week, and he refilled the bowl. When he had finished, he brewed tea and carried it to the window as he contemplated the daring rescue Tse Hi had effected. It had taken courage beyond that possessed by most. Nor could the deed have been an easy matter for a man so dedicated to his cause as Tse Hi was. Spencer indeed owed his life to Tse Hi, and he regretted that his imminent departure would prevent his settling that debt. But Canton was no longer safe for him or Lorielle, and they must leave quickly.

The pungent tea calmed his spirit, and when he set aside the cup, he began to walk the floor methodically. His limbs were stiff and sore from inactivity. By nightfall he had to be ready for whatever action might come. The thought that he would be with Lorielle soon soothed his anxiety. To hold her ... to feel her lips and warm flesh-- He sighed and paced more rapidly to still the eagerness of his body.

Luan said nothing of her brother's plan, lest her gentle mistress worry. But when Tse Hi returned at midday to tell her all was well, a heavy burden was lifted from Luan's heart, and she quickly set to preparing the few things her mistress would be able to carry on the long journey. When the bundle was ready, she concealed it in the kitchen, then spent the afternoon tending her father and busying herself with small chores. From time to time she smiled, until Lorielle was consumed with curiosity and asked the reason for her extraordinary good humor.

"It is time," Luan said contentedly. She would miss the company of her gentle mistress, but her heart was gladdened to know Lorielle and Spencer would be together. Their separation had brought shadows to Lorielle's eyes and lines of pain to her face. These would vanish when she saw her loved one and was safe in his arms.

"Time?" Lorielle peered at her and her pulse quickened. "Spencer--?"

"He is set free from his imprisonment. You will be together before the nighthawk stirs from his nest."

'"Tonight!" Lorielle scarcely trusted her ears. She had waited so long.

"Yes, gentle mistress. Tse Hi and his men have freed him from his chains and taken him to a safe place."

"I must go to him now!" Her body trembled with a surge of need and love. Her pulse went on a rampage. Spencer was free!

"When dusk fails," Luan said gently. "It is not wise to be on the streets until then."

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Luan touched her hand reassuringly. "It is better that neither of us know. When it is time, I will take you to the appointed place and you will see him. Until then, content yourself that he is safe and restless to see you.''

Lorielle sighed and hugged her arms to her breasts. "Of course. You are right. I will say no more. Oh, Luan-" She threw her arms around the slender girl and hugged her close.

"How can I ever thank you and Tse Hi?" Suddenly, she held the girl at arm's length. "Will you come with me?" But even as the question was spoken from her heart, she knew what the answer would be.

"My place is in my father's house." Luan's voice held both love and sadness.

Lorielle hugged her again. ''Yes, it is selfish of me to hope otherwise, but I shall miss you so! I shall never forget you."

Luan was touched. She returned the affectionate embrace awkwardly and smiled. "My heart and my father's house will be empty without you."

Lorielle tried to suppress the warm flood of tears that brimmed in her eyes. She realized how dearly she had come to love Luan and her serenity. The tenderness with which she cared for her father was touching and beautiful. It was difficult to part from her, but the thrill of seeing Spencer again left no room for anything but excitement and joy. In a few hours she would be in his arms, and then they would be together always!

The hours until dusk plodded with leaden slowness. A thousand times, Lorielle peered from the window to search the sky for a hint of the coming darkness. She walked about the house like a caged animal until Luan invented small tasks to occupy her hands and thoughts. Even so, Lorielle's mind raced with intimate thoughts of her reunion with Spencer.

At last the sky to the west grew dusky and shredded clouds along the horizon turned mauve. Luan insisted that Lorielle consume the meal of delicate steamed vegetables laced with bits of sweet pork.

"You have a long journey ahead," Luan chided. "The Fair One will not think kindly of me if you faint from weakness."

Lorielle forced herself to sit at the table and pick up the slender ivory chopsticks she had become so proficient at using. She sighed. She would miss China, despite the heartache she had known here. There were so many things she had come to love about the strange, exotic land. How different it was from those dreams she'd had when her mother announced they would journey to Canton. Yet it had been what she longed for most--exciting and different. She'd found more adventure than she bargained for—and she'd found love. She sighed again, then smiled as Luan glanced at her compassionately.

The sun vanished in a blaze of red-streaked sky and the songs of the birds quieted. A gentle breeze fluttered the tall bamboo along the path so they sighed like the whispering of Lorielle's heart. Luan cleared away the bowls and spent a few minutes with her father making sure he was resting quietly. Lorielle stood in the doorway watching. The old man's frail chest was almost motionless under the silk coverlet and his face was already as pale as death. Luan brushed his sparse gray hair then touched her fingers to his bony hand. When she turned to Lorielle, she said softly, "It is time."

Quickly they gathered up the bundle and Luan led the way through the rear door. A sense of adventure filled Lorielle as they slipped through the small garden. The scent of night blooming jasmine perfumed the air, and Lorielle realized that spring had come not only to her heart but to the land as well. They did not talk as they walked through the dark streets of the city. Lorielle kept her head low and her

gaze fastened on Luan's figure moving before her. Once, someone spoke to the girl and she paused to answer softly. Lorielle did not look up. Then they were underway again, through narrower streets that were almost deserted. The soft glow of lanterns spilled from windows as families took to their houses for the night. Occasionally the cry of a child and its mother's soothing voice drifted from an open window. Somewhere a dog barked shrilly.

After a time, they came to a narrow bridge decorated with carved stone dragons. Its graceful arch silhouetted them against the silvery crescent of moon that was climbing the sky. The day's warmth had evaporated, and Lorielle shivered in the damp chill. At the other side of the bridge, Luan left the street and followed a winding path along the creek, holding aside errant branches of willow that dipped to the water's edge. At last she halted beneath the imposing shadow of a pagoda outlined against the sky. She stood as silent as a fox sniffing the air, her gaze sweeping the dark bank. The night seemed to hold its breath as they waited.

At last Luan glanced at Lorielle and moved quietly toward a patch of darker shadows at the bank ahead. Gradually, Lorielle made out the shape of a high-keeled junk moored in tiny cove. On the bank above it, a hut was almost hidden under an ancient, spreading banyon tree that sent hundreds of fingers into the ground. With her heart bounding madly, Lorielle followed Luan across a rough plank that had been laid as a gangway to the boat. A figure appeared from the shadows on deck. Tse Hi helped the two women aboard with a whispered word to his sister, then turned and opened the door of the cabin. Inside, bamboo curtains had been drawn across the windows to shield the flickering glow of a single lamp in a small cupboard. For a moment, Lorielle thought the room was empty, but the sound of a sharply indrawn breath made her look around. Spencer came toward her, arms outstretched, face wreathed in a loving smile.

"Lorielle.. ."

She was in his arms, crushed against the taut, hard muscles of his chest, lifting her face to his eager searching lips. Peace flooded in a rushing tide, and she clung to him, trying to murmur his name but losing the sound in his kisses. Her body suffused with heat as his mouth claimed hers and they clung together in rediscovery. His arms tightened about her as though he would never let her go, and he smothered her with kisses--her lips, her cheeks, her throat.

Tse Hi made a soft sound, and Spencer released Lorielle reluctantly, his arm still claiming her waist possessively. "I am in your debt twice over, my friend," Spencer said softly. "Not only have you given me my life, but you have given me Lorielle."

Tse Hi nodded with a curious, understanding smile. "May the wings of night see you safely to your destination."

Spencer held out his hand. For a moment, Tsi Hi seemed confused, then he clasped Spencer's hand in the foreign gesture of friendship.

"Take care and God speed," Spencer said fervently. He knew the difficult tasks that still lay ahead of Tse Hi and his men. He prayed they had not endangered themselves by the risks they'd taken to help him.

Lorielle went to Luan and took her hands. "Thank you, Luan--words can't express how I feel." Tears warmed her lashes and she tried to blink them away. She squeezed the delicate hands close to her breast. "My thoughts will always be with you. Goodbye. .. ."

Tse Hi made another soft sound. Luan smiled and released herself gently. "Goodbye." She pronounced the foreign word with exquisite care, then followed her brother out into the darkness.

Spencer slipped his arm about Lorielle and drew her close as they listened to the soft fading footfalls, then the scrape of the gangplank being hauled aboard. Moments later, the boat slipped from its mooring and moved out into the current. Spencer turned to Lorielle.

She sighed as his lips brushed the hollow of her throat tenderly. "I'11 never let you out of my sight again," he whispered. 'It's been an eternity without you."

She gazed at him searchingly. "Are you all right? Were you tortured or hurt?" She remembered the dreadful visions she'd endured of him suffering at the hands of cruel prison guards.

"I am as fit as ever now that I am with you again."

Tears spilled over her lashes, and he kissed them away. "Memories of you gave me strength and kept alive my hopes," he said softly. They kissed again and were drawn into a gentle, rising passion. Nothing mattered but they were together.

After a long interval, Spencer drew her to a corner of the cabin where a square piece of matting was laid across a simple couch of boards. A woven bamboo pillow and a thin coverlet lay atop it. "The boatman has generously given us his berth for the duration of the journey," Spencer said with a twinkle in his eyes. "It lacks the elegance of your chamber in the house on Sanchou Road, but perhaps you will not mind?"

"It’s the finest bed I have ever seen!" she insisted.

They laughed softly. Spencer pointed to the tiny cupboard where the lamp burned. Lorielle noticed that it was garishly decorated with bits of glistening paper, silk flowers and artificial leaves. At the back, a small waxen image dressed in silks and gaudy ribbons, sat cross-legged.

"That is Tien-how, Queen of Heaven," Spencer said solemnly. "She accepted the boatman's offering of tea and fruit at sunset, which guarantees that our journey will be safe and swift."

"Not too swift, I hope," Lorielle teased.

In answer, he drew her to the bed. His nimble fingers found the fastenings of the san and koo, whispering the dark cloth from her flesh and casting each garment aside with gentle abandon. The junk shifted with the current, and moonlight streamed through the high windows that were open to the night. It bathed Lorielle's flesh to a golden honey as Spencer divested himself of his clothes and lowered her onto the pallet. He caressed her shoulders ... her breasts ... the delicate curve of her waist and hips until her flesh tingled and need stirred deep within her. Beneath them, the rough matting heightened her awareness of his velvet touch. She shivered and was drawn into a maelstrom of sensual delight. Buried desires hared. She moistened her lips, but words would not come.

Then there was no need for words at all. She felt his hardness and welcomed him desperately as she was drawn deeper and deeper into consuming passion. His touch at her thighs was urgent as he lifted her to meet his need. Then they were swept into a rushing tide of togetherness, fusing bodies and hearts with renewed fervor. His thrust was sure and strong, and Lorielle moaned with pleasure. The cruelties of their separation vanished as they discovered the total joy of reunion. Exquisite pleasure flowed through Lorielle so that she cried out softly, speaking her love, demanding his.

When at last he lay quietly beside her, his hand still claiming the gentle curve of her breast, he kissed away the tears of joy that dampened her cheeks.

"I feared I might never see you again," she confessed with a soft sob.

"There is no prison but that of your arms that can ever bold me," he admonished. He did not worry her with his own fears. It was enough that she was here and they were en route to Macao. Even the dangers of the journey that lay ahead paled in comparison to the suffering they had already endured by being apart. He vowed silently that they would be wed as soon as he could arrange it in the Portuguese city.

She nestled in the curve of his arm and lay her tousled head at his shoulder. "And the sea?" she teased.

"Never a prison but a siren lover," he answered softly.

"Must I share you with it forever ?"

He embraced her so the length of his body was strong against hers. "You are more than enough lover for the rest of my days," he said honestly. "I never knew it was possible to love anyone as much as I do you." He teased her lips with his tongue, then renewed his kisses at every plane of her body until her breath quickened again.

She responded to the reawakening of passion with surprise and delight. They explored it intimately, found untapped sources of pleasure in each other's flesh, grew greedy to recapture the exquisite sharing. Afterward Lorielle savored the warmth of his flesh on hers and did not stir when his even breathing told her he was asleep. She held him close and stared out the window at the moon-kissed sky until she, too, at long last drifted into sleep.

The journey down the inner passages was slow but the time passed all too quickly for Lorielle. She blossomed under Spencer's attentions, even in their primitive surroundings. The junk was a shallow water tam kok teng, and once clear of the creek, the captain trawled the river inlets as he had been doing all his life. Carrying passengers, no matter how many candareen they paid, would not put food in his belly, and he must bring in his catch each evening. At times, when the boat sailed an isolated stretch of water, the lovers ventured on deck and watched the fishermen draw the heavy otter trawl nets through the water to bring in their catch. They stood gazing at the red sails billowing in the soft spring winds and listened to the dash of the waves against the rocky shores. They hurried below whenever the boat approached a village or sighted patrolling soldiers, but 'there were few of these off the main course of the river. Fishing boats were common in these waters, and the junk was not hailed. Had it been, Spencer and Lorielle were prepared to hide in the hold which was quickly filling with fish.

At twilight each evening, they watched the men stand at the aft rail tossing burning Ghos-paper into the water where it floated until its eerie glow faded. Along the shores, similar glows appeared like fireflies and bursts of chattering firecrackers embraced the growing darkness to propitiate the gods of the waters who could provide prosperous winds and fair weather. They emerged into the bay when the boat cleared the Bogue, then once more cut westward to take the route around Heang-shan so they would approach Macao from the Portuguese port side. They sighted the city near sunset on the eighth day of the journey. Lorielle gazed at the distant masts of the clippers anchored in the cove. How different her situation was now, than when she had last seen Macao. She had not spared a thought for Giles Copeland since she fled to the Chinese city to escape the prospect of marrying him in Canton, just as she had fled Macao for the same reason. But now her return was joyful and triumphant. She studied Spencer's strong features, each rise of flesh that defined his mouth and eyes and the line of his jaw.

Sensing her gaze, he turned and smiled as he slipped his arm about her. "We've come to the end of our journey."

She shook her head. "To the beginning of our life together."

"Yes, to the beginning." He pressed his lips to her brow. "And a happy life it will be."

"You have no regrets?" she asked playfully.

"None." He kissed her again as they shared a moment of tender closeness in the midst of the preparations for making port. Overhead, the mainsail creaked and slapped gently as the boom was brought about. Lorielle laid her head on his shoulder. For a moment, Spencer gazed back toward the mainland. He had no regrets ... but still he felt a tug at his conscience at the knowledge that he had left Tse Hi to accomplish so much.

Chapter 16

By the end of April, the delivery ships had turned in more than half the twenty thousand promised chests of opium to Lin's officers. Life at the factories returned to something akin to normal; Lin allowed the servants to return and fresh supplies of food and water to be delivered daily. But the mat huts of the coolie guards still occupied the square; guard boats were a solid line on the river below the landings, though the patrols who manned them seemed less enthusiastic with each passing day. They beat their gongs and blew their conch horns as though they were bored with the duty that no longer caused excitement among the foreigners. They did not even have the diversion of seeing the barbarian merchantmen who were reported plying the waters of the South China Sea while they waited for the ch'in-ch'ai to destroy their mud at Chuenpi.

Six weeks after Elliot's arrival and the beginning of the blockade, officers rode into the square and ordered the line of guard boats broken up. Clerks and merchants poured from the factories to watch the soldiers withdraw and the barriers that had sealed Hog Lane and Old China Street being torn down. They cheered as the bricks barring the factories' doors were dismantled and carried away. Sailors eager to rejoin their ships hurried to pack their gear as Chinese workmen began to ship the rudders and bend on the sails of the passenger schooners that had been disabled at the start of the blockade.

They soon discovered that Lin had not relented completely. Sixteen of the merchants were ordered to remain at the factories as hostages until the completion of the opium deliveries. Then they must, he decreed, leave China forever. Tyler was among those forbidden to leave.

Ty1er viewed the order with mixed feelings. He disliked being detained, but at the same time it gave him opportunity to complete his plans for the Montrose. Giles was still in Canton. Like others in the suburbs, he'd been trapped when Lin cordoned off the factories, and he was now making preparations to depart for Macao.

To Tyler's amazement, no word of Lorielle reached him. He couldn't believe he'd been mistaken about her hiding in the ancient city, yet she did not appear despite all the events that took place. Was it possible she had already left Canton? With Raymond in prison, to whom would she turn? There'd been no news concerning his trial. In the flurry of excitement over the surrender of the opium and the blockade, concern over Raymond's plight dwindled for lack of news. Major General Milton made inquiries that produced nothing, and gradually he convinced himself that Spencer would be released when Lin's demands were met.

Tyler secretly wished a dozen less fortunate outcomes to Spencer's misadventure. He saw the affair of the murdered soldier as finished, and put it from his mind.

The Montrose had turned back to Singapore to await the lifting of the blockade. As soon as the twenty thousand chests were destroyed, the mood of the Chinese would change. Lin's drive to confiscate opium pipes had been only mildly successful--and pipes were easy to replace. Addicts would not give up their habits easily, and habits must be supplied. Tyler had already heard rumors of clandestine forays into the coastal villages by bands of smugglers. It was said that opium from hidden stores was commanding prices higher than the merchants had realized for a long time. Another few weeks of enforced shortages would drive the prices still higher. Barrington had used the time of the blockade to recruit a dozen sailors who were eager to reap a handsome profit for a few days work. He had also secured a fast boat and a dozen scrambling dragons to unload the Montrose while she rode at anchor off Typa. Ty1er compiled a list of buyers in various coastal towns from his own and the Jardine-Matheson books. Though he'd never been up the coast before, he was sure he'd have no trouble making contact. Once the word was out that he had opium to sell, hungry smugglers would rush to him.

He longed for Lin to get on with the destruction of the confiscated opium.

"But I cannot--!" the Reverend Mr. St. George objected.

Spencer fixed him with a purposeful gaze. "You are ordained to conduct the rites of the Church, are you not?"

"Of course, of course!" The little man's eyes widened, then blinked rapidly. "But you are asking me to disavow the precepts I have sworn to uphold. No, no ... I cannot." When he shook his head wispy gray hair fell over his forehead. He pushed it back absently.

Lorielle gave him a beguiling smile. "Only a small part of one ritual, Mr. St. George. God will not look unkindly on a tiny misdeed that brings about a much larger blessing. It is God's will that we wed, else he would not have allowed us to survive the hardships we have endured in escaping from Canton. Nor would he bless our survival with--" She hesitated and looked away shyly. "With a promise of a gift of a perfect union," she added softly.

The Reverend St. George stared and his face flushed. For a moment, he was speechless, then he stammered, "I see, I see, dear me. What would Doctor Gutzlaff say--"

"He would thank you for doing what he himself promised to do before the trouble erupted in Canton," Spencer declared.

Lorielle affirmed, "That's correct, Mr. St. George. On two different occasions, the Reverend Doctor Gutzlaff gave his word to officiate at my marriage vows, and twice unforeseen circumstances prevented it. Please, you cannot refuse me again!" She looked close to tears and dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief. Despite the fact that they had arrived in Macao with only the clothes on their backs--and those shabby and borrowed--was now garbed in a pale green gown of fine face cloth, ruffled across her bared shoulders and at the cuffs of the short sleeves. A sprinkling of oyster silk roses ornamented the skirt and the wide silk ribbon sash. About her throat, a slender strip of velvet held a delicate cameo. She'd brushed her hair into soft fluffy wings at either side of her head, a style similar to one which Luan had worn. Her looking glass confirmed that the effect was utterly charming—and she turned that charm now to advantage with Mr. St. George. Glancing up, she smiled hopefully. "You will not refuse me, will you?" she pleaded.

The diminutive man of God sighed heavily. When he had agreed to take over at the Anglican Church in Doctor Gutzlaffs absence, he had not dreamed he would be put to such a test. Still, if Gutzlaff had promised to wed this couple, the union was right in God's eyes.

"Very well," he said at last. "I will overlook the fact that no banns have been posted. When would you like the ceremony to take place?"

"Now," Spencer said firmly.

"This very minute," Lorielle agreed.

St. George was taken aback by their eagerness, but having committed himself, he did not balk now. "Very well, let's go into the chapel." He led the way, muttering softly as though still talking himself into the deed.

Spencer clasped Lorielle's hand and gave her a conspiratorial smile and wink. How quick she'd been to add a morsel of truth to the story about Gutzlaff. Poor St. George would be mortified when he found out the promised marriage vows had been for a man other than Spencer. The thought made him smile. The stroke of luck in not finding Copeland in Macao had been unexpected. When Lorielle related how she had left clothing at Giles' house on the ridge, Spencer had gone boldly and demanded that the servants pack it immediately for Miss Temple, who had returned to Macao and needed them. His own suit was borrowed from a Company surgeon who had recently arrived on an opium clipper now detained at Hong Kong because of the turmoil.

They knelt before the altar, hands still clasped. St. George fluttered the pages of his Prayer Book nervously until he found the spot he wanted. Then he cleared his throat and began to read the Sacrament of Marriage in a wavering voice.

Lorielle had never heard any words so beautiful, and she gazed at Spencer, pouring out her love and accepting the answering adoration she found in his eyes. When St. George pronounced the benediction of marriage, she drew her breath in a tremulous sigh.

Spencer lifted her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly. Her eyes mirrored his reflection against the high, delicately colored rose window. He had never seen her more beautiful--or more desirable. For several moments, they remained on their knees, drinking the full measure of their happiness. When they rose, they thanked St. George profusely and quickly took their leave.

Spencer had arranged a room for them at the Pousada de Macao, a charming small inn which served as a residence for well-to-do merchants and ships' captains who made brief stays on the island. It was well removed from the East India Select Committee House and the ridge where Lorielle had stayed on her first visit to Macao. As they left the church, Lorielle paused to glance at the Protestant Cemetery that spilled across the hillside ... and the mound that was her mother's grave. Among the ornate headstones, the barren hummock looked pitifully insignificant. She would order a marker before they left. Her mother deserved that much. Sighing, she felt the reassuring pressure of Spencer's hand.

"It's time to put sad thoughts behind you," he said gently. "It is the beginning of a new life."

She smiled. "A new life with you. Oh, Spencer, I have never been happier. "

His eyes twinkled. "Let me take you away from the curious gaze of Mr. St. George, who is standing in the doorway observing us, and I shall show you that your joy can be fuller still."

A warm blush touched her cheeks and she resisted glancing toward the church. She was unashamed of her love but just as eager as he to be away from prying eyes.

They descended the path to the road where they'd left the carriage. Sitting close, they were silent as the coach clattered over the uneven paving stones, and the vista of the city and the harbor spread before them. The day was pleasantly warm, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fragrant glorybower. The carriage wended its way down the steep, narrow streets that seemed laid out at random by a careless hand. Sharply converging avenues formed triangular intersections, and here and there a three-sided house nestled on the oddly shaped lots. Other streets were canyons between fortress-like walls and balconied houses with shutters closed against the midday sun. Everywhere, a profusion of flowers and shrubs gave a bright hue to the gray stone city.

As the carriage approached a magnificent structure, Spencer saw Lorielle’s startled expression as she realized there was nothing left of the beautiful church except the facade and the wide staircase leading to it.

"The Church of the Mother of God," he explained. "It was destroyed by fire during a disastrous typhoon in thirty-five. The devout say the death of the church saved the lives of the people of Macao because the blazing light of the fire enabled them to find their way to higher ground as the flood surged across the lowlands."

"How magnificent. .. ." She craned to see the intricate detail of the columned tiers crowned with the cross of Jerusalem. Each had niches to hold statues. At the top, the bronze figure of a dove was surrounded with stone carvings of the sun, moon and stars. Beneath the dove was a statue of the Infant Jesus and the implements of the crucifixion, and on the tier below, one of the Virgin surrounded by flowers. There were also a fountain of life, a Portuguese sailing ship and a curious demon at one side, and at the other, a carving of the tree of life, a demon being conquered by the Blessed Virgin, and a skeleton being impaled to represent victory after death. And the lower tier contained statues of four Jesuit saints, while three doors on the lowest level gave access to the church. Lorielle was still peering back as the carriage rounded the sharp angle of the street and continued down the hill.

She sighed and turned back to Spencer, who smiled lovingly. "Will you be sad to leave Macao?" he asked.

"No. It is delightful, but it holds too many sad memories along with the happy ones," she answered honestly. "I long to see England. Is London as marvelous as this?" She indicated the city surrounding them.

"It is," he assured her. "And it will be all the more wonderful with you to share it with me."

She nestled against him, content in the happiness they'd found at last. She felt a pang of regret to be leaving China but at the same time an eagerness for the life that lay ahead.

"Will we be able to sail soon?" she asked.

He was thoughtful a moment, then said, "It may be several weeks before any of the ships are permitted to leave. The Commissioner will not release their shipments of tea until every bit of opium has been destroyed."

She hadn't thought about the opium problem for some time, and mention of it sobered her. When Lin's blockade was lifted, her father would return to Macao. There would be a stormy scene when he discovered she and Spencer were married, but he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They had pitted wills--and she had won. His promise to Giles Copeland would go begging now.

"So solemn--" Spencer chided, taking her in his arms as the carriage turned at last onto the Praia Grande, where they could see a dozen tall-masted ships riding at anchor.

"It won't be long until we are free to go," he promised. "I heard only this morning that four vessels have entered the China Sea. Their arrival should make the goal of twenty thousand chests Captain Elliot promised." The ships in the harbor were riding high in the water, their holds empty. More than fifteen thousand chests of opium had already been delivered, according to the talk he'd heard at the Select house. Lin was coming to supervise its destruction. Sailors reported seeing the ditches that were being dug five miles from Chuenpi. Each was roughly fifty yards by twenty-five, with timbered sides and flagstone bottoms. Wooden platforms were being erected across them so the cakes of opium could be crushed and swept directly into the pits. Lin had decided against burning; the opium would be mixed with water, lime and salt, then allowed to run into a creek and carried out to sea with the tide. Lin would be satisfied that the foreign mud was gone forever.

Spencer wished he could be as confident. Having seen the lengths to which some merchants would go to insure their handsome profits, he wasn't certain the matter would end as easily as Lin prophesied. The British merchants at Canton were still refusing to sign Lin's bond. They would neither give up the profitable opium trade, nor would they agree to the death clause for any man caught engaging in it. Without acceptance of the bond, the issue would be at a stalemate.

As they reached the inn, Spencer banished all thoughts except those of Lorielle. As they entered the room which overlooked the Rua da Praia Grande and the sparkling harbor beyond, he took her in his arms.

"You are radiant," he said, smiling.

"A bride has that right on her wedding day. I still find it difficult to believe that you are mine--forever!" She touched his cheek, the strong angle of his jaw. "I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you."

He laughed softly. "You hid it well, my sweet. You were furious at the liberties I took--"

She blushed, remembering his kiss and her angry condemnation. "You've taken far greater since then," she teased. "I do not come to you a virgin on our wedding day."

"I would have it no other way...." He claimed her lips and found their welcome moistness. His tongue probed and was accepted with a sensuous sigh. His hand caressed the warm flesh of her shoulder where the gown clung and his fingers kneaded gently before moving to the curve of her breast. Not a virgin but a sensuous, satisfying woman, already robust in the pleasures of love. Suddenly he recalled her persuasive words to the Reverend Mr. St. George. He drew back and cocked his head.

"Was there truth in what you implied to the good Reverend about our union being blessed?" he queried.

She giggled and shook her head. "An invention of the moment to sway his decision, though nothing would give me greater pleasure than to carry your child."

He was both disappointed and relieved. He, too, would welcome a child, but not until they were safely in England where she could receive proper medical care. His fingers moved to the tiny fastenings of her gown. "Nothing, Mrs. Raymond? I had in mind--" The gown fell loose from her bosom. He brushed it aside in order to capture a golden breast and bend his lips to it.

She shivered delectably and pressed his head between her palms, holding him close. Her breath came in quick snatches at the intensity of her pleasure when his tongue teased greedily. Her body was alive with sensations, wanting his caresses, his strong flesh. Gently he drew her toward the bed, and she lay down eagerly, helping him as he divested her of the dress and petticoats. She feasted her eyes on his magnificent body as he disrobed, then welcomed him with outstretched arms. Her body arched with rushing passion. Her hands clasped his naked body to hold him close, as though never to let him go again. She was part of him, and he of her.

Spencer felt the soft curves of her warm, pulsing flesh. Urgency swelled in his loins as desire became a storm that would not relent. He wanted to claim her savagely, but to do so would end an exquisite torture. Gently, he pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, then spun a web of kisses across her breasts. Her skin was flavored with the heat of the day and the faint scent of delicate talcum. He grew intoxicated with her as he readied her breasts with kisses and stroked the gentle swell of her hips.

She shivered and whispered, "Spencer—Spencer—love me--"

Smiling, he moved between the thighs she parted willingly, then entered her with a touch as gentle as a continuing caress. Her body went taut with expectancy, and her gaze beseeched him.

"Love me--" Her lips breathed the plea once more.

"My sweet. .. ." His own aching need could no longer be denied and he thrust with urgent desire. She answered with blind hunger, surging to meet him and twining her legs around him. Together they explored the paths of passion until they reached the summit of fulfillment.

Lorielle cried out her ultimate pleasure, then lay gasping as undulating waves of delight washed over her. Each union was more complete than the last, so that it left her helpless in the bonds of devotion. He stroked the damp hair from her cheeks and kissed away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Then he lay holding her as they shared the intimacy of their ebbing desire. When at last they stirred, it was to move closer together and gaze through the tall open windows to the lace work of branches a red pine spread against the sky. And when eventually their desire stirred again, they came together in sweet, sure knowledge that their life together had begun.

The last chest of opium had passed hands, and the foreigners who still remained in Canton tired of Lin's bondage. Elliot declared the Commissioner had overstepped his bounds in detaining them further, and made secret arrangements to lead them out by way of Whampoa. Lin was in Chuenpi, and the Hong merchants, free of their daily audiences with him and his demand for total compliance with his edicts, reverted to the friendly relations they'd always enjoyed with the foreigners. Though they saw the preparations for departure in progress, they made no effort to halt the exodus. Merchants emptied the factories: the life-size portrait of Queen Victoria was crated, ledgers, clothes, furniture, even dozens of bottles of wine, were packed care fully and put aboard the chop boats. It was a precautionary measure rather than an admission of defeat, but with the hostile atmosphere that pervaded, the British were determined not to let any more of their goods fall into Chinese hands.

Giles Copeland packed twelve trunks for shipment to Macao. The forcible detention had infuriated him but had also increased his fears about remaining in China any longer. Cut off from the factories, and without servants, he'd been afraid to stay in his suburban house alone and threw in his lot with the wives and merchants who found themselves in the same position. The entire group, nine altogether, had moved into Ellis Quigley's house where they had a sense of safety in numbers. The women cooked and supervised the household, while the men took turns as guards at the gate. Without communication with the factories, they heard no news of what was happening, and there were some who feared for their lives. They were convinced that Lin was a madman bent on exterminating them all.

When at last the blockade was lifted, Giles sought out Tyler to renew his demand that both Lorielle and the silver owed him be delivered to Macao with all haste.

Ty1er astonished him by unlocking the safe in his office and handing him the disputed payment on the spot.

"You've changed your tune," Giles said suspiciously.

Tyler sighed and shook his head. "I have come to the realization that I have no choice, at least in the matter of the sum you insist I owe you. I prefer we part amicably. There may be a time we can do business again."

'"I think not."

"It distresses me that you feel as you do, but perhaps time will heal the rift between us." Tyler avoided looking at his former partner so his true feelings would not be divined. "I have still had no word of Lorielle, but I'm sure she'll soon come from hiding so the rest of our business can be concluded as well."

"What of Spencer Raymond?"

"I've asked Changqua to look into the matter and report to me. Elliot is greatly disturbed that an Englishman is still held prisoner, but we haven't been able to learn anything. Elliot is threatening to bring gunboats to force Lin's hand if the matter is not resolved quickly."

"It would be better if Raymond did not survive," Giles said pointedly.

"His report to Valentine may be in our favor after his imprisonment," Tyler declared.

Giles shrugged. "No report would be even more effective. If Raymond dies at the hands of the Chinese, your cause will be strengthened considerably. Parliament will raise such a hue and cry over it, the opium question will pale."

"I do not think Lin would go that far--"

'There are other ways."

'Tyler peered at him. "Are you suggesting that I arrange Spencer's death and lay the blame to the Chinese?"

"It crossed my mind."

"Well, it has not crossed mine!" Tyler said vehemently. "I am not a murderer." Guilt flooded him. Self-defense was one thing; he'd been willing to let Spencer die for the soldier's murder in order to protect himself. But he drew the line at plotting a man's death.

Giles smiled sardonically. "Do as you please. Since I am quitting the business, I no longer need concern myself with the problem. But you may regret your lack of courage one day when it is too late." He rose. "My trunks have already been loaded. Until Macao, goodbye, Tyler." He did not offer a hand, but went to the door and called to a clerk for men to help with the bags of silver.

Tyler breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. If he were going to turn to murder, Giles would be his first victim, not Spencer. Death would silence his threats and solve many problems. Giles had served his purpose, but now Tyler had no need for him--would be better off without him, in truth. Would Giles remain in Macao if Lorielle did not come? He thought not, but the doubt raised the specter of what revenge Giles would exact for the loss. Tyler could not be sure Giles wouldn't blacken the Temple name in London. That would force him to alter his plans, but he supposed there were other places to go. Not India--he'd had enough of its heat and filth. America perhaps? American merchants and captains painted glowing pictures of it as a land of opportunity. A man would be unhampered by his past and could enjoy his wealth. Eventually the furor over the opium trade would die down--time enough to return to London if he still desired.

The thought brightened Tyler's mood. A few years in America might be the answer to many problems, including the necessity of knowing what had happened to Spencer Raymond. He could wash his hands of the entire affair. Once the Montrose's cargo had been converted to profit for his pocket, he'd be rich enough to do whatever he wanted--and he'd laugh at any ruckus Copeland or Parliament stirred up. Maybe Giles would get caught in his own backfire if he tried to expose their smuggling activities.

With that happy thought, he dismissed Giles and Spencer Raymond from his thoughts.

Chapter 17

Summer settled on Macao with mild breezes and an azure sky undisturbed by clouds. Lorielle and Spencer had not been able to secure passage to England since merchant ships were unwilling to sail with empty holds, and Commissioner Lin still had not released the awaited tea shipments. Macao was astir with the progress of the pits being prepared at Chuenpi and the enormous stores of confiscated opium being piled behind bamboo fences that sealed off the area. Several Portuguese officials and other foreigners were issued permits to view the proceedings. To his astonishment, Spencer was one of the select few who received an invitation. It was delivered by a Chinese lad who only stared solemnly when asked who had sent him.

It was public knowledge that only foreigners who had no hand in smuggling opium were allowed at Chuenpi. Many had requested permission to go there if only to relieve their boredom, but Spencer had not. It was likely, he thought, that Chinese officials viewed him as an escaped murderer. Yet the permit bore Lin's official seal. And surprised though he was to be invited, Spencer's curiosity overrode his caution. He would go.

He sailed to the site with C. W. King of Olyphant & Company which occupied Zion's Corner and scrupulously had never handled opium, and Elijah Bridgman, an American missionary to China who was an editor of the flourishing newspaper China Repository. The missionary was as eager as a kitten to see for himself that the mountains of the Devil's drug were being destroyed.

After disembarking from the American ship that ferried them from Macao, the visitors were conducted to the scene of operations on the bank of the creek. The small coastal village sat in a depression of hills where none of the gentle winds that bathed the lower islands soothed the oppressive heat. A stench of decomposing opium and lime hung in the muggy air like a clinging shroud. From a splendid carpeted pavilion which had been erected at the east side of the enclosure, Commissioner Lin commanded a full view of the trenches. He sat in a magnificent chair shaded by a canopy and surrounded by elegant scroll paintings and choice examples of calligraphy. His chiefs of staff were seated at tables to his left and right, while lesser officials, dressed in light summer silks, silk boots and straw hats topped with the appropriate buttons of their rank, stood behind to complete the gathering of dignitaries and mark the triumph of the occasion.

Planks had been laid across the open trenches, and an army of coolies formed a procession, emptying baskets of crushed opium into the water below. Other coolies stood bare-legged in the slime to mix the foreign mud thoroughly; when this was accomplished, still another contingent of laborers arrived with salt and lime and tipped them into the mixture. When the opium decomposed, it was drained off through a sluice into the creek. Overseers were posted everywhere to watch the five hundred workmen and be sure not a cake of opium escaped. Near the gate of the enclosure, an executioner's bald head and gleaming scimitar were a reminder that anyone discovered with so much as a drop of opium in his possession would be instantly decapitated, and everyone was searched before being permitted to leave.

Spencer estimated that more than fifteen hundred chests a day were being drained off into the sea; the spectacle was overwhelming. Conversation buzzed among the visitors watching the panorama from a shaded spot near the pavilion.

King remarked that Lin had left nothing to chance. "If he means to impress us with his sincerity, he's doing a fine job."

Bridgman agreed. "I cannot conceive how any business could be more faithfully executed. While Christian governments grow and farm this deleterious drug, this pagan monarch nobly disdains to enrich his own treasury." He shook his head incredulously. "If he succumbed to temptation like the officials he has set about to chastise, he would realize a profit of no less than twenty million dollars from the sale of this contraband. Many have sold their souls for far less."

"It will be good to see our trade restored to tranquillity," King declared. "We've all suffered huge losses from this interruption."

Jewel, the American sea captain who'd brought them to Chuenpi was dubious. "There's many who won't see this as an end to it, I fear, else why are the British arming their vessels?" he said with a sidelong glance at Spencer Raymond, the only Englishman among them. "Begging your pardon, sir."

Spencer showed his surprise. He'd heard no talk of such activity and was eager to learn more. "Do you give this information as fact, Captain, or another of the rumors that abound in these stressful times?"

"The Cambridge refitted in Singapore," Jewel said smugly. "She's carrying twenty-six eighteen-pounders and four long twelves to complement her normal armament of six eighteen-pound cannonades. Her master's taken on powder, shot and extra crew to work the guns. I hear she entered China waters two days ago and will make port in Macao before long."

"Captain Elliot will not allow one foolish shipmaster to endanger his position here!" Bridgman declared. "Every merchant has too much at stake."

"I'11 wager there's merchants aplenty who'll sacrifice a lot of nobility in favor of the hard silver they become accustomed to," Captain Jewel replied.

"Our just and merciful Lord will enrich them in spiritual ways to compensate," Bridgman said with Quaker fervor.

Spencer digested the news in silence. Bridgman was an idealistic zealot. Elliot was more apt to engage the newly outfitted merchant ship to back his avowal that trade must be reopened without English merchants signing the bond. Spencer suspected that Jewel was right--many of the merchants wouldn't view the loss of this opium as the end of their trade in the commodity. A new crop was already ripening under the Indian sun. They'd look for ways to dispose of it--by force if necessary.

The Americans were distracted as one of Lin's interpreters approached and in a mixture of pidgin and an attempt at literal translation of court Mandarin let it be known that the High Commissioner would grant an audience to Messrs. King and Bridgman who, it was said, had petitions for the ch'in-ch'ai's consideration. Bridgman was obviously pleased, but King hesitated and threw out his chest defiantly.

"We'll not kowtow...the Commissioner accepts that?"

The interpreter smiled and signified with a bow that the mandarin understood the foreigners' conditional terms of protocol. King and Bridgman began to pick their way to the pavilion amid piles of broken chests and torn coverings, many with the East India Company's seal on them.

They left Spencer engrossed in thoughts concerning the imminent arrival of an armed English merchantman. Even if Elliot did not command its use, others might do so without his consent. And there was little chance that Lin would view the threat lightly. Despite the astounding confidence the Chinese maintained in their outmoded weaponry, many of the more intelligent mandarins were beginning to acknowledge Britain's power at sea. If it came to all-out war along the river and the coast, there was little doubt who would be victorious.

A touch at his shoulder made Spencer turn. One of the officers who had just been relieved of watch duty at the planks made an almost imperceptible motion with his hand as he walked by, then gave a sidelong glance to make sure Spencer understood. Curious, Spencer followed the man to the gate. The guard spoke to the sentry and the two men passed through without a search. Outside, another guard lounging in the shade of the bamboo wall came alert. Spencer hid his surprise as he recognized Tse Hi. He hadn't expected to see his friend again, but he realized quickly that it was Tse Hi who'd arranged the unexpected permit.

Without drawing attention to themselves, the two wandered to a small inlet of the upper creek where half a dozen men were refreshing themselves at the cool waters. Tse Hi squatted and cupped water in his hands.

"It is good to see you, my friend," Spencer said in a low undertone as he scooped water to quench his thirst.

"Fortune favored you and the Gentle One with a safe journey?"

"Safe and swift. And your men? No misfortune befell them for the part they played in delivering me?"

"Our faces are invisible."

Spencer was relieved. He continued the amenities. "Your sister and father?"

"The benevolent gods of peace have taken my father to sit beside his own parents and theirs. Luan and his humble son covered ourselves in the tattered garments of sorrow and followed his coffin to its resting place just three days after you departed Canton."

Instead of the usual words of condolence, Spencer comforted his friend in the Chinese manner he had learned. "May the gods of life bless you with children to walk be hind your coffin."

They were silent a moment, then Tse Hi said, "No man lives fully or passes to eternity at peace if his debts are unpaid."

Spencer sensed that Tse Hi was no longer talking about his father but approaching the reason for this elaborately contrived meeting. "An honest man must be able to sit comfortably among his debtors," he responded.

"The Fair One speaks with the wisdom of an owl. Does he move with the cunning of the fox and the courage of the lion?"

It was no idle question. ... Spencer regarded his friend solemnly. He was asking that the debt of Spencer's escape be accounted for. "He fears no man," Spencer said at last, committing himself to whatever Tse Hi asked. He could not forsake the men who had risked their lives to save his.

"My men assemble at the Gate of Forbidden Passage when the temple gongs mark the passing of the day. Our hearts would be gladdened if the Fair One honored us with his presence."

"I will be there," Spencer promised. Tse His expression altered subtly, evincing his relief and pleasure. He rose and wandered off casually, stopping now and then to chatter and jest with the other weary guards until it was time for them to return to their duties.

Spencer rose and strolled along the compound walls, not caring about returning to watch the spectacle inside. His mind raced. What had brought Tse Hi to Macao? With Lin's plan in full motion, what did the patriots hope to accomplish now? Captain Jewel's prediction of trouble brewing haunted him. Did Tse Hi plan to prevent the Cambridge from reaching Macao? That was impossible for a handful of men. Even Tse Hi would not attempt such it foolhardy mission. But if not that, what?

Lorielle was full of eager questions when he returned to the Pousada de Macao. She listened intently as Spencer described the destruction of the opium. She grew grave when he told of his meeting with Tse Hi and the death of old Mr. Kwang. When he related his promise to meet Tse Hi at the Barrier Gate, she was startled.

"Why do they need you?"

"I don't know, but there's no use speculating. I’ll find out soon enough."

"Will this dreadful opium business ever end?" She sighed. "If only we could leave now!"

"It won't be long," he assured her. He hid his doubts and did not tell her the unsettling talk about the Cambridge. Time enough to speculate on what results the ship's presence might bring.

Lorielle studied his thoughtful face. "Spending the day away from me does not seem to have brought you great joy," she teased, determined to restore their lighthearted mood. She rubbed the tiny frown line on his brow with a gentle finger. "But I have planned a delightful evening for us. It will chase away your somber thoughts."

"That will not be difficult," he declared. "Very pleasant and intimate thoughts always fill my head when we're together. An evening alone with you will restore more than my spirits."

A merry twinkle touched her eyes. "But we will not spend the evening alone." At his astonished look, she could not contain her excitement. "We are having dinner with Major General Milton!"

"I did not know he was in Macao!"

"I met him this morning on the Praia Grande. The day was so lovely, I went out to enjoy the sight of the harbor. So many ships arriving! 1 tried to guess which of them would carry us to England. General Milton had been at the Governor's House and we almost collided on the walkway. When I told him you'd gone to Chuenpi, he insisted you must tell him all about it. He's invited us to dine with him at the Solmar. It is reported to be the most elegant dining place in the city! I can't wait to see it and enjoy the excellent cuisine." She paused with a worried frown. "We will go? You're not displeased?"

He shook off his surprise. "How could I be displeased? Of course we'll go. It will be pleasant seeing Milton again. I've spent many hours chatting with him and have come to enjoy his company."

She clasped her hands in delight. Despite her complete happiness with Spencer, she was growing restless with so little to do. She was eager to sail for England, and the delay seemed interminable. She'd been cautious about leaving the inn very often, since she did not want to risk encountering her father or Giles in the event they came to Macao. She had not gotten over her anger with either of them, and though she longed to set matters right with her father, she could not forgive his cruelty to her.

The Pousada de Macao had a clientele of mostly foreigners, but few British guests. English merchants and visitors were generally invited to share the hospitality of the Select Committee House or one of the many private residences on the ridge. Lorielle had heard nothing of her father and had not mustered the courage to ask the General about him or Giles, though she was sure both were on the island by now.

She would feel more secure if she faced the news with Spencer beside her.

She drew him to the balcony overlooking the harbor, where a small table and chairs were set up. She'd ordered a bottle of fine Portuguese wine, selected personally by the innkeeper for the festive occasion. It was cooling in a wet pouch hung from the lantern post. Spencer uncorked it with a flourish and lifted his glass in salute as they sat to enjoy the changing colors of the sea at sunset.

The Solmar was a delightful bit of Portugal transported to the Orient. Set on a side street just off the harbor, the dining place was beautifully decorated with dark paneled wood and pots of restful-looking greenery. The hardwood doors gleamed in the light of gold candelabras. A dozen tables covered with sparkling linen stood far enough apart to give privacy to diners; another dozen occupied the upstairs dining room with tall mullioned windows that overlooked the quiet, tree-lined street.

Major General Milton was waiting for them when they arrived. He greeted Spencer heartily and hurried to seat Lorielle before the black-jacketed waiter could claim the privilege.

After ordering wine, he said, "You look radiant, my dear. I must say, Spencer, marriage agrees with the lass." He winked at Spencer, who grinned happily. "I was astounded to hear that both of you had left Canton without anyone being the wiser. The Chinese were very quiet about your trial, Spencer. Glad to know the outcome was so happy, though ! dare say you probably have a tale or two to tell about your experiences, eh? You must tell me about it--some other time, of course. I'm sure Lorielle has already heard all the sordid details."

"I was released before the trial," Spencer said guardedly. "But I thought it prudent to leave Canton immediately."

"I see.... Well now, tell me about your wedding!" Milton changed the subject tactfully, though curiosity was consuming him. The Chinese had made no announcements of the release ... not like them at all, not at all. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have played up the release as a huge concession to the British and won favor with the merchants to appease some of the wrath over the blockade.

Lorielle launched into a recital of the wedding with a display of humor Milton had never noticed in her manner before. While describing the obstacles they'd had to surmount, she somehow made the affair sound like the social event of the season. Milton made appropriate comments now and then and shared her merriment. How she sparkled! She was no longer the child he'd first seen on the Windrifter, but a woman of beauty, poise and grace. Raymond was a lucky devil. He doubted that Tyler Temple knew of the wedding. He was said to have arrived in Macao two days ago with last of the merchants from Canton, but he seemed to have vanished from sight. News of his daughter's wedding wasn't likely to have reached his ears. Copeland was another kettle of fish altogether. He'd been in residence in his house on the ridge for some time and was forever poking about the Select House. Curiously enough, he asked frequently after Lorielle. And Lorielle did not ask after him at all.

When she paused for breath, he gave her a benevolent smile. "All's well that ends well, eh?" He glanced at Spencer. "Now what's this your bride tells me about you being up at Chuenpi? They say it's quite a sight."

Spencer described the impressive operation he'd watched earlier in the day. Milton pursed his lips, nodding from time to time. Despite his devoted interest, Spencer was certain that this was not the first time Milton had heard the story. The destruction of the opium had been underway for several days and was the main topic of conversation everywhere.

When the waiter returned, the General asked permission to order for all of them. The restaurant had specialties that Lorielle must sample, he insisted. Laughing, she agreed and Milton perused the ornate printed menu with meticulous care before choosing half a dozen dishes over Lorielle's protest that they would never be able to consume so much food. While they waited to be served, Milton regaled them with an account of the final days of the "occupation" and the "retreat" from Canton. He maintained a sprightly dialogue throughout the dinner of delicious fish chowder, several varieties of seafood done to perfection in delicate wine sauces or broiled to golden crispness and sweet new vegetables that surely had come directly from the garden. He explained each dish to Lorielle as though he had prepared it himself.

Spencer marveled at the vitality in Lorielle's expression. She was enjoying herself thoroughly, and the sight gladened his heart. Although they'd shared a great deal of happiness since being reunited, they had been alone until now. Lorielle was unfolding like a flower opening to the sun's warmth. She was completely at ease and made those around her feel the same.

Over desserts of delicate cream pastries and bits of sugared fruit, Milton casually brought the topic of conversation around to Tyler Temple.

"I'm sure your father is delighted with your new-found happiness, my dear. I expected he'd be staying at the Select House, but I suppose he's arranged quarters closer to you?"

A flicker of anxiety crossed Lorielle's face but she smiled quickly. "Why no, I have not seen my father. Has he returned to Macao? How like him to be so wrapped up in his business affairs that he did not let me know." She frowned as though the idea displeased her, but her heartbeat skipped and the bit of pastry on her tongue was suddenly heavy. "Has he been here long?"

"He came down on the Serene two days ago. It was the last ship leaving Whampoa, and I dare say those aboard were relieved to quit Canton at last. There's talk that our merchants will not go back. The factories have been cleared of personal possessions. Elliot insists the river is no longer safe."

Spencer frowned. "With the opium confiscated--"

"The Hong merchants have always closed an eye to the truth in securing the ships on the river. Lin isn't fooled by the merchants promising not to deal in opium. His new version of the bond provides that any merchantman found carrying opium can be confiscated--vessel and cargo—and the guilty parties left to suffer death at the hands of the Celestial Court. Elliot's declined out-of-hand--he wants no part of it. Matheson has moved his firm's entire establishment out of Canton and set up shop aboard the Hercules. He's urging that the ships that have been turned back be brought in with all haste."

"Surely Captain Elliot will not agree to it!" Lorielle declared. "It would be an open invitation to further hostilities."

"Matheson believes the injury the merchants have suffered can be used to balance the scales in British favor. Elliot is swayed and has written to Palmerston to suggest the Chinese must be knocked about a bit if anything is to be salvaged of the trade. He says the forcible seizure of British property cannot be condoned and only the dispatch of armed ships and men to fortify our position will prevent a reoccurrence of the injustice that has already been done."

Lorielle was horrified at the prospect of open hostilities. Surely her father and the other merchants would not continue in such madness. She glanced at her husband for reassurance, but saw the doubt in his face. With a sinking feeling, she realized that he would not--could not--abandon his Chinese friends who were committed to stem the opium traffic. And she knew too that the fight must be directed against her father as surely as any.

With a concerned smile, Spencer tried to lighten the mood. "It is always a needless waste of energies to anticipate worries, General. The scene in Macao is quite comfortable at present. Bridgman said only today that he and Williams are putting together their newspaper here in Macao. Lockhart's opened a clinic and there are several new schools. The summer promises to be peaceful. The Portuguese seemed unconcerned, and they are involved as much as any."

Major General Milton wagged a finger, refusing to be distracted from the topic they'd been pursuing. "Governor Pinto is apprehensive, make no mistake about it. Several of the missionaries have been asked to discontinue their distribution of tracts and Bibles among the heathen. He wants no area of contention with the Emperor. His concern for his own merchants is paramount, even though they've re moved their traffic to Manila."

Again Spencer was amazed by Milton's store of knowledge. The man missed nothing. And once again, Spencer was certain his interest in the opium trade was more than that of a casual bystander. Smiling, he refused another cup of demitasse which had accompanied dessert. He drew out his pocket watch and snapped it open.

"The hour's growing late. It has been a pleasant evening, General, we've enjoyed it immensely. We must get together again very soon. I have selfishly kept Lorielle to myself long enough. I must learn to share her with others." He bestowed a loving smile on Lorielle as he tossed his napkin to the table and pushed back his chair. He drew Lorielle's chair and draped a gossamer lace stole across her shoulders as she rose.

"It's been delightful, General Milton. My appreciation of Macao has broadened greatly by the discovery of such an excellent dining establishment. I have never had a more delicious meal, and I thank you."

Milton clasped her hand warmly. "Your presence would transform a repast of boiled rice to an occasion worthy of praise. If I can be of service to you in any way, I would be honored. Perhaps you'll join me in an excursion about the city one day? Or a promenade along the Praia Grande? It's been a long time since I had a pretty lass on my arm. A chit to the Select House will bring me in an instant, you can be sure." He offered his hand to Spencer. "Good to see you again, Spencer. If you'd care to share a brandy one evening, I have some Benedictine tucked in my gear that you'll find quite acceptable, I'm sure."

They said their good-byes, and Spencer escorted Lorielle out to the narrow street. He raised a hand to hail an approaching cabriolet, its lantern swinging as the horse clopped along. Lorielle restrained him.

"Let's walk. It's not far and the evening is too marvelous to end."

Spencer waved the driver on and slipped Lorielle's arm through his. "You won't be cool? The breeze has freshened."

"Not a bit."

They strolled toward the waterfront and the broad crescent of the Praia Grande. The pleasant weather had brought the populace out to enjoy the balmy night. Couples, returning from late dinners, walked arm in arm along the boulevard. Occasionally, a watchful duenna walked stiffly behind a veiled senorita who cast flirtatious glances at the young hidalgos lounging along the sea wall. Outside the Governor's residence, Portuguese soldiers and several ebony-skinned Negroes stood guard, their swords angled at rest with military precision.

Lorielle sighed as they turned at the steps beyond the Rua do Chunambeire and climbed toward the entrance to the hotel. She hated to see the evening end, and she knew that she must broach the subject of her father with Spencer. She did so hesitantly.

"Will my father be foolish enough to side with those who wish to force the opium trade?"

He looked at her with surprise. He'd mistaken her silence for contentment and been glad of the opportunity to review his own thoughts. He wanted to soothe her fears, but knew she would not be fooled by platitudes.

"It is a meaningless waste of energy to anticipate worries," he said gently, repeating his earlier remark to Major General Milton. "If he sets himself on such a course, it will change nothing in our lives."

"I wish I could be as sure," she said. "I have never known him to give up the pursuit of anything he wants. It worries me that he's in Macao and has made no effort to reach me. I can't imagine that funny Mr. St. George has not told the Reverend Gutzlaff of our marriage, or that the Reverend Gutzlaff did not avail himself of the first opportunity to tell my father directly or through Giles." She shivered and he hugged her close as they paused beneath the wall of the lower hotel. Her face was pale against the moonlight-splashed water of the bay.

"If it will ease your mind, I will seek him out and have a talk. I refuse to let anything mar our happiness."

"But the General says he is not at the Company House. Where can he be?"

"Perhaps with Copeland or one of the other merchants."

She shook her head. "Milton would have heard. He made it quite clear that my father's whereabouts are unknown. Oh, Spencer, he's up to something--I feel it!"

Spencer had entertained the same notion, but he discussed it further. "If he is, we'll hear about it in due time. Neither of us has been successful in the past at changing 'your father's mind on any score, so it won't do much good to try now. Besides, we've settled one important matter. You are my wife--he cannot change that." He kissed her with a gentleness that swiftly slid beyond its intended bounds. Her desire aroused, she clung to him and her fingers kneaded the soft flesh at the nape of his neck. 'There is nothing we can do about your father tonight," he whispered, nibbling the tiny lobe of her ear until she shivered delectably. "Our time can be better spent." He guided her up the last of the steps and through the high arch of the inn doorway. The small lobby with its somber panels and high ceiling was empty and dim. A lamp glowed above the polished teakwood desk where a brass bell would summon the innkeeper for late patrons. In the kitchen, the muted clatter of dishes was accompanied by a woman singing softly as she finished her nightly chores. Spencer and Lorielle made their way upstairs. They'd left the windows open to welcome the cool sea breeze, and moonlight flooded the room. When Spencer moved toward the lamp, Lorielle stayed him. Together they undressed in the silvery luminescence of the night, then lay in the wide bed entwined in each other's arms. They spoke words of love that had new meaning each time they were uttered as they explored the intimacy of each other's bodies. And when the explorations brought them ultimately to the wonder of fulfillment, it too was somehow miraculously new. Lorielle fell asleep with her face pressed against the rough texture of Spencer's chest, his arm cradling her closely.

Spencer smiled as he listened to the soft rise and fall of her breath. How much she had become a part of his life in so short a time! He could no longer imagine a future without her. Gently he brushed a damp wisp of hair from her cheek. She sighed dreamily and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. He bent to kiss her, then eased his arm free. With another caressing glance, he rose and dressed quickly. The bells of the Church of San Lorenuo struck the half hour and were echoed by distant temple gongs. Outside, he strode at a brisk pace to the heart of the city before finding a carriage to take him to the Portas do Cerca.

Spencer dismissed the carriage at the Stalk of the Lotus and walked to the barrier wall the Chinese had erected to bar the ingress to the mainland. Tse Hi emerged from the darkness to fall in step beside him as they veered away from the gate where soldiers stood guard. His men were huddled in a copse of palms near the western shoreline of the neck that connected Macao to the mainland. Spencer recognized the men who had helped him escape. They exchanged greetings and Spencer smiled warmly. Only Peh-t'ao was not glad to see him.

"We again welcome the viper to our midst," he said angrily.

Tse Hi quieted him with a harsh command. "The Fair One comes to aid us. Has he not proven his loyalty? Let your tongue be silent, Peh-t'ao. Our animosity is directed at those who do not share his concern for our people."

Peh-t'ao retreated to sullen silence and moved to the edge of the group with a resentful glance at Spencer. Spencer squatted on his haunches with the others. Tse Hi singled him out with a glance.

"The Sinister Tongue makes preparations to defy the ch'in-ch'ai's decree that no foreign mud shall enter our ports."

Spencer scowled. "The opium is already mingling with the waters of the sea. I have seen the destruction with my own eyes."

Peh-t'ao grunted but Tse Hi ignored him. "The surface of the pond is undisturbed by ripples but deep water churns with a rumbling thunder," he said. "While we talk, the Sinister Tongue sails to the passages of Typa to secure a shipload of the cursed mud. He believes that the ch'in-ch'ai's eye is blinded by the work at Chuenpi and will not wander across the water. His evil transactions can be completed before the stench of decaying opium is carried off in the winds."

"From where does the opium come?" Spencer asked. He did not question his friend's information. He was already aware of the many sources Tse Hi had, and he respected their reliability. The fact that Tse Hi had engaged his help was proof enough.

"The ship Montrose, which was ordered away from the Bogue when the moon was full."

Spencer was thoughtful. The Montrose was a country ship, well practiced in running opium. With the Company pledged to turning over its store to Lin, Tyler Temple had seized the chance to pirate a cargo for his own profit--there could be no other explanation. And he'd lost no time in putting his plan into operation. For several agonizing moments, Spencer's mind was flooded with thoughts of Lorielle. Her vague fears were all too real. Her father was not bowing out but plunging headlong into new folly.

"What would you have me do?" he said at last.

Tse Hi seemed to sigh with relief, though no sound escaped his lips. Behind him, Peh-t'ao tensed. "A swift sailing boat of the Barbarians has been caught in the ch’in-ch-ai’s net cast across Imperial waters. The crew has been sent to the Portuguese governor to await their fate. The ch'in-ch'ai does not make an example of them at a time when anger explodes like firecrackers. Chinese guards keep watch over the vessel, no more than a handful of men."

"You plan to take the ship?" Spencer asked incredulously.

"The sailing of English vessels is known to you, Fair One. My men have grown up among the junks and sampans of the rivers. They need only to be told what to do."

The plan had been carefully conceived, Spencer realized. With him to captain the stolen vessel, Tse Hi planned to intercept Temple's mission with the Montrose and capture the opium before it could be brought to its destination. It was a rash, dangerous plan. Without Spencer, it had no chance of success. Even with his help, the odds were long.

"A dragon is not caught in a spider's web," he ventured. Without guns, the mission was impossible.

Tse Hi met his gaze. "Six cannon forged of English iron stand on the decks of the Gentle Cloud." He smiled wryly. "The Barbarians do not follow the Chinese custom of fixing names to suit the bearers."

Spencer thought of the name Tse Hi had given Lorielle... the Gentle One. He asked, "And iron balls to feed the guns?"

"Enough to sink the greatest war junk. The Barbarians speak empty words to soothe the fears of their enemies while they prepare to strike with a heavy hand."

Another proof of the armed ships rumored to be heading for China waters. Spencer's conscience niggled at the thought of firing on his own countrymen. Even the knowledge that they were engaged in smuggling did not completely soothe his conscience. But Tyler Temple had to be stopped. He and those like him who flaunted Chinese authority were headed for disaster. The whole future of British trade with China was at stake.

"What is the Sinister Tongue's plan?" Spencer asked.

"He assembles scrambling dragons on the islands of Typa. They sail to meet the Montrose at a safe distance. The cargo will be unloaded swiftly and the dragons will scatter to the winds."

"And the Sinister Tongue's payment for the mud? He trusts no man with such valuable merchandise."

Tse Hi's eyes glinted. "The hawk does not nest with the hummingbird. Each boatman pays silver when the first box touches his boat. The Sinister Tongue has the long gun to insure it is so."

"Is the Montrose armed?"

Tse Hi dipped his head solemnly. "Four long barrels."

At least they would have an advantage in firepower. And they would have the element of surprise in their favor. "Where does the Gentle Cloud anchor?"

Tse Hi rose and walked to the edge of the trees, pointing toward the inner harbor stretching to the south. "Under the shadow of the Barra Fortress."

"Are the Portuguese committed to protect it?'

'They swear no loyalty to the Emperor who grants them peaceful journey in our land, neither do they uphold the fight of the Red Barbarians."

Spencer reflected that even without Portuguese interference, pirating the English vessel would not be easy. If they were spotted, war junks could be ordered after them in as little time as it took to bring them from the other side of the peninsula. The Gentle Cloud would not stand a chance of preventing removal of the Montrose's cargo with half a dozen scrappy junks at her aft.

Sighing, he brushed aside his doubts. "When do we sail?"

"When the sea water rushes to meet itself."

The dawn tide. ... Spencer regarded his friend in the fluttering shadows of the palms. Tse Hi's eyes were bright, eager now that he'd received the commitment of the captain he needed.

"We meet on the sands near the Temple of Ma Kok Miu. Boats wait there to take us across the waves that devour the sands." Tse Hi studied Spencer a moment, then extended his hand in the friendship gesture of the Barbarians.

Spencer clasped it strongly. "Until the sun rouses from its bed," he said. With a farewell glance at the others, he retraced his way down the Stalk of the Lotus and the night-hushed streets of Macao.

Again his thoughts were filled with Lorielle. Would she understand what he was about to undertake?

Chapter 18

Lorielle roused sleepily as Spencer slipped beneath the coverlet. Her dream-laden mind knew that she had reached out for him in sleep to find him gone, but now he'd returned. She murmured and nestled against him, content.

He pressed his face to the warm tangle of her hair and spoke her name softly.

"Mmmm?" His warmth wrapped her in gentle love that she was reluctant to shrug off.

"Lorielle... ."

"Yes, love. "

"How beautiful you are. Would that I never had to disturb your serenity, but I must talk to you."

She sighed and opened her heavy eyelids slowly. The room was still a ghostly blur of moonlight. "It's not yet morning," she protested and burrowed into the curve of his lean body. Still sated with the delicious lovemaking they'd shared, her body seemed to float on a cloud and her mind drifted.

"Would you have me depart without your knowing where I'm bound?"

She came awake abruptly and raised her head. "Depart?" She peered at him. In the silvery gray light, his face was solemn. Shadows played across the fine brow and the sharp angle of his jaw. She was frightened suddenly and knew that her ears had not deceived her. "What is it?"

"I must leave you for a while."

"But why--what--?"

He drew her back against his shoulder and held her close. Quietly, he chose words that would alarm her the least.

"Tse Hi and his men are in need of me. I cannot refuse their request."

She lay very still, scarcely daring to breathe as cold dread paralyzed her senses. His words seemed to come from a far place.

"It is better that you do not know where we are bound--"

She broke the icy bonds restraining her and bolted up. "No! You must tell me everything. We have sworn never to be apart again and you talk of going--not telling me--" A sob caught in her throat and she could not continue. He could not leave--she would not let him! Their last separation had brought misery that she could never endure again.

"Love, sweet love ... come into my arms and fill me with memories to carry on my journey." When she tried to speak, he hushed her. "Yes, I will tell you everything. I see that you must know." He waited until she settled tensely beside him. Her body trembled, and he caressed her soothingly as he told her Tse Hi's plan.

A strangled cry escaped her lips and she pulled away from him. "You cannot go!" she declared, shaking her head as though to brush away the horrible thing that threatened their happiness.

"I must."

"He is my father--!"

Spencer tried to draw her back into the haven of his arms, but she drew away to search his face with a frightened gaze.

"He is defying not only the law but everything the merchants have promised to Lin," Spencer said gently. "To smuggle in opium now will destroy all chances of a peaceful settlement of the differences with the Chinese. There'll be no hope of establishing free trade."

"But Tse Hi has vowed to destroy my father! His men will kill him!" Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly. Despite the terrible things her father had done, she could not wish him such a fate. She studied Spencer's grim expression in the shadowed moonlight. "You cannot sail their ship to seal my father's doom," she pleaded.

"I must--"

The tears overflowed, and Lorielle rose quickly and went to the window to stare out at the black harbor. She was torn miserably between the cause for which Tse Hi and Spencer were fighting and a painful sense of loyalty to her blood ties. The bed creaked, and Spencer came to stand beside her and enfold her in his arms.

"I owe my life to Tse Hi," he said softly. "And yours. Without him, we would not have shared the happiness we've known these past weeks. I cannot refuse his request when I know full well that without my aid he’ll sail to certain defeat, perhaps even death."

"And what of my father's life?" she asked numbly.

"I will do my best to see that no harm comes to him. It is the opium we are after."

She could not suppress a shiver of dread. "And Tse Hi? Will he feel the same? Will he be satisfied to dump the cargo and let his sworn enemy go free?" Her composure gave way and she began to cry.

Spencer's heart wrenched with pity and consuming love. He held her close and felt her warm tears dampen his naked chest. Her body was tense and unyielding as he tried to comfort her.

"We have both seen some of the horrors of the opium trade. Can we sentence men to the fate Mr. Kwang suffered? Unless we stand with those who fight this whole rotten business, it will go on endlessly. Tse Hi and Luan risked a great deal for us. Now it's our turn to come to their aid."

Her tears fell like a waterfall of fiery sparks, and she clung to him trying to dispel the feeling of dread that filled her. "Find some other way to help Tse Hi," she whispered between sobs. "Don't do this dreadful thing." She raised her tear-streaked face and her eyes pleaded.

He was silent as he battled his conscience and his love. Slowly, he released her and turned to stare out into the night. "I have given my word. We meet at dawn and sail with the tide." Behind him, he heard Lorielle's sharply drawn breath. He wanted to take her in his arms again and gentle her fears as he would a child awakened from a nightmare ... to prove his love so wondrously that she could have no doubts ... to promise that nothing in their lives would change... and to promise that her father would not be hurt. But he could not. It was a dangerous mission Tyler Temple had undertaken and an even more dangerous one Tse Hi planned. And he knew both men well enough to know that the final confrontation between them would erupt in violence.

Lorielle heard with a leaden heart. Nothing she might say would dissuade Spencer, and though she understood--even believed in--what he had to do, she could not dismiss her concern for her father. His misguided zeal had created a rift between them, but she realized it had not erased the bond of filial love. Now he and Spencer would engage in a struggle that could have only one victor. She wanted to cling to Spencer and beg him not to go. The thought of losing him filled her with cold horror, yet how could she give her blessing to his undertaking? Sadly, she swallowed her tears.

"Go then," she whispered in a strangled tone. She could not stop him, she could not hold him. She flung herself on the bed and crept beneath the covers to banish the icy chill that gripped her.

Across the lonely night a church bell tolled the hour. Spencer sighed inwardly and began to make ready for his journey. From time to time, he glanced at Lorielle's huddled figure. Her eyes were closed, though he knew she was awake. A knife-thrust of pain twisted his heart at the thought of parting from her while her mind was filled with such doubts, but there was no way to ease them. He must do what had to be done. He prayed he'd be able to protect her father as he promised.

When he was ready, he stood beside the bed gazing down at his beloved. In the shadowy light, her face mirrored her agony as he bent to kiss her. She did not move, but a silvery tear caught in the web of her lashes and glistened.

"Farewell, my love. I shall return as soon as possible." When she did not answer, he took up his jacket and let himself out.

Tears overflowed and trailed along Lorielle's cheeks as she listened to the soft click of the latch. Numb, she stared at the lightening sky and wept.

The Ma Kok Miu temple was dark except for the faint glow of burning joss sticks. Tse Hi stepped from the shadows as Spencer approached. In silence, they made their way down the embankment and across the narrow beach, where a sampan hunched against the shore like a hen at roost. Another boat bobbed beyond the breakers. As soon as they were aboard, the boatman pushed off. The craft bobbed when the crest of a wave caught it, but the oarsman expertly brought it into a crosscurrent and swept into the tide.

Tse Hi had gone over the plan carefully, and each man knew what he must do. Once aboard, Spencer was captain and his word was to be obeyed. None of them had ever been on an English vessel, but they were well acquainted with the sea. They'd sailed junks and knew the winds and currents, and they could man sails expertly. The soldiers guarding the ship would be told they'd come on the ch'in-ch'ai's orders so they might enjoy the irony of striking at the Red Barbarians with their own vessel. If the Barbarians persisted in disobeying, let their own cannon strike them down. And the English sea captain would sail the vessel of their destruction.

The sampan steered a southwesterly course past the stark outline of the Fortaleza da Barra that was the sentinel of the Inner Harbor. An occasional lantern blinked pinpoints of light from the high battlements, but the guns were silent. The sky to the east streaked with the coming dawn, and the breeze freshened on the port. There'd be a spanking wind before long. Spencer itched for the feel of a ship's wheel under his hands. His blood sang as he steadied himself to the pitch and roll of the sampan. Even that sturdy little craft brought to bloom his love of the sea. He had not realized how much he missed it these past months.

The Gentle Cloud rode at anchor beyond the breakwater a quarter of a mile below the fort. Furled sails were humped against the yards, and the tall masts stabbed into the morning sky with feeble thrusts as she rode the swells. A shout hailed them as the sampan neared the mitten chains. Tse Hi answered and gestured toward his men. After another exchange, someone tossed over a ladder and Tse Hi began to climb. Wenwei scrambled up behind him. For several moments, the querulous interrogation was resumed, but at last Tse Hi shouted for the others to join him. When Spencer swung through the entry port, two curious soldiers stared at him. Wenwei made a remark that brought a spate of jeering laughter, and Peh-t'ao brandished his sword as he pushed Spencer toward the cabin. The soldiers laughed again, amused by the sight of the humbled Barbarian.

Safely away from curious eyes, Tse Hi spread the captain's charts and traced a route around the islands south of Macao.

"The Sinister Tongue's confederates meet here." He tapped the islands of the Typa. "He rides a fishing junk of twenty tons, while the scrambling dragons follow."

Spencer studied the chart. The Montrose would be heavy in the water with a full cargo. She'd be forced to stay away from the shallow coastal waters, and she'd stay far enough away from the regular trade route to avoid Lin's patrols. He pinpointed an area eight degrees southeast of the island.

"This is the most likely spot. Temple will want a fast run back to Macao. From here he can go by the Bogue or the Inner Harbor. The opium boats will head straight for the passage. We must take the opium before it can be unloaded from the English ship."

"If the Sinister Tongue meets the Barbarian ship at the Ladrones, we sit like mewing cubs waiting the tigress who does not return," Peh-t'ao said contemptuously.

Tse Hi rebuked him with a sharp glance. "The ch'in-ch'ai's watchdogs roam the Bogue like a pack of wolves. If they discover the Sinister Tongue, he will lose his foreign mud and his chests of silver as well. He will come the route the Fair One says." He turned back to Spencer. "It will be as you say."

"The soldiers? Are they with us?" Spencer asked.

Tse Hi nodded. "They are eager for the chance to display their courage for the ch'in-ch'ai and win his eye, it is said that a man who proves his loyalty in battle against the Red Barbarians is rewarded with ten tael by the ch'in-ch'ai's own hand."

Spencer was relieved. They'd need every band, and every man's strength would be taxed fully. It would be impossible to spare someone to watch over balking soldiers.

"Have your men fasten the cable to the line and put their weight on it. Then we’ll need all hands on the rigging."

As Spencer went aft to the wheel, Tse Hi barked a command. In moments, his men were heaving the line. The dripping cable came in, bumping the anchor along the side, and one of the men tied it off at the cathead. Another shout sent them scrambling up the rigging to unfurl the sails and slide down the stays to sheet them home.

Spencer felt the rudder take hold. He brought the wheel over as the sails filled and the ship began to gather way. A steady wind from the southeast billowed the canvas, and a broad wake built aft. The deck heeled gently as Spencer brought the ship on course. Tse Hi called for men to go aloft and set more sail as the land breezes drove them through the swells. Macao vanished behind them as the gray-green sea was enveloped in the golden glare of sunrise.

Tse Hi's men fell to the task of sailing the English vessel enthusiastically and efficiently. There was not a murmur of protest or a moment of indecision. They were agile and sure-footed, moving with ease on the unfamiliar vessel. Now that the Gentle Cloud was underway, Niu Kien climbed to the masthead to scan the horizon. In the distance, the Typa were a smudge against the washed blue sky.

Putting a man at the wheel, Spencer studied the map again. Tyler would sail directly south from his starting place, while the Montrose might come from the east or west, depending on where her captain had chosen to await his summons. The scrambling dragons had a range of a few miles at best. Their crews of thirty oarsmen would tire quickly once cargo was taken on. The Chinese smugglers would arrange direct access to the Inner Passage so they could lose themselves quickly in the myriad waterways that had long been a favorite in the illegal trade. With the opium no longer in his possession, Tyler would probably choose to enter Macao by the Outer Port so as to put himself as far from the incriminating evidence as possible; aboard a fishing junk, he would have no problem.

Spencer put away the map and glanced at the compass. He took the wheel and brought it slowly to port. Squinting, he studied the misty horizon and the shadow of land ahead. The Gentle Cloud rode easily under the sea breeze that filled her canvas and drove her across the oily waves. She was a sturdy Blackwell packet built in 1823; she had three masts and was designed to show her heels to most of the merchantmen in China waters. Lin had captured a prize in taking her. Her cargo of opium was gone, but the guns had not been removed from her deck. They were Lin's proof of his charges against the British--and they would be a deciding factor in this foray against Tyler Temple.

Spencer hoped that Tse Hi's information about the Montrose was accurate. Many of the merchantmen were armed, but few were prepared for serious battle. In the past, the British had counted heavily on the fact that Chinese war junks were unhandy in battle and easy to outmaneuver. A few cannon could decide most any fight.

A cry from the masthead drew his attention. He gave over the wheel and jumped to the shrouds. The islands were on the port now and the open sea lay ahead. The mists were shredding and the sky had become a burnished bowl overhead. Diamond-sharp sparkles danced in the waves. He chewed his lip and glanced aloft. Their sails would be visible for miles. He hoped that Temple would be so intent on his mission he wouldn’t be expecting danger from his hind quarter.

Taking the wheel again, he put it over and headed in a more easterly direction, swinging wide around the southern tip of the islands, and sailed on a reach. The Typa were hills thrust up from the sea by some ancient shift of pressure that reshaped the earth's contours. In several places, stark cliff faces plummeted to the water. Tyler had chosen a perfect place to assemble his fleet. Small coves offered concealment for a dozen vessels. If they'd sailed with the tide, they could not be far away.

At the masthead, Niu Kien swept the green waters with his glass. Tse Hi set his men to running the guns out and examining loads. Powder bags and shot were brought and placed handy to the cannon. Tse Hi joined Spencer on the quarter-deck.

"You chose well, Fair One," he said approvingly. "The Sinister Tongue will soon be caught in our snare."

"If I have guessed right about his route," Spencer said wryly.

Tse Hi squinted at the man in the masthead. "The mind of the snake is
cunning, but it does not scent its enemy until he is close enough to strike. We will be upon him before long. The Sinister Tongue's mind is drugged with greed and he will not cast his gaze in all directions." He pointed aloft where men were breaking out the Union Jack. "If he does, he will be lulled by the sight of his own."

Spencer grunted. It was an accepted ruse of war to sail into battle under the enemy's flag until the last moment, but his conscience reminded him of his divided loyalty. But Tyer Temple had to be stopped. Far more danger lay ahead for the empire if Tyler succeeded in breaching the agreement with Lin.

The lookout shouted.

Every face turned upward. Even without understanding Chinese, Spencer knew their quarry had been spotted. He sent another man to take Niu Kien's place. Niu Kien scampered down, then slid down a backstay babbling excitedly. Tse Hi interpreted for Spencer.

"The English ship sails with the wind. The scrambling dragons cluster in its approach, led by the junk with red sails. We will be upon them before the joss stick burns to the first mark."

Spencer quickly climbed to the shrouds to see for himself. Lifting the glass, he spied the puffed sails of the Montrose. The smaller Chinese boats held their course as they waited for the big ship to put about. Spencer's mind raced. They'd have to cut off the Montrose's retreat; if she put about and headed for the open sea, she had the advantage of size and power to escape. And they had to attack before the opium could be taken off and the scrambling dragons could scatter and bolt for the Inner Passage. If the Gentle Cloud approached directly from the west, the Montrose would be forced to fight.

On deck, he gave orders for the men to be divided into gun crews and topmen. The lookout shouted and motioned sharply. Spencer took the wheel and gave orders for Tse Hi to relate to the men.

"Set all sail and put her before the wind!"

Slowly the ship began to heel and close on the Monrrose. She'd reached the scrambling dragons and Tyler's junk was already tying to a line. Through the glass, Spencer saw that the captain of the Montrose had seen their sails and was studying the approaching ship. His slow survey took in the flag at the peak, the bold lettering on a lifeboat--then, with amazement, the faces of the Chinese crew. He turned away momentarily to call out, then trained the glass on the Gentle Cloud once more. Grinning, Spencer saw Tyler rush from the shadow of a mast.

"I want a shot across her bows!" Spencer shouted.

Tse Hi relayed the order and almost instantly the cannon boomed. White smoke billowed. Spencer peered to watch the fall of the shot. It geysered up a cable's length beyond the bow of the Montrose. The Captain drew up in astonishment. The reaction among the scrambling dragons was instantaneous. Oars dipped and the boats began to pull away in a burst of panic like frightened rabbits.

Spencer gave a second order. "Hit her this time. Aim for the foremast."

The cannon boomed again, and a hole appeared in the foresail of the Montrose.

"Fire again!" Spencer shouted. "Fire when the guns bear!"

The Montrose quivered under the force of a ragged broadside. Splinters flew from the bulwarks. The topgallant yard dissolved into nothingness, and the canvas flapped.

The captain of the Montrose had been shaken from his daze. He was screaming orders now, ignoring Tyler who danced about in rage. The Montrose turned away and a stern gun fired. The ball whistled overhead. Spencer slammed the glass shut and jumped to the deck.

"After her!" He ran forward with Tse Hi at his heels, yelling for the foredeck guns to be trained on the fleeing Montrose. He watched as the agile Chinese swabbed out, reloaded and ran the guns up. Yuan squatted, aimed each gun in turn, then shouted. As the ship rose, he shouted again and both guns boomed. The crew cheered as a yard on the Montrose mainmast angled crookedly, then fell ponderously to the deck dragging with it a tangle of lines and canvas.

"The vulture's wings are shorn!" Tse Hi exclaimed.

"Keep them firing!" Spencer ran back to the wheel. If they could cross the Montrose's stern, they could fire every gun the length of the ship. They'd blow the Montrose out of the water.

But the Captain of the Montrose anticipated the move before the Gentle Cloud could swing past. The larger ship's stern guns opened fire---but moments too late. Spencer maneuvered the Gentle Cloud in close. Most of the roundshot passed harmlessly overhead and splashed into the water. A few hit the hull; one block and yard smashed. Tse Hi ordered men up to splice new ones.

The band was reveling in the fight now, and their shrieks and cries accompanied the steady boom of the guns. On the Montrose, the main royal yard snapped off and plunged down suddenly. The Montrose hauled up in the wind, canvas slatting and thundering.

The lift and surge of the ship was a live thing under Spencer's feet. His pulse roared as he shouted for the guns to continue firing. The acrid smell of powder smoke filled his lungs and the boom of the cannon seemed to echo in his brain. The Gentle Cloud came up alongside the other ship, all guns firing as fast as they could be reloaded. He was filled with the heady certainty of success.

"We'll lay her along the side!" he shouted to Tse Hi. He called for the sails to be clewed up and the gun crews to stand by to board. The men were gathering up swords and cutlasses as they danced with excitement. Someone pushed a cutlass into Spencer's hand and he took it gladly. He was as eager to finish the fight as any now.

The Montrose was reeling from the terrible pounding she'd taken. Her guns stood unmanned now as the crew drenched the flaming canvas with buckets of sea water. The sluice that overflowed the scuppers was red with blood.

There was a rending crunch as the two ships came together like old bulls in a field. Men leaped into the shrouds, shouting and waving their weapons, then jumped to the Montrose's deck the instant the Gentle Cloud rocked to a halt. Five men quickly tossed grappling hooks across; they bit into the wood of the Montrose like parasitic claws. Then the men were rushing to board, screaming and cavorting like maniacal demons unleashed from hell.

The Montrose's guns were powerless, and the bewildered crew fell back under the onslaught. In moments, they'd been driven to the stern and many were lifting their hands in defeat and throwing down their weapons. Spencer shook his head in amazement. It was over—two dozen men had stormed an entire British crew, and taken them by the sheer force of the charge. He watched as Tse Hi detailed men to confiscate the surrendered arms and herd the prisoners into the crew's quarters between decks. Another unit was sent to heave the ship to.

Spencer looked about for Tyler. He'd not seen him since that first moment at the wheel when the Captain realized what was happening. Two bodies lay against the forward housing, another hung limply over the midship rail. Spencer saw at a glance that none was Tyler. Had he gone below?

Tse Hi's men formed a human chain between the hold and the ship's rail. In minutes, opium chests were being hauled from below. Each was poised on the rail long enough for two men to smash it with axes before toppling it over the side. They bobbed on the waves, slowly filling with sea water, then sank out of sight. Bits of splintered wood and opium wrappers littered the emerald green surface of the water. Tse Hi's eyes glinted as he watched the foreign mud disappear in the swirling waters.

"The talons of the eagle are clipped," he said fervently. He smiled at Spencer with the pride of a job well done. "The Sinister Tongue will not lose the memory of this day!"

"Where is he?" Spencer asked. He motioned for Yuan to look in the Captain's quarters. Temple was not one to turn tail when he had so much at stake.

"He flees like a whimpering dog," Niu Kien declared. He'd led the charge and plunged into the fray gleefully. A thin trickle of blood marked his cheek, and he wore it like a badge of courage.

"Search the ship," Tse Hi ordered. Like Spencer, he did not trust the man they'd come to conquer.

Before Niu Kien could begin his search, a pistol shot blasted from the midships companionway. Tse Hi howled as the shot struck him in the shoulder and spun him around. Blood gushed, and he dropped to the deck clutching the gaping wound.

Spencer dropped to his knees, spinning about in time to see Tyler duck back as he reloaded the pistol. He leaped, but Tyler saw him in time and darted beyond reach as he jammed a ball into the gun barrel. He raised to fire. His eyes glinted with malevolent satisfaction as he recognized Spencer. His finger tightened on the trigger.

From the dark companionway behind him, a figure sprang with the agility of a cat. Taken by surprise, Tyler tried to shoot, but his arm was knocked aside and the shot screamed wildly into the air. Cursing, he grappled with his assailant and they fell to the deck. Peh-t'ao wrenched the pistol from the Englishman's grip. As it skidded across the deck, Spencer snatched it up.

Peh-t'ao growled like an animal as he kicked his legs out savagely and rolled atop Tyler, pinning him to the deck. As though by magic, a glittering knife was in his hand and poised at Tyler's throat. Tyler's eyes bulged and his face paled.

Spencer leveled the pistol. "Put it down, Peh-t'ao!"

Without releasing his grip, Peh-t'ao looked up. His eyes smoldered like hot coals. "The viper strikes in every direction," he snarled contemptuously. The knife blade moved a hair's breadth. A drop of scarlet blood oozed at Tyler’s neck.

"Put it down!" Spencer commanded.

Tyler rolled his eyes in silent supplication. His face was beaded with sweat and his fingers dug into the wood of the deck. Peh-t'ao moved slightly, the muscles of his face working.

"Let him go," Spencer said evenly. He was aware that the opium dumping had ceased and every man was watching him, but he did not turn.

"His life belongs to Tse Hi in payment for that of his father," Peh-t'ao said slowly.

A trickle of sweat formed between Spencer's shoulder blades. A life for a life... Chinese justice. Could he force Peh-t'ao to back down? With agonizing deliberation, he cocked the gun. The sound was loud in the sudden silence.

Peh-t'ao's lips drew back in a sneer. "Your lot is cast, Fair One. No man sleeps on two sides of the wall at once."

For a tense moment, their eyes locked. Cold ... hard ... unrelenting....

A whisper of sound cut the silence. "Release the Sinister Tongue," Tse Hi gasped.

Peh-t'ao glanced at his leader who lay on the deck in a widening pool of blood; his face was gray and one hand tried to stem the flow of blood from his wound. Peh-t'ao started to protest, but was silenced by the determination on Tse Hi's face. Slowly, he eased back and withdrew the knife, but his eyes blazed.

Tyler rolled clear and tried to get up.

"Stay where you are!" Spencer commanded.

'Tyler fell back, watching the tableau like a man wandering about in a dream.

"Get on with the dumping." Spencer motioned to the chain of men. Quickly the opium began to move again. Each fall of the ax and splash of a smashed crate made Tyler wince.

"For God's sake, Raymond--tell them to stop! There's a fortune there--!"

Spencer uttered a harsh sound of contempt. Tyler's pitiful begging filled him with disgust. He motioned to Peh-t'ao. "Tie his hands."

It took an hour for the opium to be dumped over the side. Several men carried Tse Hi back to the Gentle Cloud and tended his wound as best they could with the unfamiliar foreign medicines. As the last of the chests fell under the ax, the lookout at the masthead shouted. Spencer glanced quickly at Peh-t'ao.

"An English ship. .. ."

Spencer swore. The Gentle Cloud was damaged and would not make speed, but they had no choice but to make a run for it. Peh-t'ao was already yelling for the men to return to the ship and make sail. Spencer leaped aboard, calling to Yuan to cut the lines holding the ships together. He reached for the wheel as the Gentle Cloud began to bob away from the crippled Montrose. On the deck of the other vessel, Tyler stumbled toward the crew's quarters and began to work awkwardly at the wedge fastening the door. Moments later, the enraged crew spilled out and ran for the guns.

The Gentle Cloud glided into the swells, white foam creaming along her sides to join the boiling wake. The sails were sheeted home and the ship began to gain speed. A cannon aboard the Montrose boomed, splashing a ball wildly. Spencer realized the shot was an alarm to alert the approaching vessel. He took up the glass and studied the approaching ship. A merchantman ... more than a thousand tons. He frowned, certain he'd seen the vessel before. She was pressing hard and gradually closing the gap.

Recognition struck with the force of a physical blow. The Cambridge! With a sinking feeling, he recalled Captain Jewel's account of how the vessel had been refitted and heavily armed.

Chapter 19

Lorielle woke heavy-eyed and with a dull ache swelling inside her head. When she saw the empty pillow beside her, pain flooded back. She rose to look at the brass clock on the mantel and saw that it was midmorning. Spencer might at this moment be engaged in battle against the Montrose. Her hands shook as she turned the clock face to the wall as though to refute the passage of time. She could never forgive his treachery. To stalk her father and bring him to his knees was like stabbing a wound at her heart, despite the many times she had told herself he cared nothing for her nor she for him. He was her flesh and blood, part of her that could not be denied. Yet Spencer was a much greater part. Hot tears threatened. Quickly she went to the washstand and bathed her face with tepid water from the pitcher. Tears would solve nothing, nor would they bring Spencer back. Suppose he was wounded—

In panic, she buried her face in the soft towel until her shaking subsided. She’d defended her father out of a sense of loyalty and hope, but the realization that Spencer might be wounded or killed now struck her with terror. For a moment, she was caught in a dizzy wave of agony. She sank to a chair and forced herself to breathe evenly until the dizziness passed. She pressed her hands to her lips, remembering Spencer’s parting kiss to which she’d given no response. If only she had called him back and held him so tightly he could never leave! Failing that, she should have sent him off with a prayer for his safety even though she had withheld her blessing. Instead she ignored his plea for understanding and hardened her heart to his love.

Rising, she tossed the towel aside and dressed. The room was a prison that echoed her cold words. She could not bear it a moment longer.

Downstairs, she ordered breakfast on the narrow terrace beyond the paneled dining room. Several tables were occupied, and a babble of foreign voices drifted into the sun-drenched morning. She wondered if there was news of the attack on the Montrose. Surely word would reach Macao quickly—and Commissioner Lin! Her stomach knotted again. Lin would use the raid to denounce the British for daring to flaunt his edicts. The news of her father’s attempt to smuggle in a cargo of opium would be on every tongue. A blush of shame warmed her cheeks. She turned her face to the feathery breeze rustling the jasmine that entwined a post. There were some who would laud his enterprise, she supposed, but if a new wave of strife erupted because of it, there would be many more who would condemn him. She realized with sickening guilt that Spencer was right. Her father’s greed might plunge them into a turmoil unlike anything they had known before. War! She’d brushed away the comment when Spencer voiced it, but now it haunted her. War—and her father would be responsible. The teacup clattered in its saucer as she tried to set it down. Dear God, how could she have been such a fool as to not understand what Spencer was trying to tell her? All at once the murmurs of Portuguese, German and French around her became screaming accusations. War…!

Shaking, she pushed aside the unfinished food and fled to her room, where she paced and sat by nervous turn. How long would it be before she heard anything? She wished she had questioned Spencer more closely about Tse Hi’s plan—where it would be carried out and how long it would take. At one point, she considered going to the Select House and inquiring for news, but she discarded the notion immediately. If the Montrose affair was not yet public knowledge, she could not reveal it.

She grew more restless as the day wore on. Several times she ventured downstairs, hoping to encounter someone who might tell her news, but the hotel remained the quiet oasis it had always been. And with each passing hour, she was more reluctant to absent herself because Spencer might return. By nightfall, she began to worry in earnest that something had happened. Surely he should be back by now. When at last she forced herself to retire, it was to a torturous night. She jumped up at every footstep in the hall or sound outside, but Spencer did not come.

The following day, the tension grew unbearable. At midday, she penned a note to Major General Milton and hired a boy to take it to the Select House. The General arrived at the hotel a short time later.

"My dear, how delightful to see you again--but here, you're not looking chipper. Is something wrong? Your chit sounded urgent."

"I am beside myself," she said. "Spencer has been gone more than twenty-four hours!" The relief of having someone to talk to brought a flood of words. She related what had taken place since their dinner at the Solmar and her concern over Spencer's hazardous mission.

Milton stroked a gray sideburn. "So your young man was involved in that. I should have suspected."

"You know?" Panic assailed her. Word of the foray had reached the Company! She could scarcely breathe. Her heart hammered wildly, and a cold sweat dampened the valley between her breasts. "Tell me quickly, I beg you!"

He pursed his lips. "The Montrose limped into port this morning. She's badly damaged and several of her crew are wounded."

Fear took shape and her breast quivered. "My father?"

"He was aboard and had some minor injuries but nothing to be alarmed about. Put your mind at ease, my dear. Ah, but his temper is something else again. He says he sailed out to meet the Montrose to order her to head back to Singapore, but before she could follow instructions, she was attacked by an English vessel. It had been pirated by some Chinese, according to your father. The scoundrels did a bit of spirited fighting, then stormed aboard and destroyed the entire cargo."

Lorielle paled. "The other ship?"

Milton frowned. "According to your father and the Captain, the Montrose was saved from certain destruction by the timely arrival of the Cambridge. The pirates ran off with the Cambridge bearing down on them as they headed for the Inner Passage."

'"They battled?" The words were an anguished whisper.

"According to Captain Douglas, he had just engaged them when both ships were attacked by Chinese war junks at the mouth of the Broadway. The Cambridge was forced to make a run for it. Captain Douglas lost sight of the pirates."

Lorielle sank to a chair and tried to control her trembling. Milton peered at her, then put a hand on her shoulder as he realized he'd frightened her badly. He cursed himself for a blithering fool.

"Here, now. The Chinese know those waters like their own hands. Dozens of places to hide and set about repairs. Spencer's proved his mettle--no one but he could have gotten away from the Cambridge. Your man's all right, my dear, you mustn't worry."

She tried to gather her courage. Puzzled, she asked, "Did my father say nothing of Spencer?" For a moment her heart soared with hope that perhaps he had not been aboard the Gentle Cloud after all.

"Not that I've heard, but then your father's between Scylla and Charybdis, I'd say. He’ll have Lin snapping at his heels for trying to smuggle opium and the Company at his throat for losing it. Admitting he's been bested by a parvenu may be more than he can swallow just now." He refrained from telling her the repercussions the incident might have. The discovery of war junks in the Broadway could only mean one thing--Lin was sealing off Macao. He meant to force the English into submission or out of the Chinese empire.

She sighed. "My nerves are at the breaking point. If I do not hear something soon, I shall go mad!" She caught her trembling lip between her teeth and blinked back tears.

He patted her shoulder. "I’ll see what I can find out. We’ll have dinner--"

"I cannot leave the hotel!"

"Then we’ll dine here. Agreed?"

She nodded gratefully. She did not want to spend another miserable evening alone. General Milton was her only source of news.

The Gentle Cloud struck a sand bar half a mile into the Inner Passage. They had passed half a dozen fishing villages, where people rushed to the banks to see the amazing sight of an English ship pushing inland where only fishing boats and sampans normally ventured. Some were so astonished, they only stared. Others were frightened and ran off to pass the word. Within hours, the commanders of the Chinese warships in the Broadway would know the Gentle Clouds whereabouts and send soldiers to investigate.

As soon as the order had been given to furl the sails, Spencer went to the great cabin to confer with Tse Hi. He lay on a red velvet cushion which had been stripped from the Captain's bench; his wounded arm was exposed where the jacket had been cut away. The white bandages from the ship's medical stores were thrown on the table, and a gray, muddy-looking poultice covered the wound. Bits of grass and crushed leaves were mixed into it, and it gave off an unpleasant odor.

"My friend...." Tee Hi smiled wanly. "You have served us well. The battle is won."

Spencer said, "One battle, but not the war. I fear we've stirred up a hornet's nest."

Tse Hi frowned, then winced as he tried to shift his weight. Spencer quickly squatted beside him so he did not have to strain to talk.

"We have beaten Tyler Temple," Spencer said, "but we've brought a heavily armed ship right onto Lin's doorstep. His war junks have been fired upon."

Tse Hi was silent. His men had already reported the soldiers and the armed war junks the ch'in-ch'ai had assembled to guard the entrances to the Celestial Empire against the cursed mud and the Barbarians who held his edicts in contempt.

"Commissioner Lin will view the presence of armed vessels as an act of war," Spencer said gravely. "Your people and mine will fight."

"I will not raise my sword against you, my friend," Tse Hi said earnestly.

"Nor I against you. But I cannot speak for my countrymen any more than you can for yours. Our friendship will remain as strong as the tide and as sure as the seasons, but our journey together is done. I must return to Macao."

"Go at peace with the house of Kwang. You are among those who do not know you, Fair One. I will send Wenwei to guide you." Tse Hi's breath fluttered, and Spencer was alarmed at the weakness of his voice. The painful wound had taken a heavy toll of his strength.

He studied Tse Hi with a worried frown. "This ship is not safe for you and your men. The Emperor's soldiers will hunt it down and throw firepots to burn the foreign devils who dared sail up the Inner Passage."

Tse Hi managed a crooked smile. "We will depart quickly and lose ourselves among our own people."

In his condition, Tse Hi would not be able to travel far. Spencer laid a hand on his good arm. "Until we meet again under a peaceful sky," he said softly. With a smile for the man with whom he'd shared so much, Spencer rose and left the cabin.

The others were assembled on the deck where Peh-t'ao had been talking to them in a low tone. He stopped and eyed Spencer coldly. Spencer bowed formally to the men.

"You have done a brave task this day. I have never had a better crew." He grinned round the group, not sure how many of them understood what he was saying. Not a single life had been lost, and injuries were minimal. They'd handled themselves as gallantly as any men who had ever served under him. He gave them a jaunty salute as a ladder was tossed over the side.

Wenwei waited solemnly for him to descend, then climbed down to wade across the shallows. On the bank, they strode into a thicket of sea lettuce and started down stream.

Spencer's thoughts still centered around Tse Hi and those he was leaving behind. They'd have a difficult time putting distance between themselves and the Gentle Cloud with a wounded man to transport. But once they were clear of the ship, they would be able to lose themselves in the countryside. Tse Hi could be nursed back to health, and they could all scatter to the winds.

Or join Lin's army...

Tyler Temple was not only caught between Lin and the Company, he had to contend with Giles Copeland. Copeland heard the story of the encounter between the Montrose and the Gentle Cloud as soon as the first sailor from the avenging Cambridge came ashore. And when he learned that the Montrose had made port, Ty1er with it, he lost no time in seeking out his former partner.

Ty1er admitted him to his room at the Select House with annoyance. He was in no mood to bandy words after the ordeal he'd been through, and the set of Giles' jaw did not forecast a pleasant discussion.

His irritation swelled, and he vented it like a persistent itch. "What is it, Giles? We concluded our business in Canton." The loss of the Montrose cargo reminded him that he was out the full amount of silver he'd paid over to Giles.

"No need to be testy, Tyler. I come to inquire after your well-being. I'm glad to see that the rumors of your injuries are greatly exaggerated," he said contemptuously. When Ty1er snorted, Giles abandoned his pretense at civility. "I underestimated you, Tyler. You were planning to pirate the Montrose cargo all along. That's why you were eager to pay me off and try to settle your debt before I left Canton."

Tyler glared back insolently. "You were the one who decided to quit the business. You were ready enough to accept the silver and get out of Canton. I merely seized a new opportunity when it came along."

Giles' eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me! You arranged for the Montrose to hold beyond the Ladrones so her cargo would not fall into Lin's hands but could be diverted to your own scheme. With Lin's embargo, the price of opium is climbing steadily and the supply dwindling. You meant to reap a harvest! Did you plan to quit the trade or stay another season to squeeze even more from your new operation?"

"What difference does it make?" Ty1er said churlishly. 'The operation failed and I have gained nothing! Have you come for a pound of my flesh?"

"You would not be so quick to offer a share of the profit had it succeeded." Giles voice climbed to a ominous note. "Don't play me for the fool! The Montrose was part of this season's shipment and we planned to take eighty chests from her. The arrangements were already made--by me. But you lied in order to cut me out. I'll not forget that in a hurry." Giles gritted his teeth. Thirty thousand pounds sterling--lost! He glared at Tyler's impassive face, then sat back tenting his fingers.

"There is a way to redeem yourself, Tyler."

Tyler's head jerked and he laughed. "Redeem!"

Giles shrugged. "I see it as a debt. Had you succeeded, it would have been double-dealing and theft but since you did not, I can afford to be charitable. But that does not change the fact that we have lost a large sum of money."

Tyler noticed the change to "we." Giles was willing to forgive as long as he gained something in return. But what? Tyler watched him keenly. "What is this road to redemption you see as a solution to my problem?"

"A question first," Giles said. "Where had you arranged for the Montrose cargo to be sold?"

Tyler jutted his lower lip pensively. "I hardly see how that matters now."

Giles' eyes glinted. "If you're not interested, I'm sure I can find another merchant to join me in salvaging what's left of the season's profit."

Intrigued, Tyler capitulated. "I was to get silver on delivery from the boatmen. Each had his own buyers. They're not new to the business. It's never been my policy to question what happens to the commodity once it changes hands."

"What price?"

"Eight hundred a chest."

Giles smiled shrewdly. "Now that their anticipated supply has been lost, they will be more eager than ever to buy, wouldn't you say?"

Tyler's interest was beginning to grow. Obviously Giles had an idea. "That is a fair assumption. I dare say they’ll be desperate enough to pay a bit more the next time around."

"I dare say..." Giles’ expression put Tyler in mind of a cat lurking among the rose bushes for an unwary mouse. He waited for him to continue. "I think twenty-five hundred dollars a chest would not be unreasonable at all."

Astonished, Ty1er was completely attentive now. Giles was not speculating--he had a definite plan in mind. "And the opium?" he queried.

"Word of Lin's success in halting the traffic has reached Singapore and India," Giles said. "The price of opium has fallen radically. With Chinese markets sealed, growers are worried where they'll dispose of their vast accumulation. Many are accepting as little as two hundred dollars a chest, and glad to get it."

Ty1er nodded as Giles paused.

"An enterprising partnership such as ours faces a great opportunity, Tyler. Are you acquainted with Captain Peter Bereza?"

"Of the Travolta?" The 140-ton schooner had a reputation as one of the fastest vessels on the water. A crack ship built in Shoreham for the Mediterranean fruit trade and recently brought up for the opium fleet, it had already become a legend on the high seas.

"The same," Giles allowed. 'The Travolta arrived in the Bay yesterday. Needless to say, when he saw what was happening here, Captain Bereza was not eager to forego the profit he hoped to realize, so did not declare his cargo. He's independent of company connections, and does not have to account to anyone but himself. Since there is no opportunity here, he plans to sail to Singapore to sell his cargo."

"At two hundred dollars a chest?" Tyler asked suspiciously.

'"Yes, or less if he must."

"And how does this concern us?"

Giles was enjoying the change in Tyler's attitude. His arrogance had vanished completely, and he was eager as a puppy.

"If the chests are unloaded openly at a time when the Bund is crowded with opium dealers, the sad spectacle of the return of an entire cargo is bound to have an adverse effect on the market. Local prices will collapse instantly." He leaned forward as his own excitement grew. "With adequate financing, Captain Bereza will be able to buy as many chests as can be stuffed into the Travolta's hold and piled on her decks. He’ll have to work discreetly through an agent, of course, but that. can be arranged. I have contacts in Singapore who can be trusted. When Bereza brings the opium here, if it is sold quickly and quietly, we gain a tenfold profit on our investment. Captain Bereza insists on a handsome cut for his part. He demanded half, but I reminded him that I am in a partnership so the split must be three ways."

Tyler's eyes were bright. "How many chests can the Travolta carry?"

"Loaded to the gunwales, a thousand," Giles said dramatically.

Tyler mentally calculated the profit in the offing. Even with an additional man in the picture, they would realize almost two million pounds sterling apiece! His head reeled. His losses from the Montrose paled in comparison.

Giles sat back complacently, sure now that he'd netted his fish. "Captain Bereza must have cash to transact this bit of business. He is determined that the money from the sale of his present cargo--a paltry two hundred eighty chests--does little more than cover his expenses to date. The purchasing power must come from us."

"But he is to get an equal share!" Tyler was outraged.

"We cannot manage without him. This coup must be executed with all haste. Once it has been, every other merchant will jump at the chance to try his hand at a similar scheme. No, Tyler, it is a one-time venture. The opium dealers at Singapore will not fall for the same ruse twice. Our success depends on Bereza being able to convince the Singapore merchants that the market has indeed collapsed, and that he is virtually doing them a favor by taking unsalable merchandise off their hands." He sighed reflectively. "I would not offer you this opportunity except that I have already shipped the major portion of my own silver home. A letter of credit as payment would alert a sharp dealer that something was in the wind. Bereza must have cash. Of course if you're reluctant I have other friends to whom I can appeal."

"No--no." Tyler could not contain his eagerness. Giles was right, it was too good an opportunity to haggle over minor details. "I am delighted that you took into consideration our friendship and long association and came to me first. How much do you require?"

"One hundred thousand in silver. The price of chests may fluctuate a bit. We've got to give Bereza some lee way."

It would wipe out his entire cash reserve, Tyler reflected, but no matter. In a short time, that amount would be insignificant! He would have wealth beyond his wildest dreams!

"I can have it for you within two hours," he stated.

Curious, Giles asked, "You have it here in Macao?" He glanced about the room as though expecting to see the silver materialize.

Tyler chortled. "I do, but not here. My friendship with a charming Portuguese widow gives me a pleasant place to stay when I wish to be away from Company eyes. The widow is willing to store my gear without question, since she is always extremely eager to assure herself of my return."

Giles laughed. "I see. Very well, bring it. In the meantime, I will contact Bereza and arrange for his immediate departure. If he sails today, he'll be back within three weeks. We'll both be able to quit China for good, Tyler."

Tyler was already on his feet. "I'll see to it immediately."

"A moment--there is one other thing."

Tyler questioned him with a glance.

"Lorielle."

Tyler sighed. "I have not heard a word concerning her whereabouts. I can no longer offer you any hope on that score."

Giles smiled complacently. "There I have the advantage, if it can be called that. Lorielle is in Macao." Tyler looked at him in astonishment. Giles said coldly, "She is married to Spencer Raymond."

"The devil--!" Ty1er exclaimed, but he knew from Giles' expression that it was not a joke.

'"They were wed several weeks ago by that idiot Gutzlaff left here to tend the church in his absence. While you prattled about flushing her out of hiding, she was already in Macao with Raymond."

Tyler had not gotten over the shock of seeing Spencer aboard the ship that attacked the Montrose. He'd believed him still imprisoned at Canton and instead found him leading Tse Hi's band of marauding Chinese patriots. He was to blame for the loss of the Montrose cargo. No matter how able and dedicated the Chinese bandits were, Spencer Raymond had captained the ship and led the fight. To hear now that he was wed to Lorielle was too much. Tyler's anger snapped like a brittle twig.

"I should have killed him when you first suggested it. The man becomes more of a menace each day!"

Giles was taken aback by the seething rage underlying Tyler’s words. Certainly it was not brought on by hearing Lorielle had married Raymond. Tyler had long ago scratched his daughter from his list of concerns. Giles peered at him.

"You've found new cause to mistrust him? You were less than amenable to my suggestion at the time it was made," Giles said.

Temple blew an exasperated breath. "He captained the stolen English vessel that attacked the Montrose and destroyed my prize!" he said venomously.

It was Giles' turn to be astonished. "He led the Chinese?"

"He did."

"I had not heard."

"Captain Landers of the Montrose is making full reports to Elliot and Palmerston. Raymond's guilty of treason, and he'll hang for it."

Giles was quiet as he mulled over this latest tidbit. Landers would not admit to smuggling, nor would Tyler. The Montrose had been attacked before she made contact with the scrambling dragons Tyler had hired. According to the tales that were making the rounds on the ridge, the Chinese boats scattered to the compass points when the Gentle Cloud approached. So at home, Tyler might well be able to cover his own perfidy, but Macao was another matter. The story was already out--and Lin might well hail the plunderers as heroes. He might even give amnesty to Raymond. Amnesty and asylum. And with time, Raymond might deliver his report to Lord Valentine. Giles could not repress a smile.

Tyler scowled. "What the hell is funny?"

"Amusing. You think your problems are at an end when they may be just beginning."

"You're talking in riddles."

Giles grunted and laid out the logic to his thinking. Tyler’s eyes grew wide as the truth dawned on him. A charge of treason wouldn't silence Raymond. It would make him more determined than ever to expose the evils of the opium trade. Tyler rubbed his chin pensively.

Giles interrupted his thoughts. "Where is Raymond now?"

'The bandit ship was last seen entering one of the channels of the Inner Passage. One of Lin's war junks spotted both vessels and gave chase. The Cambridge had to run for it so her cargo wouldn't be discovered."

"Is there a chance the junk caught the Gentle Cloud?"

Tyler shook his head. "Spencer blocked the channel behind him by jettisoning the guns. An old Chinese trick, but effective in shallow waters. By now, Spencer and those thieving Chinamen are probably halfway to Canton."

"I think not," Giles said laconically. "You forget, his bride is here in Macao. He will not stray far from her."

"By God! You're right!" Tyler's anger gave way to calculating hatred. If Spencer could be accused and tried here, there'd be many willing to give damning testimony against him. A man brought home in chains would have little credibility.

"This time I suggest you take care of him as quickly as possible. Hire some of those Portuguese or Chinese brats running about the city to alert you. The instant he shows his face in Macao. Then--" He shrugged indifferently.

Tyler realized he was speaking of murder once more. His conscience balked, despite his unbridled hatred for Raymond. To kill a man in cold blood ... He still woke with nightmares about the guard at the Gate of the Sixth Moon; the memory of that gray face and swollen, protruding tongue were etched indelibly in his memory. Nor could he readily dismiss from mind the fact that Spencer Raymond had prevented one of those wild-eyed Chinese on the Montrose from slitting his throat. Still, Raymond had to be eliminated once and for all.

"I've no taste for the deed myself," he said finally. "My name and face are well known, and with this Montrose business--" He cocked his head questioningly. "You have contacts among the Chinese here. It would not be impossible to find one willing to do the deed."

A frown creased Giles' heavy brow. He wanted no part of Tyler's problem, yet it was his problem too. They were both guilty on many counts. If Raymond raised a mud storm, they'd both be spattered.

"Yes, I suppose it can be arranged." Many Chinese would murder a brother for a handful of silver.

"Good, then the matter is settled. Now, I'll be off on my errand." He extended a hand, which Giles took as he rose and prepared to leave. To our successful venture."

"Until noon, Tyler. Bereza is eager to be underway as quickly as possible."

"You have my word. Come, I’ll walk out with you. I can borrow a horse from the stables." He clapped Giles Copeland's shoulder heartily as they started down the broad stairs.

The evening ripened from a scarlet sunset to an opaque, misty blue sky with pockets of phantom clouds that played tag across the rising moon. The day's warmth lingered and a gentle night breeze carried a hint of sea mist across the beaches. The patio of the Pousada de Macao was cool and almost deserted. Lanterns danced yellow fingers of light across the flagstones, and sparkling white tablecloths fluttered a ballet of shadows.

Lorielle tried to brighten her spirits, but Major General Milton's news had given her little in the way of comfort. He had tracked down several sailors from the Montrose who were eager to tell of their narrow escape from the jaws of death, and who admitted somewhat reluctantly that an Englishman had led the Chinese attack. They'd been warned by their captain to hold their tongues until the traitorous bloke could be brought up on charges. And of Spencer Raymond himself, Milton had been unable to learn anything. He had vanished with the Gentle Cloud.

Lorielle sank into despair again. She stared out across the dark adventurous sea that had lured Spencer away. Absently, she refused the apricot brandy the General offered.

Milton sighed inwardly, wishing he had more cheering news to offer, but he would be raising her hopes cruelly if he invented glad tidings. Spencer was in plenty of trouble, no doubt about it. The business with the stolen ship could be serious. A dozen war junks had been counted in the Inner Harbor, and Chinese soldiers were gathering near the barrier gate. The English were convinced that Lin was planning a descent on Macao, similar to that on Canton.

"There's something I must talk with you about, my dear," Milton said after he'd poured a healthy amount of the golden cordial into a snifter and inhaled its bouquet.

For an instant, hope flickered in her eyes and she moistened her lips with a pink tip of tongue.

Milton shook his head. "It has nothing to do with Spencer--don't get your hopes up."

She sighed and slumped back in the chair.

Milton drummed a finger on the tabletop. "But it does concern your welfare and safety. People are beginning to leave Macao. It's no longer the haven it once was."

Tiny frown lines furrowed her brow. "I don't understand, General."

"There's been a spot of trouble over at Kowloon, and the situation is taking on an ugly hue. The Chinese are demanding an eye for an eye."

"Has there been another killing?"

He nodded. "With our ships detained, sailors are bound to get restless. Men who are kept cooped up have to let off steam. A bit of horseplay among some tars on shore leave got out of hand. Before long, they were tearing apart a Chinese temple. That didn't sit well with the locals, of course. There was a bit of a row. One man got knocked about rather severely and died of his wounds the next day."

Lorielle's shoulders sagged. And now the Chinese would demand a life for a life. She recalled the horrible interval when Spencer's life had hung in the balance of Chinese justice. Was there no hope of peaceful coexistence with these people?

General Milton went on. "Captain Elliot has tried to oil the troubled waters by making restitution to the family, but the Commissioner rejected the gesture. He's placarded Macao saying he’ll settle for nothing less than a life for a life. He demands that the murderer be turned over." Milton wagged his head solemnly. "A pretext, of course. Lin's bloody aware that his grandstand play at Chuenpi hasn't brought the drug trade to a halt. Even the Portuguese are smuggling right under his nose here in Macao. He doesn't like it one bit. He intends to make the city so uncomfortable, the foreigners will be forced to leave. He reasons that if we don't stay, we’ll take our opium with us when we go."

"Does he intend to blockade the city?" Lorielle asked with a worried frown.

"It's possible, and people are taking no chances. Captain Elliot has ordered the ships at Hong Kong to receive any British subjects who want to come aboard. It might be wise for you to go, my dear."

"I must stay here," she said adamantly. She could not leave without knowing Spencer was all right.

"Don't be hasty," Milton chided. "If it's Spencer you're worried about, he'll hear what's happened and find you. Besides, the entire thing may blow over quickly and we’ll be back before you know it. I heard today that Captain Elliot is bringing some of the sailors to trial for their part in the fracas. That should be the end of it."

Lorielle smiled and shook her head. "Thank you for your concern, General. I'll take the warning to heart, but I will not leave until Spencer returns. At Hong Kong, I would hear nothing."

Milton frowned. "I cannot persuade you?"

"No, I must stay."

He sighed. Maybe he was exaggerating the danger, but he could not shake his fears. If Spencer's part in the Monrrose raid became known, sentiment among many of the merchants would run strongly against him--and Lorielle. Regardless of a man's stand on the moral issue of opium, damn few would condone what Spencer had done. The Chinese were a common enemy. ...

"Promise me that you will agree if the news becomes more alarming," he insisted.

To put him at ease, she finally agreed. Milton smiled with relief, and he clasped her hand warmly as he prepared to go.

"I will bring you any news the moment I hear it. If you need me, send a lad--don't risk the streets yourself, eh? There's a good girl." He gazed at her kindly, then surprised her by bending to place a kiss on her cheek. "Look after yourself."

Chapter 20

The atmosphere became more tense as the days passed. Aboard the Fort William at Hong Kong, six sailors involved in the Kowloon incident were brought to trial. Elliot hoped the show of justice would satisfy Lin, and with that hope, he invited the Commissioner to attend, or to send observers if he wished. Lin ignored the invitation.

A bill for murder against one of the seamen was thrown out by a jury of merchants; two others were convicted of rioting and fined a nominal sum; three were found guilty of the added charge of assault and given short sentences of imprisonment, to be served when they returned to England.

Commissioner Lin was not impressed with English justice. He retaliated by issuing an edict prohibiting the Chinese to sell any kind of provisions to the English. If the English ignored the Celestial laws, the Chinese did not dare. Shopkeepers drew their shutters when foreigners appeared. Peddlers no longer called at the doors of the houses along the ridge. Shortly, Chinese servants in the English households began to disappear.

Major General Milton insisted that Lorielle accompany him to Hong Kong. "I've already spoken to the proprietor. If Spencer returns, he'll be told where you are."

There was a tap at the door, and Milton opened it quickly. A sloe-eyed Portuguese half-breed girl curtsied.

"Ah, here's the girl come to help your packing. I'll wait downstairs."

Lorielle knew it was useless to argue further. Even without traveling about the city, she'd become aware of the growing unrest. The innkeeper's Portuguese wife no longer paused to chat; she seemed afraid any contact with the English would make her suspect. The Chinese servants refused to answer the "English bell." And with her breakfast tray that morning had come a laboriously penned note from the proprietor: Governor Pinto had orders to expel the British from the city. The Chinese were threatening to search every house and take prisoners. Mrs. Raymond must leave the Pousada de Macao.

Lorielle dressed in a lemon-colored linen dress that was cut to a round bodice. The short full sleeves were loose at her arms, and the skirt was tissue light under tiny pleats. The day which began warm had turned muggy under a layer of gray-batting clouds that screened the sun. She shuddered to think of living aboard a merchantman for even a short time. She recalled the stuffy cabin she'd shared with her mother on the Windrifter, and how glad she'd been to quit it. How long ago that seemed.... If only she were boarding a ship with Spencer to take them home!

She sighed and hurriedly packed the gowns the maid brought from the wardrobe. She had only a half dozen—all quickly stitched by a seamstress recommended by the inn-keeper's wife. A meager wardrobe, but it had sufficed. She was thankful now for so few things. When the portmanteau was ready, Lorielle let the girl carry it out. With a last glance about the room she'd shared with Spencer, she took up a wide-brimmed straw hat and her cloak and descended the steps for the last time.

The lanes and alleys leading to the Praia Grande were crowded with those taking refuge on the boats. Most carried only hand luggage, sure that they would soon be able to return to resume their lives. Children raced about playing tag and shouting as though on holiday. The women were less overjoyed at the prospect of living on the cramped ships, but they were determined to make the best of it.

General Milton carried Lorielle's portmanteau and kept a protective arm at her waist as they made their way along the narrow streets. Dark-eyed Portuguese children stared. Old women, their black veils drawn, retreated into doorways at the sight of so many English people hurrying toward the sea. From the balcony of the Palace, Governor da Silveria Pinto viewed the procession with relief.

A fleet of small boats had gathered at the waterfront to ferry the refugees to the ships waiting in the Typa. Captain Elliot had assembled eighteen merchantmen to transport the two-hundred and fifty British subjects of Macao to Hong Kong Bay. He had also arranged for two British warships to come in from the Indian Ocean to guard the flock.

On the wharf, Lorielle fanned herself with the brim of her hat. The day was sultry and still; the short walk had made her uncomfortably warm, and she longed for the cool terraces of the Pousada de Macao. She leaned against a piling and watched a frantic mother try to corral a sprightly child who darted among people and baggage like an inquisitive hummingbird. A flash of blond head made her turn quickly, and she realized she was searching for Spencer in every face. If only she knew that he was safe. ... If Tse Hi and the others had been forced into the Inner Passage, they might be driven north without hope of retreat. Reports of the fighting were sparse, but rumors that it would spread were rampant. Several villages had been shelled, according to Chinese reports, and Lin's army was mobilized at the barrier. Both the inner and outer harbors were thick with war junks, their cannon muzzles painted red.

At last General Milton returned to tell her a boat was waiting. He took her arm and escorted her down the steep steps to the platform. A plump, round-faced woman smiled nervously as she clutched a bamboo cage in which a chirping yellow bird hopped about. Lorielle smiled tentatively, knowing she had met the woman but not able to place her.

"How delightful to see you again," the woman babbled. "I heard you were in Macao. Isn't this dreadful?" She glanced about at the crowded waterfront, then peered at the hazy sky. "If it rains, the ships will be miserable. Thank Heaven Dr. Gutzlaff was convinced to come with us. At least we will have the solace of prayers."

Lorielle remembered then. The woman had played the organ at her mother's funeral--and had volunteered to help Lorielle prepare for her wedding to Giles. Mrs. Henderson--

"I think the rain will hold," Lorielle said politely. Before the woman could strike up the conversation again, Lorielle gave her attention to the bobbing boat that drew up to the landing platform. General Milton gave her a steadying hand as she climbed aboard. The boat rocked violently as Mrs. Henderson and two other women boarded and settled themselves on the nearest seats. Lorielle pretended fascination with the busy scene so as not to be drawn into idle chatter. When they were underway, she realized someone had taken the seat across from her, and she glanced up. Her pulse gave a startled leap as she saw Giles Copeland.

"Good afternoon, Lorielle."

For a moment she was tongue-tied. She had not seen him since he'd forced himself on her that night in his Macao house. His smug expression filled her with loathing and she suppressed a shudder. She told herself quickly that he had no power over her now.

"Good afternoon, Giles," she answered coldly.

"I’ve been disappointed I haven't seen you since I returned to Macao. You’re looking well."

"Thank you." She forced herself to keep a civil tongue. She had no desire to chat with him, but she could not escape him in the crowded boat. Nor would she give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. She gazed at the men at the oars who were pulling hard and pressing the boat through the water with such speed that a cold spray dashed the faces of the passengers.

"And your husband, is he not with you?" Giles said maliciously. Mrs. Henderson took no pains to hide her curiosity as she eavesdropped openly.

Lorielle's pulse skipped. "Not at the moment."

"Ah, yes--I'd heard he was off fighting with some renegade Chinese. I must say I find his zeal less than commendable since he is firing upon his own countrymen."

A warm blush crept along Lorielle's neck. The other passengers were staring. Giles made certain his voice carried clearly.

"And destroying English merchandise as well." Giles clucked his tongue as though admonishing a child caught stealing tarts.

The blush rose to full bloom on Lorielle's cheeks. He was deliberately embarrassing her. Furious, she lifted her chin to meet his amused stare.

"To destroy what is not one's own is less scandalous than selling what is not one's own, Mr. Copeland," she said heatedly. She was rewarded by a suffusion of color to his face; he looked away from her challenging gaze. The woman beside Mrs. Henderson gasped audibly. She was the wife of one of the merchants; Lorielle had seen her only at a distance and did not recall her name. This conversation would be repeated a dozen times by nightfall, she knew, but her pent-up frustration and anger would no longer be contained. As her father's partner, Giles had undoubtedly helped plan the Montrose affair. He must share the blame for her husband's status as a fugitive. Lorielle found herself more and more in sympathy with the Chinese war against opium. Men like Giles and her father had no regard for humanity.

General Milton cleared his throat and redirected the conversation. "Have the Volage or Hyacinth arrived yet, Mr. Copeland? I hear Elliot has called them up, since the Lame is off to India with dispatches."

Mollified by the chance to show his knowledge, Giles said, "Not yet, but they are due momentarily. When the Chinese have Her Majesty's frigates to deal with, they won't be as eager to fire upon our vessels."

'The two warships are for the purpose of protecting the colony at Hong Kong," Milton said. "To suggest we may be headed for war is frightening the ladies, sir."

Copeland shrugged and fell silent, occasionally casting glances in Lorielle's direction. She was totally lost in her own thoughts and ignored him. English warships were not called to guard people who were not in danger. If Captain Elliot believed them necessary, the threat of war was very real. War against the Chinese.

A gust of wind caught her bonnet and almost whipped it into the choppy water. She caught it and held it in her lap, letting her hair blow about like a wild mane. The morning haze had become a gray dome. In the west, black thunderheads rolled across the ridge toward the city. Far in the distance, a flash of eerie, cold lightning cut a jagged path across the sky.

Suddenly, Lorielle was very afraid for Spencer.

She stood on the forward deck of the Kingsman and lifted her face to the damp fog. Shivering under her cloak, she rubbed her arms to ward off the chill. The day had grown steadily more threatening, but the storm still had not broken. Lines cracked at the masts, and the flag snapped briskly at the peak. The harsh slap of waves against the hull measured the roll of the ship on the choppy waters. The day’s mugginess was trapped in the airless cabins and between decks. A dozen or more people had been assigned to each of the ships, most of which had cabin space for only half that number. Families with children had gotten first preference, and individuals were forced to share space. Lorielle was in a minuscule cabin with a bony, hawk-faced woman whose missionary husband was in Manila--and who fell to her knees to pray for his safety the moment she entered the cabin. With barely enough room to move past each other, it was impossible to shut out the droning sound of Loretta Hardin's pleas to the Almighty, and Lorielle fled the cabin quickly. Now, despite the damp cold, she could not force herself to return.

She had seen Major General Milton several times since boarding the Kingsman, but once he'd assured himself she was safely settled, he'd joined the other men in discussing the state of affairs. Occasionally, he caught Lorielle's eye and smiled benignly. She was grateful for their growing friendship. He was a link to news of Spencer, and she was sure that his presence deterred Giles from pressing his unwanted attention on her.

She chewed her lip as she thought about Giles. He had not mentioned her father, yet he must know he was back in Macao. Would he evacuate with the others? She had not seen him anywhere among the crowd at the waterfront, nor on the ships that had become a temporary home for so many.

Painfully, she recalled her fight with Spencer and the misguided loyalty that had made her try to dissuade him from his crusade. She knew now Spencer had been right all along ... the attempt to smuggle in opium had brought about the disaster he feared. And like it or not, every British subject was caught in the midst of it. She hugged her arms across her breasts and glanced about at the ghostly ships riding at anchor in the gray fog. Spencer...if only she could take back her stinging words ... If only she could hold him in her arms again and erase the anguish of that last hour together.

Heavy winds and rain delayed the departure from Typa for four days. When at last they sailed into Hong Kong Bay, Lorielle saw to her astonishment that sixty or seventy ships were gathered. She bad no idea the merchant fleet was so vast. To her horror, most of them were armed. The sight of cannon on so many decks gave her a feeling of dread. The presence of Her Majesty's warship Volage, which had escorted them from Typa, was an added ominous omen. She could not help worrying more and more about Spencer. She conferred with General Milton daily, but news was sparse. Talk centered mainly on the merchants' grievances. They were eager to ship out their cargoes of tea, but only a handful of Americans who had signed Commissioner Lin's bond were allowed up the river. The English were banned until such time as they agreed to he pledge which jeopardized their lives if they were ever again caught bringing in opium. Some had retreated to Mahla to set up business, but most refused to pay the extra tariff that the enterprising Americans demanded for transporting the tea from Canton to English ships. Nor would Captain Elliot name a murderer in the Kowloon affair. English justice had been carried out; if Lin did not accept that, be damned.

It quickly became apparent that the enforced exile was fraught with many of the same problems the English had Led at Macao. Food and water were in short supply; peasants who inhabited the fishing villages at Hong Kong and Kowloon refused to supply provisions to the Barbarians. When Captain Elliot sent a boatload of sailors to row ashore and fill the casks at freshwater springs, they discovered the wells posted with signs declaring the water was poisoned. Furious, Elliot sent Gutzlaff to the local mandarins to threaten reprisals if the fleet was not supplied with necessities. When the mandarins refused, Elliot issued an Ultimatum: either the ships got their supplies or they would sink the war junks in the harbor.

Word spread quickly. Many of the English endorsed Elliot's tactics, but many others were fearful, including a number of the women. Until now, the threat of war had been something chattered about over tea and afternoon sewing--but an exchange of gunfire right at hand was another matter. Loretta Hardin demanded that the captain of the Kingsman protest to Elliot. In turn, the captain suggested that the ladies retire to their cabins if they were too squeamish to watch a bit of action. As Elliot's deadline passed, men gathered at the rails to watch the cutter Louisa, a hired opium brigantine, the Pearl, and the pinnace from the Volage set out. The winds were too light for larger, more heavily armed warships, but Elliot was confident the three smaller ships could do the job. A cheer went up as Captain Smith in the pinnace fired a shot at one of the fearsomely painted war junks.

Lorielle's heart sank as the sound boomed across the bay. She shuddered as a ball splashed heavily into the water only several yards from the junk. A warning . ; . Let that be the end of it, she prayed. But it was as though the Chinese ships had been waiting. In seconds, they'd triced up their boarding nets and begun to close for action like ponderous, gaudy warriors. They opened fire immediately. The mainsail of the pinnace shredded in brown, curling smoke. Smith shouted for the fire to be returned. In moments, the bay echoed with the shriek and thunder of cannon. The Pearl came around to try for a broadside at one of the junks but was stopped by a new round of fire. The brigantine shuddered as her topgallant yard crashed in flames. She scurried back to the safety of her lines as her sister ships engaged the Chinese fire.

Major General Milton found Lorielle near the quarter-deck ladder. Her eyes were wide, but she showed none of the hysteria that gripped the other women. He tried to draw her inside.

"It's dangerous to stay here, my dear."

She resisted. "If we are to be bombarded, I prefer dying on deck rather than the cabin." At his worried look, she smiled to show her remark was not to be taken seriously.

"All the women are below."

"All the more reason to stay here," she insisted. "I cannot stand their weeping and wailing." With fascinated horror, she turned back to watch the fight. Smoke hung over the harbor in an acrid cloud, and the intervals between gunfire were pierced with screams of the wounded. "Will they fire on us, do you think?"

"They have their hands full. I doubt if any of the Chinese captains want to risk having a hundred more guns firing at them." Milton studied the maneuvering ships appraisingly. Elliot might have bitten off more than he could chew. Instead of being scared into submission, the Chinese were meeting the assault head on. The war junks carried ten gum apiece, some of them weighing over eight thousand pounds. Had they been designed for easier positioning, they could have destroyed the English ships with the first round of fire. As it was, they'd done considerable damage. Many of the English guns were knocked askew; blood ran in the scuppers and down the ships' sides.

The Louisa's cartridges were spent and she was drawing away. Boldly the junks gave chase. The Pearl quickly hove in stays on their starboard beam, and the air exploded with broadsides. The war junks took a pounding but returned for more, rocking on their broad hulls.

A cry went up from the men aboard the Kingsman as the Pearl fired a dismantling shot. Two iron balls plummeted across the range; the chain connecting them smashed the mainmast of the van junk, toppling it in a heavy screen of black smoke. The Pearl came about and scudded after the Louisa. Smoke drew a dark haze across the setting sun so it became a ball of fire at the horizon. Finally when the wind died, the junks repaired to the shelter of their battery.

Tension had built along Lorielle's spine until her neck was taut and her jaw clenched. Each shot was a dreadful reminder that Spencer had gone off to do battle. Was he still with Tse Hi's band of men? Was it possible that he might be fighting at that very moment? Fighting against his own countrymen? Sick at heart, she listened as the men at the rail shouted details of the battle.

"Fourteen wounded!" A groan went up.

Quickly, Lorielle said to General Milton, "They'll need nursing help. Will you tell the Captain I am ready to do what I can?"

As he went off, she saw Giles at the quarter-deck rail. He was gazing at the retreating junks with a curious expression. Lorielle was reminded of a folk tale her ayah used to tell about the fox that lured a tiger into its lair. When Giles turned, she looked away quickly.

For three days, Spencer Raymond and Wenwei had crisscrossed the delta to avoid Chinese patrols. They'd encountered the first less than an hour away from the Gentle Cloud. It had come by boat to the mouth of the estuary, where foot soldiers fanned out along both banks as the boat pushed upstream. They hid until the searchers passed, then detoured into the hills on a roundabout course. At dusk, Spencer concealed himself while Wenwei approached a tiny village and bartered for rice and a flacon of wine. The following day, Wenwei joined fishermen on the bank of a creek; he brought back a modest catch and the news that Commissioner Lin had formed a volunteer fleet of men and boats to patrol and raid. The payment of a few pounds a month--double if a man had a family--was attracting hundreds of fishermen as commandos. Even the smallest sampan might be a link in the chain of security Lin was forging.

Spencer lay on a grassy slope overlooking the Broadway. A battery of ships cordoned off the wide mouth of the estuary....eight war junks, and thirty or so fire-rafts loaded with wood, straw, saltpeter and sulfur. On a large island to the west, straw huts dotted the lush greenery, and smoke from dozens of campfires curled into the rinsed blue sky. He tried to estimate the strength of soldiers, but the hilly landscape formed deep, unfathomable pockets. There could be a hundred or a thousand men. Near the crest of a hill, coolies strained under loads of rock that were being used to build a magazine. Beneath a clump of acacia and bamboo, snouts of a dozen cannon poked out like accusing fingers.

Wenwei pointed at a ragged patrol making its way toward to a small cove. Sampan masts bobbed beyond a thicket as boatmen pulled in their anchors and made ready to shove off. When the soldiers climbed aboard, the boats slipped away like silent geese. The wind filled the sails, and the sampans glided downstream following the gentle curve of the island. From time to time, one nosed into shore and the soldiers scrambled out to poke and search among the weeds.

"They hunt Red Barbarians from the fast ships," Wenwei said softly.

Spencer studied the encampment. "How far inland do the soldiers camp?"

"Two days journey to the fort at Heang-shan."

Spencer calculated the overland distance to Macao. Even if they found a way across the Broadway, it was more than fifty miles. Fifty miles of territory that would probably be as well guarded as the rivers. And another concentration of defenses to pass at the Barrier Gate. Macao was effectively cut off from all sides.

"We’ll have to cross the bay," Spencer said. It would not be easy to elude the cruising junks, but it was a risk they had to take.

Wenwei's gaze shifted to the estuary. "There is a fishing village one day south. We can find a boat there." He did not question Spencer's decision.

Another day lost, but there was no help for that. Spencer nodded. Silently they moved back until the crest of the ridge hid them from the river below. Then they set out at a steady pace southward.

At dusk the following day, they reached the village. Spencer stayed hidden while Wenwei joined the fishermen who were spreading their nets to dry. In the houses along the bank, firelight flickered as women went about the work of preparing the evening meal. The aroma of frying fish made Spencer's belly ache with hunger. They'd had nothing all day but a few wild roots Wenwei dug and water from a small trickling stream. Ragged children ran along the bank with a yipping dog at their heels as Wenwei disappeared into a shack with two of the men. It seemed an eternity before he reappeared and made his way back.

"They are poor people. No man can lose a day's catch."

"You could not get a boat?" Would he be able to convince Wenwei to steal one?

"The old father of the village has a small vessel. He is too feeble to join the new army, but he has a desire to visit his sister in Macao. He will take us."

Spencer heaved a sigh of relief. "His price?"

'Six candareen. He will bring his net so that we will not go hungry." Wenwei peered at Spencer earnestly. "We leave when the moon climbs. Soldiers passed this way two days past. Everyone in the village knows of the ship that entered the waters of the Passage. The soldiers promise rice to feed the family of the man who delivers the Barbarians into their hands. If the old man does not look closely at your face until the dawn, it will be too late for him to turn back."

Spencer nodded. When they'd left the Gentle Cloud, Wenwei had produced a black square of cloth to hide the shock of pale hair that identified Spencer so readily. With his face smudged and grimy, he'd been able to get by any casual observer, but at close quarters it would be impossible. He wondered if Wenwei's loyalty would go as far as taking the boat by force if the old man tried to turn them in. He prayed it wouldn't be necessary to find out.

The boatman was astonished and frightened when he discovered his passenger was a Barbarian, but Wenwei enticed him to continue the journey with a promise of an additional three candareen when they reached Macao safely. But no amount of coaxing could induce the man to step up the leisurely pace he set. He spent several hours each morning fishing, and the catch supplied their food as well as giving the man an excuse to enjoy bartering at villages along the shore. Wenwei accompanied him to make sure he didn't reveal their presence to the local police, while Spencer hid under the straw matting and awaited their return. A heavy rain began on the second day and they were forced to put in at a sheltered cove and wait for calmer seas. In all, the journey took eight days, but at last they sighted the Inner Port.

Wenwei pointed out a secluded spot at the north end of the anchorage where they were least likely to draw attention. He was still worried that the boatman would talk; even in Macao the Chinese might be looking for the men who had sailed the Gentle Cloud.

They left the boatman at Neang-ma Ko overlooking the Inner Harbor. As he made his way up the stone steps to the temple to give thanks to the Queen of Heaven for his safe return from the sea, Spencer and Wenwei slipped into the squalid streets that sprawled around the high rocky point. At the Fortaleza do Monte, Wenwei halted.

"I spend the night at the house of my father's cousin." He indicated a narrow street angling sharply away from the crest.

"I thank you, comrade," Spencer said gratefully. "God willing, we’ll meet again one day in more peaceful times."

He returned Wenwei's bow, then watched until he had disappeared in the dusky shadows. Turning, he quickly made his way down the hill toward the Praia Grande.

The proprietor of the Pousada de Macao was amazed to see him. "Senor! What has happened? The others—they have gone to Hong Kong. I cannot allow--I'm sorry--" He shrugged mournfully and spread his hands.

Spencer frowned and tried to make sense of the man's babbling. "Where is my wife?" he demanded.

"The British have gone to Hong Kong. Captain Elliot ordered them to your ships because Commissioner Lin forbids them to remain in Macao." He gestured again to indicate the matter was clearly beyond his province.

Spencer had noted the absence of English merchantmen in the harbor, but in his eagerness to see Lorielle, he hadn't given it more than a passing thought. Now he realized the innkeeper was telling him both ships and people had evacuated to Hong Kong. He questioned the man about his personal effects and learned they were still in the room he and Lorielle had occupied. He insisted on being allowed to bathe and don fresh clothing.

Within the hour, he was making his way to the Select House. At the inn, he tried to hail a carriage, but seeing he was English, frightened coachmen passed him by. Two ragged urchins in a doorway near the inn's entrance watched him curiously, then scampered off as though they too were frightened of him. Angrily, he strode toward the ridge.

At the Select House, he found the wide front door standing open. Clerks were carrying out boxes of linens and utensils.

"Who's in charge here?" Spencer demanded.

One of them jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Captain Elliot's inside. The rest have gone to the merchantmen."

Inside, Spencer found Charles Elliot talking to a portly Frenchman dressed in a gray morning coat and striped trousers. Both men looked at him in surprise.

Elliot scowled. "You're English," he said.

"That I am," Spencer declared, "and there seem to be damned few around. I'm told you ordered them to Hong Kong."

"I did."

"By what authority?"

"I beg your pardon, sir!" Elliot fumed. "You dare to ask me that question? Who the devil are you?"

"The name is Spencer Raymond, lieutenant with Her Majesty's Royal Navy, presently on leave."

The portly man opened his eyes wide and rubbed his sidewhiskers. When Elliot did not recognize the name immediately, he said, "None other than the fugitive captain of the Gentle Cloud, Charles." He studied Spencer speculatively.

Elliot's face turned a deep crimson and his eyes bulged. "You captained that ship?"

Spencer smiled ruefully. "I see the story has preceded me into Macao."

"You stole a British merchantman!" Elliot sounded incredulous.

It was a matter of semantics, but there was no point arguing. Spencer shrugged.

Elliot sputtered, but the portly man laughed heartily.

"I think the answer to the problem you posed earlier has been dropped in your lap, Charles," he said.

"Nonsense, Delaurier!"

"Were you not bemoaning your need of an expert naval man? Lieutenant Raymond not only has experience and knowledge, he has a talent for surprise tactics that keep the enemy off guard." He gave Spencer an appraising glance. "Assuming of course that Lieutenant Raymond is still loyal to Her Majesty," he said sarcastically.

"My loyalty to Her Majesty has never been questioned," Spencer replied.

Elliot snorted. "Your action against one of our fleet was nothing short of treason!"

"The Gentle Cloud is a private merchantmen, Captain Elliot, not one of Her Majesty's ships," Spencer corrected. '"To prevent opium from being smuggled at a time when it could push our nation into war with China is more an act of patriotism than treason." He regarded Elliot coolly.

For a moment, Elliot was flustered. Delaurier broke the tension with another hearty burst of laughter.

"He has a point, Charles. As the esteemed Mr. Henry of the Colonies remarked, 'If this be treason, make the most of it,' eh?"

Elliot pursed his lips as his anger cooled. "Where have you been since the Montrose incident, Mr. Raymond? The Cambridge reported your ship in the Inner Passage. .. ."

Spencer nodded. "We had not only the Cambridge to elude but a Chinese war junk. With a damaged ship, we could not hope to outrun both of them. We slipped into one of the smaller channels and abandoned the ship there. It has taken me some time to make my way back."

Elliot's brews climbed. "Not an easy task, I dare say."

"I managed."

"And your Chinese crew?"

"I did not ask their destination."

"I see.... Tell me, Mr. Raymond, what prompted you to give your efforts to this cause? Although we have had amicable relations with the Chinese in the past, few of us are tempted to join the enemy's fight now."

"Are you against the move to eradicate opium, Captain Elliot?" Spencer asked pointedly.

Elliot flushed. "Let us say I am in sympathy with both sides, but my job is to protect British subjects. Ever since that first encounter with the war junks at Hong Kong--"

Fighting at Hong Kong? Were any civilians aboard the merchant ships hurt?" Spencer demanded quickly.

"No, but a goodly number of our men were wounded." He described the incident at Kowloon. "I'm afraid no one will be able to vouch for anyone's safety if we do not stop Lin soon. Most of the fleet has already sailed to the Bogue to pick up their shipments of tea. The damned Americans are charging a stiff tariff for ferrying it down from Canton, and our captains are not happy with the situation. And now the Thomas Coutts has broken the pact not to enter the river. Her captain, Mr. Daniell, has taken a cargo of cotton and rattan through the Bogue and signed Lin's bond. Now that he's found one trader fool enough to break our common front, Lin is demanding that every other merchant follow suit or quit the coast in three days. Three days, Mr. Raymond. so you see why it is imperative to find a way to break through the blockade and reestablish ourselves on the river."

Spencer frowned. "Have the women an children gone north with the fleet?"

"With Macao unsafe, they had no choice," Elliot said

"You could have sent them to Manila or Singapore!" Spencer answered hotly. "Is there not one captain among them with a conscience enough to undertake such a mission of mercy? You are imperiling innocent lives--the very lives you say you are so concerned about protecting!"

"Come now, Mr. Raymond," Elliot said irritably. The Chinese are no match for our ships or guns. Well have them on the run in short order. The ladies are happier here with their men than at Singapore where they'd worry all the more for lack of news. The sooner we show Lin we mean business, the sooner he’ll back down and restore harmony in Macao and Canton."

How quickly Elliot forgot his defeat at Kowloon, Spencer thought wryly. The Bogue would be more strongly prepared for battle than the smattering of war junks near Hong Kong. Any attempt to break through Lin's defenses would result in war, whether Elliot wanted to admit it or not.

Delaurier had been watching Spencer curiously. Now he said, "Captain Elliot needs a man of your skills, Mr. Raymond. You understand the Chinese. You would be invaluable in finding a means to penetrate the blockade."

Spencer wondered what stake the Frenchman had in the outcome of the English trade. He seemed determined to encourage Elliot: "I’m sorry, gentlemen, my conscience will not permit me to take part in such a plan. I am on leave from Her Majesty's service, and only direct orders from the Admiralty can force me into action. I am loyal to any cause our nation undertakes, but I cannot play a part in an action that may force it into war. Lord Palmerston may overlook a skirmish fought in the heat of exasperation, such as the one at Hong Kong, but he can hardly ignore a formal assault led by Her Majesty's warships!"

"You dare--!" Elliot sputtered.

"I dare because it is vital we do everything possible to avoid pushing Lin into open confrontation. If we penetrate his defenses on the river, what then? Will he withdraw peaceably? No, gentlemen, he will fight all the harder. You give me credit for understanding the Chinese way of thinking, Monsieur Delaurier. Believe me, then, that until the matter of trade and the question of opium have been settled by peaceful means, there, will be no rest on either side. We've bled this nation and manipulated it long enough. We must restore our honor and theirs."

Elliot stared in amazement. He'd hoped to find an ally and instead had been denounced.

"I have no quarrel with honest merchants, but I will not condone smuggling nor force a way to Canton," Spencer said. "If you want to negotiate a peaceful settlement, I will be glad to give whatever assistance I can. In the meantime, is there a ship heading up the bay? I have a wife aboard one of the merchantmen, and her safety is my most vital concern."

Elliot was still smarting under the unexpected rebuke. Delaurier again breached the gap.

"The Hyacinth sails in the morning. Surely, Charles," he said with a smile at Elliot, "you won't deny Mr. Raymond passage."

Elliot looked astonished for a moment, then glanced at Spencer speculatively. "Very well, but I remind you, sir, it is one of Her Majesty's vessels and I am in command of her."

Spencer ignored the gibe. "At what hour does she sail?"

"Eight."

"Thank you, sir. Gentlemen...." Spencer offered a formal salute and took his leave. The news disturbed him. If Elliot sent frigates against the Chinese, their superior strength and weapons would assure victory, but not before the Bogue ran red with both Chinese and English blood. And if it came to war, he could not refuse to serve his country. Sadly, he wondered if Tse Hi and the others had joined Lin's forces.

It had grown dark, and the streets around the Select House were strangely quiet. No lights shone at the windows of the houses on the ridge, and no ring of dinner conversation disturbed the night. The British sector was a spectral ghost city. He made his way down the hill.

Thank God Lorielle was safe. As soon as he found her, he'd find a way to send her out of danger until they could sail for England. American ships were not impeded by the embargo. Perhaps he could arrange passage for her to Manila, where she could wait for him.

He was engrossed in thought and was only dimly aware of the soft sound of bare feet on the stones. Suddenly, a small figure darted across the path from a dark doorway. For a moment, the child turned to stare at Spencer, whose senses came alert as he recognized one of the half-breed ragamuffins he'd seen outside the Pousada de Macao. The child vanished into an alley as abruptly as he'd appeared. A cold tingle raced along Spencer's spine. The boy had followed him--he was sure. With animal instinct, he moved to the center of the street, away from the deep shadows of the centuries-old Portuguese houses with their overhanging balconies and secluded courtyards. He strained to hear any sound that would alert him to danger, but only the call of the night crickets broke the stillness.

Suddenly, the shadows exploded as a looming figure burst toward him. Moonlight glinted on the steel blade of a dagger. Spencer threw himself to the ground and rolled as the knife swooped. The blade skimmed past and struck sparks on the cobblestones. The attacker grunted and bounded to his feet like a cat, raising the dagger again before Spencer could scramble up. He pulled back his legs and aimed a vicious kick at the mountainous assailant descending on him. The man's breath whooshed like a gale. For a moment, his heavy bulk balanced on Spencer's feet, pressing his knees hard against his chest. With a surge, Spencer thrust upward and sent him sprawling.

But he was like an enraged bull. As Spencer leaped to his feet, the man sprang again with a fearsome cry. Spencer chopped the edge of his hand across the man's wrist, but the blow was as ineffectual as a whisper of wind against a mountain. The tower of flesh toppled and dragged him to the ground.. The blade winked. With every ounce of strength he could summon, Spencer crashed his fist against the man's throat.

For a moment, the tableau was frozen in stopped motion. The massive head loomed above Spencer's face, the hand with its menacing weapon poised only inches from its target. The man made a gurgling sound, then a strangled whimper. Spencer struck again. There was no resistance this time. The big man toppled sideways and crashed to the pavement.

Gasping, Spencer got up and peered at the still figure. There was barely enough light to distinguish his face but Spencer knew he'd never seen him before. The man's ugly features were twisted in agonized pain, the eyes open and staring helplessly. Bloody spittle oozed at the corner of the slack mouth and ran into an unkempt black beard. A footpad who'd seen him by chance? Not likely. The man meant to kill him, no doubt about that. Remembering the strange urchin who'd followed him from the inn, Spencer wondered who had marked him for murder.

Chapter 21

The rocking of the Kingsman tortured Lorielle's senses monotonously. She stared at the mildewed ceiling above the narrow bunk where a murky reflection from the window played shadows across the whitewashed planks. How she longed for the sun and the feel of solid ground beneath her feet! The crowded quarters and the enforced companionship of women like Loretta Hardin had sapped her patience. In the lower bunk, the missionary's wife snored peacefully. The noise echoed in the tiny cubicle like-a distant drum roll. Lorielle sighed. It was better than the woman's incessant chatter and prayers.

She gazed through the dirty glass at the leaden sky. Was there any truth to the rumor that they would be allowed to return to Macao soon? The story cropped up every few days, but so far nothing had come of it. Each report that Macao had settled back to its peaceful existence was quickly countered by news of skirmishes in the bay or attacks by Chinese forces at the Bogue.

The chipper ships were beginning to sail north. Americans were bringing down the tea, and the merchants were impatient to get back to England, The fleet was gathering just below the Bogue, since captains still refused to meet Lin's conditions that would permit them to enter. Some of the ships housing refugees had already gone, and the captain of the Kingsman was impatient to join them. He had delayed departure only because the ship had been pressed into service as an infirmary for the wounded, and the women implored him to stay at Hong Kong until the danger was past.

Lorielle stretched cautiously. For a moment, she pressed her hands against the ceiling that seemed to close in on her relentlessly. The boredom and inactivity of ship life left her an abundance of time to worry about Spencer. She had terrifying nightmares in which she saw him bobbing on a cresting wave, his golden hair stained with blood. She cried out his name and rushed toward him, but the wave carried him beyond her reach. Then the cold, swirling sea closed over her. She woke in a cold sweat, and a desperate longing for Spencer filled her. A thousand times, she berated herself for her angry words. And a thousand times more, she prayed for his safe return.

She eased herself out of bed so as not to waken the sleeping woman in the lower bunk. In the ghostly light of dawn, she dressed and let herself out of the cabin. On deck, she listened to the clatter of the clew irons and the creak of the mast. The deck was deserted except for two sailors sluicing the scuppers with sea water. The air was heavy and humid under a blanket of gray wool clouds. The wind carried a spray of sea water, and she welcomed its coolness. Her early-morning jaunt topside was the single bit of pleasure left to her. Soon the ship would come alive and the dreary day would begin.

She walked round the deck at a brisk pace, easing her cramped muscles. Near the 'tween-decks companionway, she became aware of the soft moans of the injured men quartered below. She grimaced, remembering the man named Moss who'd been brought on for medical care. A Jardine-Matheson ship had come into the harbor four days earlier, towing a schooner that had been attacked by seven boatloads of Chinese. The entire lascar crew had been killed save one, who had jumped into the water and clung to the rudder. Moss, the ship's single passenger, had been left for dead after being savagely beaten and having his left ear severed and stuffed in his mouth. The poor man would survive, but his ordeal would scar his mind forever. None of the women had been permitted to tend him until after the ship's surgeon bound his wounds and settled him with a heavy dose of laudanum, but his wretched state struck at Lorielle's heart. Recalling Luan's gentle nature and Tse Hi's compassion for their dying father, she could not correlate such a savage side of Chinese nature with their inherent serenity. It was as if some ugly beast lay hold on China and would not be slain.

She made another turn around the deck as the ship began to come to life for the new day. Peering across the fog-shrouded harbor, she was surprised to see the Volage setting sail. Captain Elliot had gone to Macao on the Hyacinth two days before, but none of the other ships had moved for days. Her heart leaped with hope. Maybe the trouble was over and they'd be allowed to return to Macao. She watched a long boat pull away from the departing frigate and head for the nearest merchantman. A man in the bow cupped his hands and hallowed until a sailor appeared at the ladder, then shouted some news. The sailor stood transfixed for a moment before rushing toward the captain's cabin. The longboat pulled away and moved to the next ship in the line, where he again shouted his tidings. By the time he reached the Kingsman, a dozen people were eagerly pressed to the rail to hear the news.

"Elliot's going to the Bogue! It's war!"

By midday, the atmosphere aboard the Kingsman was tense and expectant. The story of Thomas Coutts was told and retold, with variations from its peaceful sailing up the Pearl to a raging fight in which it was attacked by a dozen Chinese boats, its crew captured and lashed to the masts like pennants as a warning to the foolhardy British. Able-bodied men gathered on one of the merchantmen as volunteers to join the fray. Across the harbor, the patrolling war junks were an ominous reminder that the war at the Bogue was not as Ear removed as it seemed.

The following morning, the sound of distant cannonading rumbled across the Hong Kong Harbor. Lorielle, who was doing a turn at nursing duty, listened with a heavy heart. One of her patients stirred and stared wide-eyed into the gloom of the crews quarters which had been converted to an infirmary. The lad had been injured in the fight with the three war junks over the watering rights. He'd taken a blast of grape shot across the shoulder and head, and his wounds were festering under the crude bandages the women had been able to fashion. There was no medicine left except for laudanum to ease the pain. Lorielle prepared a dose,. but the sailor turned his face when she tried to press it to his lips.

"Guns …?" he whispered.

"It's only a bit of thunder," she lied, hoping to reassure him. "It's going to rain again, but if you rest, I’ll see if you can't be taken up on deck for a bit of air before it comes."

The 'tween-decks cabin was musty and foul with the stench of suppurating wounds. The lad tossed restlessly and she tried to coax the laudanum on him. "Poor bastards," he moaned. He looked at her with pain-filled eyes. "Why's they so stubborn, ma'm? Caint they see we're tryin' to help them? It's fer their own good."

Lorielle said gently, "Their ways have not changed for centuries." How could anyone explain the differences between the ancient feudal culture and England's? Could anyone justify demanding one civilization adopt the customs of another? Was happiness to be weighed only on a scale of one's own judgment? Her heart ached for the beautiful people who were being prostituted for England's "progress." If China's beauty and serenity were destroyed and a new way of life forced upon them, who could say if the Chinese people would be better off?

She forced a smile and lifted his head. ''Take this now and I’ll see about having you taken topside for a bit." She coaxed until he had swallowed the potion, then lay his head back gently. When at last he closed his eyes and drifted into a stupor, she went on deck. She paused to wash her hands in a bucket of sea water that had been placed at the top of the stairs. Stretching wearily and rubbing the small of her back, she stood at the rail listening to the faint boom of cannon. She wished that Major General Milton had not gone off with the other men. His presence was reassuring, and his analysis of events always had a soothing effect on her tortured mind.

Absently, she watched a dinghy being rowed toward the Kingsman. The few ships that remained in the harbor had become a close-knit family, and visits and news were exchanged often. It was as if their isolation forged a common bond that must not be broken.

As the dinghy neared, she saw with a start that her father was seated in the bow. She had not seen him since she fled the house in Canton, but strangely, her anger at him had ebbed. She was no longer afraid of him as she watched him climb the ladder.

"Hello, Father."

"Lorielle!" He rushed to her and took her arms to peer at her, much the way he had when she and her mother had first landed in Canton. "How good it is to see you," he said. "I cannot tell you how much I have worried about you."

She thought of her own concern for his safety when Spencer and Tse Hi had gone after the Montrose. "It's wonderful to see you, Father. I hope you've been well."

"I have. And I must say you look fit. When I didn't know where you'd run off to, I feared all sorts of calamities. I was frantic when I could uncover no trace of you."

"I warned you that I would not marry Giles Copeland," she said without rancor.

He glanced away and his lips twitched nervously, but he seemed to throw off his guilt quickly. He sighed. "So you did. I had no idea you felt so strongly, believe me. I did what I thought best--"

"It's not important anymore, Father."

He smiled wryly. "I hear that you are married" He shook his head as though unable to believe she'd become such an independent woman.

"Very happily."

"I would not have chosen Raymond for you, but you preferred making your own decision." He smiled again but there was still a hardness in his eyes. "Well, if you are happy, that is what matters."

She was amazed by his partial blessing. After Spencer's part in the destruction of the Montrose cargo, she expected her father to damn him with every breath. Perhaps he was mellowing in attitude, just as she had.

"In a manner of speaking, your marriage is what brings me here," he said with a frown. "I have just come from Macao. Your husband is there."

"Is he all right?" Relief and excitement flooded her in a swift tide, and everything was driven from her mind but Spencer.

"He is fine, from all reports, and eager to see you."

"You saw him?"

"Not personally, but a gentleman of my acquaintance was at the Select House when Raymond--excuse me, my dear, your husband--came there in search of a ship to bring him to Hong Kong, and you."

"Where is he now? Why didn't he come?" To know that he was so close brought a rush of questions from her lips--but only one answer mattered: Spencer was all right!

"At the moment, he's lending his talents to advising Captain Elliot on strategy concerning the outbreak of fighting at Chuenpi."

Her heart sank. "Has he gone north to fight?"

"He's in Macao and wants you to join him there. The city is quiet and the Governor is ready to welcome back the exiles."

She sighed with relief. Good news at last! "I must tell the others."

He restrained her enthusiasm. "Not a word. These things must come through official channels, my dear. It will be a day or two before the Governor's envoy comes with the news." He gave her a conspiratorial wink. "But I did not think you'd want to wait that long to see your husband. If you wish, you can accompany me back to my ship and we'll be underway in an hour."

"Yes! Oh, yes!" Her doubts and reservations about her father were tossed aside quickly. She was on her way to be reunited with Spencer!

"Gather your things, you won't be coming back," he advised. "And remember, not a word to the other women. They’ll hear the good news soon enough."

The terrible wait was over! Eagerly she rushed to the cabin to pack her belongings. To her relief, Loretta Hardin was gone and there was no need to explain her hasty preparations for departure. In a quarter of an hour she was back on deck. At the entry port, her father helped her into the dinghy. Then the sailors were plying the oars stoutly and they were skimming across the bay. With a sigh, Lorielle glanced back at the Kingsman. She felt as though she had been delivered from purgatory. Her only regret was that she hadn't been able to share the good news with the other women. But she was delighted with her own good fortune, and could think of nothing but seeing Spencer. Her father said he was eager to see her. She felt enormously relieved that he wasn't angry, and she vowed that she would never have cross words with him again. Wrong though his actions had been, in one thing he was right: the life the Chinese had always known was destined to change. The outside world could not be shut out forever.

They passed the last of the merchantmen and neared a ship flying a French flag. Unlike the big Indiamen designed to carry as much cargo as possible, it was a sleek vessel designed for speed. The dinghy drew up to the ladder, and a sailor grabbed the gunwales. On deck, they were greeted by a portly gentleman with dark sidewhiskers.

"Cherie," he said, taking her hand and pressing it he tween his. "I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you again. Welcome aboard the Joyau."

Lorielle felt an unaccountable tingle of apprehension. "Good morning, Monsieur Delaurier." She was surprised to see him, and she could not shake the growing anxiety that gripped her.

The ladder and dinghy were pulled up, and the winch creaked under the weight off he anchor. Sailors climbed the rigging, and the mate shouted orders in it rapid burst of French. The ship began to gather way.

Delaurier smiled. "Let me show you to your cabin, cherie."

"For so short a journey, I do not require accommodations," she said quickly. She looked about for her father, but he had walked to the forward rail and was staring across the water. Delaurier took her arm patronizingly.

"It is foolish not to be comfortable, non? Come, rest yourself. Breakfast will be served shortly." He guided her aft to the main companionway. It was richly paneled in cherrywood adorned with carved scrolls and fleurs de lis. Overhead, three rectangular skylights diffused the murky light and made the wood glow with a rich luster. Six cabins, three to a side, opened from the passage; Delaurier led her to the rear port. He opened the door and stood back with a smile.

"I trust you will find everything you need."

The cabin was elegantly appointed, an intimate salon rather than the meager accommodations most ships offered. Velvet draperies the color of cinnamon bark were tied back at the wide windows. Comfortable chairs stood around a gimbaled table where a cut-glass decanter and glasses stood. A large wardrobe was built into one corner of the paneled woodwork, and a comfortable-looking bed with a gold velvet spread and ecru curtains that could be drawn occupied an inside wall. The room was more plush than most captains' sea-going domains.

She turned to express her appreciation, sorry that she had mistrusted Delaurier. Her breath caught sharply.

"Good morning, Lorielle." Giles Copeland smiled triumphantly as he closed the cabin door.

Her eyes narrowed and her neck corded. The premonition that began when she saw Delaurier congealed to cold anger. Her father had tricked her! She raised her chin and met Giles' gaze boldly.

"Good morning, Giles. My father did not tell me that you would be traveling with us, but then you two have always had your secrets, haven't you?"

"Your father and I are business partners. Naturally there--"

"You both deal in human misery!" she accused. "Mine as well as the unfortunates who depend on the opium you sell! Were you 'partner' to the Monrrose scheme? Yes, I'm sure you were. You would not balk at an underhanded plan that has plunged us into war!" Her anger spilled forth uncontrollably. Seeing Giles so unexpectedly crystallized her hatred for the opium traffic to diamond hardness. Unscrupulous men like Giles and her father were destroying a beautiful people and a beautiful country. They could not be excused on the grounds of ignorance--they were motivated by nothing but greed!

"Stop prattling like a ninny," he sneered. "The opium business has kept you all your life! Give a thought to the comforts you've always enjoyed and the things you've taken for granted. Your father has been in the trade since before you were born. His background as a shopkeeper in London never would have provided the kind of life he's given you. Our partnership--which you speak of so derisively—is now enabling him to return to England and enjoy wealth you have never dreamed of!"

She drew a sharp breath. "I want none of it! As you probably know, my father is no longer guardian of my life or welfare. I am married, and I shall live with my husband--quite independent of my father's ill-gotten gains." She cast him a contemptuous look. "And quite safe from your odious advances and intentions. Now, I will thank you to leave. Monsieur Delaurier has offered me the use of this cabin for the duration of the trip to Hong Kong. I prefer its pleasant solitude to your company." She turned her back to him and fussed with the glasses on the table until she heard him go out. Quickly she went to bolt the door, but discovered to her amazement that there was no lock. She blew an exasperated breath. If Giles returned, she would simply walk out and spend the few hours' sailing time on deck. Once in Macao, she never wanted to see Giles or her father again. Angrily, she sat in one of the gold-cushioned chairs and watched the door.

A half hour later, a jacketed cabin boy tapped and announced he'd brought her breakfast. She had him put the tray on the table, then glanced along the companionway before shutting the door. There was no sign of Giles or her father. Finally she seated herself and ate heartily of the flaky croissants, hot plum jam and delicious aromatic coffee. When they made port, she would leave the ship and never look back. She would close the door on the past forever.

Time seemed at a standstill. On a fast ship like the Joyau, she hoped for a swift journey, but to her restless mind, it seemed much longer than the trip across had been. She began to walk about the cabin, pausing on each turn around to glance through the window for a glimpse of Macao. The weather had not improved, and the ship was shrouded in misty fog. From time to time, she made out the gray horizon. She peered at every dark spot where the sky met the sea, but Macao's steep hills did not come into view. Her impatience gave way to growing anxiety. At last she went on deck, unable to stand the confines of the cabin

The wind whipped her ebony hair like a thousand slender lashes. She brushed it back and clasped it tightly with one hand as she made her way to the bow. At the rail, her eyes swept the gloomy vista of churning sea. They should have reached Macao by now. Even allowing for all her impatience, she knew they had been underway more than enough time to cross the few miles from Hong Kong. Over the sound of water rushing past the hull, she heard the ship's bell ring noon. Alarmed, she hurried to the companionway and rapped smartly on the first door.

"Entrez."

She flung the door open. Monsieur Delaurier, Giles and her father were seated around a mahogany table that was the focal point of the sumptuous cabin. A brandy decanter on a silver tray stood in the center amid a sheaf of papers that were spread for their inspection. Each of them held a partially emptied glass of liquor in his hand. They smiled as she marched in.

"Ah, cherie," Delaurier said without rising. "Come, join us." He indicated an empty chair. "A little sherry before we dine?"

"Where are we?" she demanded. "Why haven't we come in sight of Macao?" She looked from one face to another, demanding an answer.

Her father looked away uncomfortably, while Giles' mouth curled in amusement.

"My dear Lorielle--"

"Where are we?" she demanded.

Delaurier shrugged and looked at the other two men. "the lady is no longer deceived, m'sieurs. Perhaps the time for truth has come, non?"

Thunderstruck, Lorielle stared. Her heart was racing at a mad pace and the heat of the cabin suddenly seemed overwhelming. Her father raised his head slowly and his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond her.

"We are returning to Calcutta. From there, well sail for England," he said.

"But you told me we were going to Macao! Spencer—!" She realized how hollow the words sounded and how futile they were. The three had conspired against her! Her father had deliberately lied to entice her to leave Hong Kong willingly!

Giles' smile became a cruel sneer. "Your husband has met with an unfortunate accident. We regret to tell you he is dead." He seemed to relish each word.

Lorielle shook her head to deny what she had heard. It couldn't be true-Spencer could not be dead! Her brain numbed with shock and horror, and a fit of trembling seized her. Giles rose and started toward her, one hand outstretched, the malevolent smile still on his face.

Blindly, she turned and ran out the door, then along the passage to her cabin where she flung herself across the bed. There the dam of tears burst. "Spencer," she sobbed helplessly. Her pulse became a resounding gong in her ears. Misery washed over her like a tidal wave and dashed her to its desolate shores. She'd been able to endure the past weeks only because she knew she would see him soon. She had lived in hope. How could fate deal this cruel blow?

She sat up suddenly and wiped her eyes. Her father and Giles had told so many lies this might be another! She grasped at the tiny glimmer of hope and hugged it to her bruised heart. But with no one else to turn to for information, she could not confirm her suspicion. And already the Joyau was well past Macao.

Tears brimmed again and she lay back as sobs shook her slender body. She could not believe Spencer was dead Without him, life had no spark. She pressed her tear swollen eyes to the pillow and wept in abandon.

Spencer looked across the blue-gray water. Dark clouds hung on the horizon like dirty tufts of cotton, and a brisk wind whipped the water to choppy waves edged with frothing whitecaps. The Hyacinth had already passed Lankit and Boat Island. Ahead, the bay narrowed between the hills of Taikoktow and the headland of Chuenpi. The throng of Chinese boats that filled the river during the destruction of the opium had been replaced by a war fleet. Fifteen huge junks, with fresh coats of red and black paint and red-muzzled cannon, and fourteen fire ships loaded with firewood, straw, saltpeter and sulfur, were strung along the mouth of the river like a poised scimitar. Beyond Chuenpi, where the eastern shore of the river fell back to form Anson's Bay, a dozen stone barges were moored where they could easily be towed out into the narrow entrance of the upper river. At either side of the Wangtong islands in the center, twin junks were positioned to draw up the heavy chain connecting their sterns to reinforce the barricade.

Below the mouth of the Bogue, the British merchantmen rode at anchor like waiting vultures. Since the Thomas Coutts had gone upriver, no American ships had come past the Chinese flotilla, and the impatient English captains chafed at the additional delay. The presence of the Macao refugees aboard the merchantmen did little to ease the tensions.

Captain Elliot, who was still piqued at Spencer's refusal to lend aid in the campaign, tried several times during the voyage north to make him reconsider. Rejected, he did little to make the trip pleasant. He reminded Spencer on several occasions that the Hyacinth was a warship, and if Lieutenant Raymond did not activate his service to Her Majesty, his affairs were of no concern to the men aboard, least of all to Elliot. Raymond would have to make his own inquiries about his wife--or any other concerns he had.

Spencer found the first mate more agreeable. Avery was a burly, red-headed man with huge hands. His jacket was always turned up at the collar so that his head seemed to rest directly on his shoulders. He'd served on slave traders along the African coast before coming to China, and he shared Spencer's opinion that the two trades were alike in many ways. But he agreed with Elliot that force was the remedy.

"I don't say they should be forced to use opium. Their lives are their own, and if there are some willing to buy, let them. If men want to smoke, let them. The Emperor is hiding his head under a basket if he believes he can prevent free trade. China's got to catch up with the rest of the world, Mr. Raymond. No nation can survive in isolation in this day and age."

"They are paying a high price for something they don't want," Spencer said.

Avery grinned wryly. "Maybe so ... but it's got to come."

When they reached the Bogue, Spencer was surprised by a request from Elliot to join him in the chart room. Elliot, Captain Smith of the Volage, and two merchantmen captains were gathered around the big table where a map of the Bogue was marked with pins to designate the positions of the two flotillas.

"If you’ve asked me here to discuss my convictions, Captain Elliot, the matter is closed. You have reminded me that aboard Her Majesty's ships, you are in command. I have no quarrel with that. If my presence aboard is an embarrassment to you, I will gladly remove myself to one of the merchantmen to join the other exiles." He looked around at the captains, and they were silent when confronted with such directness.

Elliot cleared his throat "I asked you here to discuss a compromise, Mr. Raymond. We disagree on the vital issues, but we share your concern over your wife's safety. I have asked these gentlemen if she is aboard any of their vessels."

Spencer looked around expectantly. Elliot went on. "She is not . I know you are disappointed to hear that."

"I was told all the refugees had come to the Bogue," Spencer said.

"Almost all, Mr. Raymond," a sparse man with an abundant brown beard said. The wounded could not be moved .The Ktngsman was outfitted as an infirmary and stayed behind at Hong Kong. The rest of us have promised to share the burden of the heavy freights the captain of the Kingsman will suffer by waiting for his tea at Hong Kong."

"And my wife?" Spencer asked.

"Aboard the Kingsman. Several of the women remained to tend the wounded."

Elliot jutted his lip. "I regret this information was not available in Macao so I could spare you an unnecessary journey, Mr. Raymond. The best I can do now is offer your passage on the first ship returning south."

"You spoke of a compromise," Spencer said guardedly.

Elliot nodded. 'The situation here has grown serious. There's been no word from the Thomas Coutts since she entered the river. Lin's issued an ultimatum that any captain who does not agree to trade under the conditions he's set must quit Canton Bay immediately. He has also refused our request that we be allowed ashore to replenish our food and water supplies. Now I have learned that Captain Towns of the Royal Saxon intends to follow the Thomas Coutts' example and take his cargo into the Pearl. He carries no opium and feels no obligation to honor our pact. His move will strengthen Lin's position tenfold."

"Two hostages instead of one…?"

"Exactly," Elliot said. "Towns is determined, and our arrival does not seem to deter him. We’ll fire a warning shot across her bow, but if Towns ignores it, we have little choice but to engage the Chinese."

Spencer mentally reviewed the battery of Chinese ships. They were in a position to offer protection to the Saxon if she chose to enter the Bogue, but the fireboats were also positioned to attack readily. Under cover of darkness, the flotilla could be destroyed before the Volage and Hyacinth could come about to them. Elliot was watching him intently. It came down to a matter of guessing rightly what Admiral Kuan would do.

As though reading Spencer's thoughts, Elliot added, "Both Lin and Kuan are still both insisting that the murderous barbarian who killed Lin Wei-hsi be given up. I don’t need to tell you that's out of the question. Kuan has gotten the notion that the man he wants is aboard the Royal Saxon." He pursed his lips and frowned.

Spencer recognized the name of the man killed at Kowloon. If Kuan took a notion to board the Saxon in search of the guilty sailor, it wouldn't matter if his information was right or wrong. He'd take an innocent victim as readily as the guilty party. A life for a life. ...

Captain Smith spoke. "The time for argument is passed. Either we drive the war junks back up the river or we admit that Lin has us hog-tied. And I, Mr. Raymond, will never concede that."

Elliot selected a letter on heavy parchment, from the papers on the table. It bore the seal of Lord Palmerston. "We will not concede anything, Mr. Raymond. Help is on the way, so it behooves us to hold our position at all costs. We intend to prevent the Royal Saxon from entering the river if possible, short of firing upon her. If Captain Warner goes through, I intend to engage the Chinese. We’ve had enough of diplomacy. The time for argument has passed. What's to stop Kuan's fireships from slipping past and wreaking havoc some night? If Kuan won't withdraw his fleet, it must be forced back."

Spencer knew that Elliot's authority had been badly undermined by the Coutts and was being threatened again by the Saxon. If two broke, others would be tempted to follow.

A bold move was needed to reestablish Elliot's power and let him hold off until Palmerston's forces arrived. It was no longer a question of whether or not the British and Chinese would clash ... only when and with what strength.

"I have stated my position, Captain Elliot. I will not personally war against the Chinese. But neither will I refuse to help my compatriots. What would you have me do?"

Elliot seemed to heave a sigh of relief. He put aside Palmerston’s despatch and indicated the map of the bay. "If we can destroy their fireboats, we remove the most serious threat to our merchantmen, but they are in a sheltered position."

Spencer studied the map. He nodded. "The wind is favorable for coming about sharply. I suggest you bear northwards and give the junks your starboard broadsides. Put about at the end of the line and hammer them with the port broadsides on the way back."

"Their fire?"

"Most of it will fly high and harmless if you force a close engagement ."

"And the fireboats?"

"Kuan will order them cut loose when he realizes your intention, but you can put about and be halfway back before they drift into the-current. If the Volage heaves to here"--he tapped a point below the Chinese ships but well above the British merchantmen--"and the Hyacinth here"-- he indicated another point opposite the first--"you can catch them between your fire. They have a draft of only eight feet. Hit at the water line, they'll sink before they can cause us damage. And scuttled here"--he tapped the map again--"they’ll block any forward push Kuan is tempted to make."

"And when we want to move up the river?" Captain Smith asked.

"They can be dragged into deep water where they’ll present no problem. The sounding jumps from four fathoms to ten very quickly."

"Are you suggesting, Mr. Raymond, that we engage the Chinese now?" Elliot said.

"The wind is favorable. When darkness falls, the advantage moves to your opponent. Speed and surprise are essential. Two frigates against fifteen war junks and fourteen fireboats will seem laughable to Admiral Kuan. With luck, he will delay his defense until it is too late."

Elliot looked to Smith and the others. "Gentlemen?"

"The plan sounds logical," the full-bearded merchant captain said.

The other frowned. "It would be wise to move back our fleet in case--"

"No," Spencer warned. "If Kuan sees even one ship draw back, hell be suspicious and prepare to defend or attack. He must continue to think that his superior numbers give him the upper hand."

"Mr. Raymond is right," Elliot said. "Gentlemen, we've heard the plan, let's put it into action immediately."

They rose and filed from the cabin, each pausing to shake Spencer's hand. When Spencer started to follow them, Elliot called to him.

"Mr. Raymond, I would deem it an honor to have you stand at my side on the quarter-deck."

"Thank you, sir." Spencer touched his brow in a salute and they made their way to the quarter-deck. He felt a sense of exhilaration but at the same time was troubled by regret. He could not hold out against the fight, for it would come whether or not he condoned it. Elliot had overplayed his hand at Kowloon, and Admiral Kuan was convinced his fleet was strong enough to repel the British. His men would fight with frenzy, but they had no concept of war as it was fought between nations.

The Royal Saxon ignored the shot placed across her bow, and Elliot gave the signal to engage. The unequal encounter was over in less than an hour. The Volage and Hyacinth bore north with the easterly wind and the sea moderate. They commenced the action by giving the startled Chinese their starboard broadsides at a range of only fifty yards. The answering shot from the junks hew high; the Hyacinth sustained some minor damage to her rigging, and one seaman was injured when he toppled from a yardarm. Three war junks were sunk, one in a huge burst of flame when her magazine was hit. Several others smoldered dangerously as they limped their way back to shore.

As Spencer predicted, Admiral Kuan ordered the fire-boats released. They drifted downstream and were caught in the crossfire between the two British warships. The first exploded in a fiery blaze, and another struck it end-on. A steady barrage of cannon-fire from the two warships scuttled them before they could endanger the British merchant ships. The Chinese crews leaped overboard and swam frantically or clung to bits of charred wood. At last, Kuan's junk, smashed and waterlogged, broke off the action and began limping for shore.

Spencer saw the gun crews reloading. He glanced at Captain Elliot, wondering what he would do. Elliot met his gaze, frowning at first and glancing toward the disabled van junk. Kuan had fought valiantly, even when there was no hope. Like Spencer, Elliot knew there never had been. The largest naval force the Chinese could handle as a unit had been knocked to smithereens by two small British warships. No matter what Lin did next, his efforts were doomed. The British would force their way back up to Canton-and beyond. Drawing back his shoulder, Elliot gave the order that Kuan's ship was not to be fired upon.

An astonished Major General Milton watched Spencer climb the ladder of the Carolina.

"Good Lord, Spencer, you're a welcome sight!" He peered at the dinghy. "You came from the Hyacinth!"

Spencer shook his hand. "As a passenger, not an official member of the crew. I nave not resumed my duties, nor will I until I see Lorielle safely back to England. I'm told you were with her aboard the Kingsman--is she well?"

"Absolutely fit--never looked better, except of course, she's worried about you." He winked solemnly. "As soon as she sets eyes on you, she'll blossom."

Spencer grinned. "It can't be too soon for me." He glanced about. "I'm making inquiries from one end of the bay to the other. Is there anyone who plans to leave soon?"

Milton indicated a ship anchored beyond the Carolina.

"The mail packet. I'd guess that as soon as Elliot has written Palmerston of his glorious victory at Chuenpi, he'll want a despatch off as soon as possible."

Spencer glanced at Milton curiously. He'd always talked as though conflict with the Chinese was inevitable, but now his voice was tinged with irony. When he realized Spencer was watching him, perplexed, Milton looked solemn. "I’ve no liking for what I've just seen," he said frankly. "Elliot's taken more responsibility than is rightly his. Or else ..."

"Or what, General?" Spencer asked, intrigued.

Milton gave a suggestion of a shrug and met Spencer's gaze evenly. "Or he's being pushed into hot-headed action. Were you privy to his decision-making?"

'In a manner of speaking, but his mind was made up before my opinion was asked. I gave advice on tactics for the strike, not on the wisdom of it, since Elliot and Smith were determined to go through with it. I could not stand by and see them endanger more than has already been risked."

Milton stared at the burning junks across the bay. "It’s a curious thing to go to war against a nation that does not comprehend the meaning of the word," Milton said. "Their encounters with local rebellions or barbarians' raids have scarcely equipped them to deal with modern guns and ships. A pity. .. ."

Spencer was surprised to hear his own viewpoint expressed so closely. "An even greater pity that this will not be the end of it." When Milton gave him an astonished glance, Spencer said, "Elliot has the Foreign Office's assurance that an expeditionary force is coming."

Milton nodded with a resigned look. "And so we both lose," he said.

Again, Spencer was surprised. Milton had a curious way of phrasing things. As a sailor came across the deck, Milton said, "Will you join me in my cabin for a brandy?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked briskly toward the companionway.

Spencer followed, and when they were seated in the narrow cubicle that held four bunks and little else, he said without preamble, "What business brings you to China and keeps you here when you could have left long ago and escaped these unpleasantries?"

Milton grinned. "I like a man with a direct approach.

Spencer's gaze did not waver.

Milton said, "I was trying to prevent just what has happened."

"War with the Chinese?" Spencer asked incredulously.

Milton nodded. "In a manner of speaking. Like yourself, I wear more than one hat in China."

Guarded but curious, Spencer asked him to elaborate.

"You are exploring a moral problem and a financial one as well. The evil of the opium trade cannot be separated in theory or practice from the profit derived by unscrupulous men and the British East India Company, which still has the blessing of our government. Greed compounds greed. Tyler Temple and Giles Copeland are not content to take their portion of the Company's ill-gotten gains, they are engaged in theft and smuggling as well. You have that proof and will carry it back to Lord Valentine."

Spencer realized that he had indeed underestimated the General, who had missed nothing.

"I carry that same proof to the Company's offices in Cawnpore. In the past three years, more than a thousand chests have been siphoned from their ships and go-downs. Hardly a trifling amount to have been overlooked, eh?"

Spencer could not contain his curiosity. "But hardly cause to send a special military envoy to Canton to investigate, either. You spoke of trying to prevent war. .. ."

Milton inhaled and let the breath out slowly. "Have you ever considered that nations other than Britain may benefit from war with China?" he said.

"America?" Spencer queried. "The captains--"

Milton cut him off. "France."

Spencer frowned. 'The French have only a minor interest in the opium trade. I don't think it's sufficient to tempt them to wage war."

"Precisely. But if Britain takes on the Chinese, she must bring up her warships and troops. Some will come from home, but the large portion will be drawn from our resources in India. The Sepoys and Company army are well trained. Military ships at Calcutta and Bombay know the China waters. If they are pressed into service here, they leave India virtually unguarded."

"But India is at peace."

'There are undercurrents that threaten to suck the nation into strife and turmoil beyond belief. A handful of greedy opportunists see a chance to seize power, and their plot can only come to fruition if Britain withdraws its forces from India."

Spencer pondered the General's remark. Britain and France had struggled bitterly for supremacy in India, but those wars had ended long ago. British rule had been well established for almost a century.

"Go on," he said.

Milton straightened his shoulders. "There are pockets of French influence in the Raj. A small warehouse of power in Pondicherry sees an opportunity to overthrow our control and seize India for France. They are financed by the Paris House of Rothschild. The plot has been in the making for several years and the opportunity they have been waiting for is now at hand. If Britain can be pushed into war with China, the bulk of her military forces will be drawn away from India. A French uprising could succeed under those circumstances The subtle push that has been underway to force a confrontation here is now succeeding. Responsibility will be laid at our feet for the affairs here, and no suspicion will be attached to the conspirators until it is too late to change the course of history."

Spencer sensed an undercurrent of alarm in the General's words. He ]mew that a few men greedy for power were capable of sending nations to war. The Empire might well force China to open its doors to the opium trade only to find that the source in India was cut off. War with China might compound itself into even a greater struggle—war with France.

"Has nothing been done to prevent this calamity?" he asked.

"Word of the plot has only recently reached the London House of Rothschild, and they want no part of it. They've talked with the Prime Minister, who naturally agrees the plot must be aborted, but first the guilty parties must be identified."

"And you have done this ?’

Milton pursed his lips. "I have, at least in part. The scheme is being pushed through a few unscrupulous merchants here. I suspected 'Tyler Temple from the start and have learned that he in turn is pushed by Giles Copeland. So far I have not been able to trace the puppeteer who manipulates Copeland's strings, but the groundwork has been carefully laid. Those who encourage Elliot in his folly may have a dual purpose."

"Elliot is misguided by his own loyalties to England," Spencer said. Regardless of Elliot's insistent folly, Spencer did not believe the man was a traitor in any sense of the word. He was being pressured by the merchants and by his own zeal to protect England's interests.

"I agree, but he is being used all the same. The situation that has been created here is only possible because merchants don't want to see the profitable trade ended. That has played right into the hands of the group of which I speak. Opportunity begets opportunity."

A nagging suspicion was forming in Spencer's mind. He thought of the meeting between Elliot and Jacques Delaurier in Macao. If subtle pressure was being applied by French sources…

"Are you acquainted with the name Delaurier" he asked.

Milton's eyes widened. "Jacques Delaurier?" When Spencer nodded, Milton went on quickly. "He has connections with the Paris House of Rothschild. How does he fit into this?"

"I'm not sure, but if you're looking for a Frenchman who has Elliot's ear, he may be your man. He had a conference with Elliot in Macao two days ago." Spencer quickly related the dialogue he'd had with the two men. The Frenchman's presence had not seemed suspicious at the time, but it might be the link Milton was looking for.

"Where is he now?" the General asked.

"I have not seen him since that evening. He is not aboard the Hyacinth."

Milton said speculatively, "No, he would not want to be near the outbreak of the trouble he hopes to precipitate."

He rose and went to the tiny port window to glance across the bay. "If he is in Macao, we can be sure he'll head for Pondicherry as soon as possible. We must get back!" Turning, he began to gather his things into a small valise. "The mail boat will be departing soon. I’ll go with you. I must send a despatch to the Governor General and to Zebulon at Cawnpore."

Chapter 22

The fitful wind that prevailed through the day died toward evening. To Lorielle's surprise, the Joyau traveled a wide circle below the Typa and at dusk anchored in sight of the islands. For a moment, her hopes soared. If they made port, she would find a way to flee the prison of the ship. No matter what her father and Giles planned, she would find a way to escape. If she could get back to Hong Kong, Major General Milton would help her. He would be able to learn if Spencer were dead or if Giles had concocted the lie to destroy her hopes.

But the ship settled for the night with no sign of touching land. Long after the sky had darkened, she lay listening to the creak of timbers and the slap of waves against the hull, It was strange that the ship had circled below the island channels. She'd expected it to sad a straight course for India They seemed to be waiting for something.

She slept uneasily, starting at every sound and tossing with agonized dreams. And when she woke to daylight, she realized the ship was underway again. Her father came to the cabin at midday. She let him in reluctantly. He seemed subdued, but there was an inner excitement in his eyes.

"Have you come to torment me still more, Father" she asked wearily.

"I have come to make peace, Lorielle. It's foolish to let what has happened separate us."

She whirled on him. "You've done nothing but lie and trick me--and you hope I’ll brush it aside and be a loving daughter!"

"Perhaps it is too much to ask, but I'd like the chance to make up to you for the wrongs I've committed."

She turned away and said nothing. What was there to be said? "Will you give me back the man I love? Will you restore his life and thus restore mine?"

"I cannot do that, but I want you to give a happy future."

"By marriage to Giles? No, Father, it would be kinder to toss me into the sea. I want no part of the wealth you’ve acquired from the opium trade, and I want no part of the evil man who has deceived you into this madness. I have lost Mother and Spencer. Leave me my pride or let me share my husband's fate."

He was silent for several moments. A strange look of compassion crossed his face. "You would prefer death to Giles?" he asked in a low tone.

"I would."

He sighed heavily. "l can see that I have made a serious mistake," he said at last. "But perhaps it is not too late—"

"Can you take me away from here?" she asked eagerly. Her heart thundered uncontrollably as a glimmer of hope flared.

"I can promise to try," he said gently. "Well meet another ship shortly. If I can persuade the captain to take us--"

"It returns to England?" she asked quickly.

"Her captain will want to be out of China waters without delay, and he is a shrewd man who will not refuse the added income of two passages."

"And Giles?" The hope had begun to swell like the waves that were carrying them away from China.

"My business with him is done after we meet the Travolta. He will sail with Delaurier to India."

Relief hooded her, but she grew suddenly cautious and peered at her father. Could she trust him now? His change of heart seemed sincere, but she had been fooled before. Still, he was offering a slim hope. To escape Giles was worth any risk.

He smiled gently. "I see doubt in your eyes, and I cannot blame you. But I swear I will do this one thing. Trust me. I have been selfish and cruel, but I realize now that your happiness is as important to me as it is to you." He held out his arms beseechingly.

She went to him and let her embrace her. "Oh, father, if only Spencer—" She recalled her earlier hope that Giles had lied and gazed up at her father. "Is it possible that he…?"

Tyler sighed, pained by the part he’d played in planning Raymond’s murder. If he had not pushed off the deed to Giles’ accomplices, he would have the proof Lorielle sought. Spencer’s blood on his hands, and Lorielle could never forgive that. "I don’t think so," he said gently.

"How did it happen?" The words fell from her lips like heavy tears.

"I know only that it was arranged. I know nothing of how. He presented too great a danger to—" He had no right to name Giles when he himself had condoned the murder.

Lorielle stiffened. "He was murdered?" she whispered. When her father did not reply, she knew Giles was responsible. And she hated him so intensely that her own thoughts were murderous. Scalding tears stung her eyes and she trembled. Her father drew her into his arms again and she wept.

When her sobs lessened, he lifted her face and brushed her cheeks. "Dry your tears, there’s a good girl. Now, I must go. Giles is in a temper because we have not yet sighted the Travolta. I don’t trust him, but perhaps I can lull him into thinking all is well so he does not become suspicious. We will not have much time once the rendezvous takes place.

"Why do we meet another ship at sea?" she asked. A grim thought of her father’s plan to meet the Montrose surfaced.

He hesitated before he said, "A final bit of business. Both Giles and I have put our entire resources into it. To lose it now would mean to lose everything I have worked to acquire these years. "He patted her shoulder, then with a soft kiss on her cheek, he left.

With a heavy heart, she realized she had no right to condemn him. The opium trade had been his life. He was no worse than many others who dealt in human misery because they had a commodity to sell. Whatever his pact with Giles, it was almost finished.. She didn't doubt for a moment that the Travolta carried a cargo of opium which her father and Giles had arranged to sell. She had witnessed the lengths to which men would go to keep opium flowing into China. It had already cost too many lives.

Toward noon, the Joyau had completed another wide circle in search of the Travolta and was tacking close to the southern most islands of the Typa where a small fleet of scrambling dragons had gathered in a cove. The wind was dying, and the captain paced the quarter-deck with an eye on the leaden sky. The light rains and fog of the past few days had lifted, but great black clouds were gathering to the northeast; the glass was falling sharply. If the ship they sought was not sighted soon, the weather would force them to an anchorage in a sheltered harbor, he told Delaurier. By midafternoon, only sporadic gusts of wind puffed the sails. Giles and Tyler joined Delaurier at the rail as though their concentration might bring the Travolta over the horizon.

At dusk, the wind died completely. The sea became glassy and the air sultry. The clouds to the northeast grew ominously darker, and thunder rumbled across the sky. For an hour, the Joyau hung suspended in the palm of nature without a breath to puff her sails. The Captain refused to discuss it with Delaurier any further--they would seek shelter as soon as the wind sprang up.

Lorielle listened to the agitated voices on deck. She'd watched the weather worsen, and she recalled Spencer's dire warnings about its unpredictability in the China seas. Despite the warm stillness, a chill gripped her. It was as though the elements had overpowered man and would have the final say. Or that fate might grant the wish she had expressed to her father. As darkness descended, a breeze sprang up. Every man of the crew was already at his station, and the Joyau put about and ran for shore. The squall struck as she entered the cove. The scrambling dragons had slipped into the inlets to escape the brunt of the storm. Several small junks rode at anchor at the northern perimeter of the cove where the hills offered some relief from the wind. In the confined space of the cove, the wind flattened the surface of the water so there was very little sea. A wrecked sampan lay against the rocks like a skeletal warning of the danger the storm could pose.

The Joyau's captain ordered the anchor out, and the sails were quickly furled. A sailor screamed agonizingly as the wind plucked him from the rigging and he was carried into the sea.

Lorielle huddled in the dark cabin. The boy had not come to light the lamps, and she was sure the Captain had given orders that no fire be struck. She shivered and drew a blanket about her, then stood at the aft window where the pane rattled under the onslaught of wind and rain slashing across the cove. The dome of darkness overhead was impenetrable. Lorielle shivered again and wished her father would come.

The discovery that Lorielle had vanished from the Kingsman sent Spencer Raymond and Major General Milton on a search that led from Hong Kong to Macao. They uncovered the information that a French ship had touched briefly at both ports before sailing south. And they uncovered the information that Giles Copeland and Tyler Temple had boarded her. Spencer was certain they had taken Lorielle aboard.

The Select House was empty and the outer port devoid of English ships. After a futile attempt to convince Governor Pinto to come to their aid, they went to the Pousada de Macao where Spencer confronted the innkeeper.

"The children who wander about the hotel--where do they come from?"

The man shrugged. "Senor, los pilluelos are everywhere--they are nowhere."

"One lad--" Spencer quickly described the urchin who had followed him. "Do you know him?"

The innkeeper frowned. "Perhaps it is the one called Min, a little devil who would sell his mother for a bit of silver. He is not to be trusted, senor."

"Where can I find him?" Spencer demanded.

"On the streets near the Temple of Tai Soi Miu, not far from the British Company House."

"Does he speak English?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "Enough."

It took half an hour to locate the boy. The presence of two Englishmen in the squalid neighborhood drew Spencer and Milton a following of urchins as they roamed the streets. When Spencer spied the lad, at last, he clutched him by his tattered san and lifted him from his feet.

"You savvy English?" Spencer demanded.

The boy tried to pull away but Spencer held him fast. The child's eyes were wide and frightened.

"Who told you to follow me? Where is the man?" Spencer shook Min so his teeth rattled. The other half-breed ragamuffins began to back away, fearful now of the Barbarian who stormed into their midst.

Spencer kept a wary eye on the dim passageways between the houses and shops. When the boy did not answer, he reached into his pocket for a silver coin. The boy's expression altered immediately and a grubby fist grabbed for the money. Spencer lifted his hand high.

"Where does the man live?" Spencer demanded again, pointing to the shabby houses that surrounded them.

"Cual?

The lad tried for the coin again but Spencer kept it out of his reach. The other children began to filter back, lured from their fright by the glittering silver. Spencer set Min down and pretended to slip the money back into his pocket. Min danced impatiently, motioning Spencer to follow.

As they started off down one of the myriad streets, Milton said, "I don't trust our little spy or his comrades. Any one of them would crush our heads with a rock for that bit of money you've flashed."

Spencer grinned grimly. "Keep a sharp eye to our rear. I've already learned that this little bugger can't be trusted."

Min led them though a warren of shabby streets. By daylight, the neighborhood was wretched. The old houses that had once belonged to Portuguese families now teemed with multiple families of half-caste Portuguese and Chinese. Filth and debris littered the courtyards, and rats scampered about as boldly as the children. In the brief respite from rain, clothes hung drying on poles at windows, and the smell of burning joss sticks mingled with the stench of poverty and decay.

Min glanced back every few steps to make sure the promise of silver was still within his reach. Spencer wondered how much the boy understood. He was banking on the hope that the innkeeper's assessment of the lad's honesty was accurate If he'd sell his mother, he'd certainly sell out the man who had hired him.

They came at last to a shack squashed between a row of shops and a penned area where two straggly oxen lowed plaintively. Min pointed to-the door and held out his hand for the coin. Spencer shook his head and motioned for the boy to go in first. The lad's face twitched, but when Spencer drew out the coin temptingly, he beat his dirty hand on the door in a flat tattoo. There was a grunt, and Min opened the door cautiously and poked his head inside. Before he could speak, Spencer grabbed him up and clapped a hand over his mouth. Min's legs and arms flailed like a windmill as Spencer stepped in.

The room was gloomy and fetid. On a bamboo pallet in a corner a man lifted his head painfully. His neck was swollen and bruised and his face contorted with pain. A terrified sound came from his bloodied lips. His hand fumbled toward the edge of the mattress, but Spencer stomped a boot across his wrist. He released his hold on Min's mouth.

"Ask him who paid him to kill me;" Spencer ordered.

The boy burst into a spate of Chinese. The big man on the pallet winced as Spencer leaned his weight on the wrist. For a moment, their eyes locked, then the man said something in a croaking, guttural voice. Min translated quickly.

"The cousin of a cousin. Workee fan-qui house."

"His name." Spencer rattled the boy sharply.

After another exchange with the injured man, Min said, "Sim-lei, cousin to Tao-Ying."

"Where do I find him?"

The boy spoke to the man again. "On the Street of Goats near the bellmaker's shop."

"You know the place?" Spencer demanded.

The boy nodded, eager now to escape the house of the man he had betrayed. Spencer set him on his feet, then bent to feel along the edge of the mattress. His hand came out with a lethally sharp dagger about eight inches long. He slipped it into his sleeve before he lifted his foot from the man's arm.

General Milton grabbed the lad's tangled black hair and they set out at once. The pack of waifs had fallen back to a cautious distance when they realized the two foreigners were not easy prey. Spencer and Milton glimpsed them from time to time as they followed Min through another maze of streets. Curious eyes stared from shop doorways but no one accosted them. When at last they reached a narrow street that was barely passable, Min refused to go on. He pointed to a shop where the sound of a hammer falling against iron rang sonorously.

"Behind the shop," he said.

"Take us."

The boy shook his head, and even when Milton clutched his hair more tightly, he would not move.

'The lad's got his mind set," Milton said.

Spencer dug out the silver coin and flipped it. The boy's hand shot out and grabbed it. "Let him go," Spencer said.

The moment Milton released him, the lad darted away and vanished into the labyrinth of buildings.

"We could be walking into more than we can handle," Milton said in a worried tone.

"We have no choice. Unless we secure a boat, Tyler and Copeland will have Lorielle out of reach, and Delaurier will be on his way to France."

They approached the shop cautiously. A bent old man looked up from, the brass he was hammering but did not try to stop them as they picked their way between the many bells piled on the floor and strung from the ceiling. The brush of air set up a tinkling of a thousand tones--warning enough to anyone in the back rooms. Spencer pulled aside a heavy curtain. A thin-faced man with flat Mongolian features stared at them from a chair pulled close to an iron stove where a fire blazed. The room was cold beyond the small circle of the stove's reach. It was bare except for a table and three wooden stools. At the far end, another curtained doorway led off. Spencer stepped to it and drew the dagger before he carefully pulled the curtain back. Seeing nothing but a pallet, he dropped the curtain and faced the man in the chair.

"Sim-lei, cousin to Tao-Ying," Spencer said softly.

The man's gaze did not flicker.

"The man who hires his cousin to kill the Red Barbarian with golden hair, the fan-qui called the Fair One."

The steady ring of the hammer ticked off the seconds as the two men locked gazes. Spencer hefted the dagger with slow deliberation.

"Sim-lei cousin to Tai-Ying knows the strength of the Fair One. I showed pity for the man who was sent to kill me. He still lives. Shall I be so generous of heart again?"

"My ears are open," Sim-lei said at last.

"Who paid the price of my life?"

"The fan-qui of evil heart. The brother to the Sinister Tongue."

General Milton snorted. "Copeland."

"Does Sim-lei or his cousin Tao-Ying still have quarrel with the Fair One?"

"A ship sailed to slay the dragon that would bring foreign mud into evil hands. The man who steered the course is no longer a fan-qui. The heart of Sim-lei is at peace with him."

Spencer was amazed that word of the exploits of the Gentle Cloud had spread so widely, but he was cheered by the acceptance he had gained.

"I have need of a boat to chase another dragon."

Sim-lei was silent for several moments, then clapped his hands sharply and raised his eyes to the doorway behind Spencer.

Wary, Spencer shifted so he could not be taken by surprise. There was a whisper of sound as the curtain was drawn aside. Peh-t'ao stepped into the doorway. Spencer's fingers tightened around the dagger as he masked his surprise.

Peh-t'ao regarded him solemnly. "Tao-Ying has many cousins and many ears. Does the jackal search out the evil mud another time?" he said slowly.

Spencer chose his words carefully. "We seek the Sinister Tongue, but only to save the Gentle One from her father's cruel hands. He flees across the sea with her."

"And the foreign mud?" Peh-t’ao questioned.

"I know nothing of the mud. The Barbarian ships wait at the Bogue for tea."

Peh-t'ao's eyes narrowed. "The scrambling dragons lie at Typa on the Sinister Tongue's command. His promise of the cursed mud makes them rub their hands with glee."

Spencer heard Mitten's sharply drawn breath but did not shift his gaze from Peh-t'ao's hard face. "I know nothing of it. From where does it come?"

"Singapore. Many pounds of silver wait to change hands for the chests. Greed grows in the heart of the fan-qui as long as breath passes his lips."

Spencer nodded. He'd been a fool to think that Tyler would give up because he had been beaten once. But with the payment from the Montrose cargo lost, how was he financing another exploit?

"Does the Sinister Tongue act alone?"

"No other voice speaks to the pirates of the scrambling dragons, yet he sails the ship of the factory of Peaceful Winds."

A French ship--the Joyau! If Lorielle was aboard, she would be in far graver danger than he feared. If Peh-t'ao knew the details of Ty1er's plan, he meant to stop it, and he meant to destroy Tyler Temple.

Peh-t’ao's lips curled in a triumphant smile. "The vessels of the fan-qui do not rest at Macao. The eye of day sees only war junks and the ships of poor fishermen. If the Fair One would search the seas, he must do so under the flag of the Celestial Empire."

Spencer did not hesitate. "You have a ship?"

"I command a ship," Peh-t'ao said flatly.

"And Tse Hi?"

"His wounds heal slowly. He does not sail with us. He does not have the strength to lead the new attack. The men follow me."

So he was being tempted with the transport he needed desperately, but Peh-t'ao would be in command and his orders would have to be followed. Peh-t’ao's warning was clear.

"My knowledge of the magnificent Empire's ships is small, but I am skilled at raising sails and loading cannon. If my hands lighten the burden of my friends, I give them gladly."

Across the room, Major General Milton looked grim. Spencer knew the commitment he was making, but he had no choice. Without Peh-t'ao's ship, he had no chance of finding Lorielle. He glanced down at the dagger still in his hand. Slowly, he turned it so the blade lay across his palm. He held the handle out to Peh-t'ao.

Peh-t'ao looked but did not reach for it. "Keep the blade and use it wisely. We sail when the sands rush to meet the sea. Come."

Chapter 23

When the rain stopped, the silence was so sudden that Lorielle sprang up in alarm. She had dozed under the comforter that no longer warded off the damp chill. She pressed her face to the window pane. Night enveloped the ship like a suffocating mask, there was not a single break in the heavy cover of darkness--no moon, no stars. The sky, sea and shore merged in solid blackness. She held her breath and listened for the wind, but it had stilled to an eerie whisper.

Gradually the quiet began to dissipate as pounding footsteps scurried on deck. Sailors rushed to assess the damage and to retie lines that had been whipped loose by the force of the gale. Voices rose and fell in a cadence of French. When at last she heard an English voice in the companionway, she groped her way to the door. Someone had lighted a lantern, and a mealy glow illuminated the hall near Delaurier's cabin. Figures moving about cast long shadows on the polished wood. She rushed out as she recognized her father.

"Father--!"

"Lorielle!" He took her arm. "It is not safe on deck. We're in for another blow." He tried to urge her back toward her cabin.

She glimpsed Delaurier and Giles sitting at the big table nervously gulping whisky.

"Surely I can have a lantern," she said. The thought of closeting herself in the lonely, black cabin made her shiver.

"I’ll bring one, but it must be extinguished the moment the wind picks up."

She nodded. Even a brief respite would be welcome. She stayed in the protective puddle of light as her father retreated into the cabin. Giles lifted his head unsteadily and tried to focus his gaze on the source of her voice. She drew back into the shadows quickly. A few minutes later, her father emerged holding a lantern aloft.. The flame danced at the wick as though. a bit of the storm had been trapped inside the glass.

In her cabin, her father set the lantern on the table and looked about. Satisfied that the cabin had withstood the onslaught of wind and water, he said, "The Captain is worried that a series of squalls is building. The wind is shifting." He cocked his head and stared at the window where the yellow light was reflected on the wet glass like a thick coating of honey. "Promise me that you will not venture out of this room."

She promised quickly but asked if he would stay with her.

"For a bit," he said guardedly. The conversation had taken an ugly tone as Giles and Jacques imbibed large amounts of liquor to steady their nerves. Delaurier was insisting they could waste no more time hunting for the Travolta. Their return to India took precedence over the financial affairs of two stupid men who thought their own purses were more important than the news he carried. Giles had tried to distract the Frenchman, but he kept babbling under the influence of drink and terror. He had not bargained for such danger, he declared. Would Giles see them all dashed against the rocks or swept into the sea for a few chests of silver? The glory of France was at stake! The English opium trade could go to hell for all he cared—the Army at Pondicherry waited. Captain Elliot was already enjoining the Chinese; there was no time to waste. When Delaurier ignored Giles' warning glance, Tyler realized that Giles had been playing a devious hand in a scheme to bring England to war with China. The opium-smuggling operation was a means to an end for Copeland, and Tyler had a dread foreboding that his own life was expendable now that Lorielle was within Giles' grasp.

She was gazing at him curiously, her face mirroring worry and fear; "What is it, Father? What has happened?"

He forced a smile. "We've only the storm to worry about. As soon as it's over, we'll be underway again. Listen--" The wind keened at the window like a crying gull. The sound rose to a shrill wail as the rain began again, lightly at first so each drop was a single tap against the bull. Then without warning, the ship pitched violently and the spatter became a thundering downpour. Tyler leaped to catch the lantern which slid toward the edge of the teetering table. He grabbed it and yelped as hot oil splashed across his hand. He blew the flame out quickly. The cabin

plunged into darkness.

"Get into bed," he commanded.

She groped across the inky room, hands outstretched. She bumped into her father, and he grabbed her arm to steer her in the right direction. Her shin cracked against a bedpost as she felt the soft mattress and fell across it.

Tyler had to shout over the noise of the rising squall. "Stay there!" He had to learn more from Giles and Delaurier. He started for the door but the ship pitched violently again and he was thrown to his knees. He heard Lorielle's scream as glass crashed and the wind roared into the cabin in a wash of water.

"Father! Father!"

Chairs skittered and skidded. The decanter and glasses were hurled about the room in a hail of trying glass. A shard struck the back of Tyler's head and he fell amid the rain-soaked debris. He clawed at the sodden carpet in a desperate effort to get back to safety of the bed, but another blast of storm tore the heavy table loose from its moorings and sent it spinning across the room like a piece of straw. It hit him with the force of a lightning bolt, and he sprawled unconscious under its weight.

Lorielle clutched the edges of the bed and flattened her body. Rain soaked her dress and stung her flesh. She tried to call out, but the sound was swallowed in the shrill whistle of the wind that had become a writhing force within the cabin, drowning out the pounding pulse in her ears. She felt the ship rock as the sea washed over the gunwales. For a moment it seemed it would never right itself from the terrible pressure, but a sudden respite in the gale let it slide upright on its hull. Then as abruptly as it had struck, the squall spent itself, and the ominous silence settled over the ship again.

She sat up cautiously. "Father?"

Silence answered. Slowly, she swung herself off the bed. Her shoes crunched glass as she moved forward slowly, sliding each foot to test for obstacles before she trusted her weight to it. Had he gone? She thought of the lantern but knew it was hopelessly smashed among the debris that littered the floor. She took another step and fell across the splintered table. A soft moan eddied up in the stillness.

"Father?!"' She fell to her hands and knees, unmindful of the glass and splinters that pierced her flesh. Groping, she found his legs under the edge of the heavy wood. Frantically, she tugged at the board.

"Father?" Tears stung her lashes and spilled down her wet face. With every ounce of strength she could summon, she pulled, but the table would not move. Sobbing, she crawled around to find her father's head. It was pinned beneath the edge of the broken table; her hand came away wet with sticky, warm blood. Panicked, she stumbled to her feet and tried to find the door. The pitch blackness was impenetrable, and she walked as though blind until she encountered the wall, then made her way along it until she found the open doorway. She stumbled over the threshold and turned toward Delaurier's cabin. A flicker of light flared and died.

"Monsieur Delaurier!" She was crying as she stumbled forward with her hands sliding along the walls to guide her. The light flared again and this time caught. She ran to the door.

Giles was still at the table, his face pale as he cupped a shaking hand around the candle flame he'd managed to strike. Delaurier was a crumpled heap on the bed, whimpering muffled sounds with his head under a satin-covered pillow.

"Help me," she cried to Giles. "My father is hurt!"

Dazed, he looked up at her as she ran to the table and tried to pull him from the chair. "Hurry! Giles, please –he may be dying!"

Giles looked around with a glazed expression as though he had not even realized Tyler was absent. Much of the furniture had been tossed about but the windows had not been broken and the cabin had been spared the destruction that had been wreaked in Lorielle's. She tugged at his arm again, and he got to his feet unsteadily.

"Hurry," she sobbed. When he stumbled, she grasped his arm and steadied him as they made their way to the door. Remembering the light, she ran back to snatch up the candle.

Giles pulled himself together as he followed her down the corridor. From other parts of the ship, sounds of sailors assessing and tending the storm damage came, but no one entered the companionway. There was enough to do on deck, and the Captain had no time to worry about his passengers.

Lorielle rushed inside and bent at her father's side. His face was pale, and the blood from an ugly open wound across his forehead $ad matted his hair. His eyes were closed.

"Father--" The cry was a whisper as she bent her ear and listened for his breathing. It was so shallow, she fought to hold back her tears. Quickly she placed the candle on the floor and motioned to Giles.

"Help me lift the table!"

Giles moved in slow motion, bending and straining under the weight of the wood. Lorielle heaved and tugged with him until at last they moved the heavy piece aside.

She knelt beside her father again. His body looked strangely flat as though the weight of the door had pressed him into the floor.

"Father ... ?" She looked at Giles. "Is there a ship's doctor?"

Giles was watching her with glittering eyes. His brain was still fogged with spirits, and she wanted to shake him when he did not answer immediately. She got to her feet and confronted him.

"Is there a doctor?" she demanded.

He nodded.

"His cabin--where is it?!" She clutched Giles' shoulders and shook him frantically. His head lolled for a moment, then he blinked and snapped from his daze.

"Near the Captain's," he said.

"Where?' she screamed. She'd hidden in her cabin since boarding the Joyau, and she had no idea of the location of any cabin other than Delaurier's.

"I'll show you."

She glanced at her father, not wanting to leave him but afraid to trust Giles to carry out the vital mission. Quickly she took up the candle and followed him into the companionway. He steadied himself to the low roll of the ship as he made his way forward. The wind hissed along the passageway and threatened to extinguish the candle, and Lorielle guarded it with her hand. When Giles stopped and opened a door, she followed him inside quickly.

Giles took the candle and Set it in a bracket beside the door. The wavering light licked at the dark corners of the room. Lorielle glanced about--the cabin was empty. Giles blocked her way as she tried to step back.

"Stay with me," he said in a harsh whisper. His eyes reflected pinpoints of light from the candle.

Her mind was still filled with her father, and she shoved him impatiently. "Get out of the way, you idiot! I must find the doctor."

He wagged his bead slowly like a lumbering bear.

"There is no doctor aboard, my sweet Lorielle. No one can help your father."

She gaped at him as she realized what a fool she'd been to trust him for a moment! Enraged, she tried to above him aside, but he planted his bulk firmly before her.

He grinned drunkenly. "And no one can help you. Now, we will end this nonsense once and for all." He lunged and clamped a hand around her wrist, jerking her toward the bed. She kicked and clawed as she fought for her life, but she could not break his hold. Their shadows threw a monstrous pantomime on the wall. Savagely, he flung her across the bed, still gripping her arm. His gaze devoured her, lingering at the damp outline of her breasts under the rain-soaked gown. The thin cotton clung to every curve, and there was an enticing rip at one side that made him lick his lips like an animal.

"You think you can make a fool of me—I’ll show you who is master. You are mine--understand that and understand well I have no intention of letting you go gain!"

She didn't waste breath on words. He was insane. She struggled and tried to twist away, but his fingers were bands of iron imprisoning her. He knelt across her body and began to tear away her dress. The cloth ripped savagely, then his hand was warm against her cold flesh. His breath quickened and became an ugly sound that echoed the wailing wind. Lorielle felt the steady rocking of the ship. If another squall broke, it might catch him oh guard. She cringed as he caressed her naked breasts.

"Swine!" she hissed. She clenched her teeth and struggled to bring her knees up to push him away.

Laughing, he fell atop her, dead weight. Her breath whooshed and her head spun. Giles forced his mouth over hers in a wet kiss. She gagged as she tasted whisky on his hot breath. Desperately, she forced herself to stop struggling and think. He would take her savagely if she did not escape. Nausea choked her as the hard pressure of his maleness swelled against her thighs.

When he released her mouth, she gulped a breath and turned her face from him. He eyes fell on the small chest beside the bed, but its surface had been swept clear by the tossing of the ship. No weapon, no instrument she could use to bash his skull. She had only her own wits to battle him.

He tried to recapture her mouth, but she twisted and squirmed. Angrily, he damped an arm across her neck and pressed hard until she gasped for air. Her head rang as her pulse pounded. The dull light in the room seemed to dim as consciousness began to slip away. Colors swarmed before her eyes, brilliant and sharp, like fragments of shattered glass caught in the sun's rays. The heavy weight crushing her seemed to lighten suddenly, and air rushed into her lungs painfully. Sound exploded all around, but her dazed mind could not comprehend it. She lay panting and shivering as a blast of cold air filled the cabin. She forced her eyes open, then sat up in alarm. A huge shadow loomed over her, hands reaching. She tried to scramble back across the bed, but the hands grabbed her and held her fast.

"Lorielle--Lorielle--"

She saw his face then, and her heart missed a beat. She reached to touch him, to assure herself he was not part of some dream.

"Spencer!" She was in his arms, weeping and babbling with joy. He pressed her face to the damp hollow of his neck as he tried to comfort her.

"Yes, love ... I am here."

Her sobs lessened and she raised her lips to his. The kiss was so tender, a new kind of weakness assailed her. She clung to him, to his broad shoulders, his muscular arms. He was here, it was not a dream. He kissed her again, then drew her to her feet.

"We must go quickly," he said. He slipped off his coat and put it on her. She realized that she was half naked where Giles had shredded her gown. The thought of Giles made her look about. He was sprawled on the floor, arms outstretched, legs splayed. His face was splotched and swelling; a smear of blood made an ugly stain on his cheeks, and a thick dark trickle oozed from the corner of his mouth.

'1 should kill him--" Spencer said savagely.

She shuddered. "He told me you were dead."

Spencer grunted. "He hired the job done, but I am very much alive. Now come, love, we must make haste." He led her to the door, and picked up the lantern he'd set aside when he saw Giles attacking Lorielle.

Her face went pale and she bit her lip. "My father!"

"There’s no time," Spencer urged. "Another squall is building. If we don't get ashore before it hits--"

"I cannot leave him--he's hurt--!"

Her face was so stricken, Spencer could not refuse.

"Where is he?" he said quickly.

She ran to the ruined cabin and knelt beside her father. Spencer put the lantern where the light would shine on 'Tyler. He examined the wounds quickly, noting the man's deathly pallor and strained breathing. He pressed his ear to 'Tyler’s chest and listened to the fluttering heartbeat, He shook his head in answer to the silent, fearful question in her eyes.

"I can do nothing to help him."

"We must take him with us--" Her eyes stung with tears and she gazed at her father with pity and love.

"He is dying, Lorielle. To move him would only hasten the moment." His heart wrenched at the pitiful look on her face. It was cruel to leave Tyler, but it was foolish to jeopardize their chances of reaching safety by trying to take him along. He would be dead either way.

"I cannot leave him." She stroked her father's head, aware that she was losing him so soon after finding him again. "Please, Spencer--" she beseeched.

Light splashed at the doorway, and they looked up to see Peh-t'ao come in. His gaze took in 'Tyler’s still figure and the two who knelt beside it.

Lorielle stared at the dagger in his hand and the drops of crimson that stained it. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips nervously. She glanced at Spencer.

His gaze locked with Peh-t'ao's. "The Sinister Tongue soon meets his ancestors," he said carefully. He saw the glint in ]Peh-t'ao's black eyes. Hatred, the need to settle a debt.... Would he let her father's life run its natural course, or would he end it without pity?

Peh-t'ao's glance flicked to Tyler's motionless figure. His mouth hardened. He said slowly, "The death of the Sinister Tongue belongs to me."

Lorielle stiffened, and Spencer tightened his grip on her arm in warning. He had accepted Peh-t'ao's terms and he could not renege now. He urged Lorielle toward the door saying gently. "Your father will not regain consciousness. There is no use in trying to take him with us. If we do not leave before the next squall strikes, the entire ship may go down."

Lorielle stiffened her shoulders and let him lead her out. In the doorway, she paused to look back. Peh-t'ao stood over her father but his eyes were on Lorielle and Spencer.

With a heavy heart, Lorielle thought of Luan and Tse Hi and the old man who had died soon after she left Canton.

A life for a life ... if it put Peh-t'ao's soul at rest to claim his people's due, it was time the debt was paid. Sadly, she looked at the man who stood ready to plunge a dagger into her father's heart. Death would come more swiftly than it had to Kwang, who had also sold his heritage and his future for opium.

She turned and followed Spencer down the companionway.

On deck, lanterns had been hung at the masts and rails. Lorielle was astonished to see Major General Milton.

‘No time to lose," he said. He set to work tying a stout line around her and pulling it snug under her arms. She saw that he had a similar rope about his body, and Spencer was fastening one of his own.

The light from the lanterns was mirrored in a thousand puddles that seemed to steam on the deck. Ragged pieces of sail and wood from the spars and masts were strewn everywhere, and one of the Joyau's gunwales had been smashed flat. At the perimeter of the light across the dark water, a high junk bobbed like a fat hen, awkward but far more seaworthy than the sleek Joyau in the turbulent sea. The earlier deadly calm had given way to curling waves that licked over the rails and sent swirling rivers washing into the puddles on deck. The wind, which was steadily wearing around by degrees to the east, was growing in intensity. It rumbled more ominously than thunder, and the spindrift was so thick they had to shield their faces from its needle-sharp spray. A Chinese sailor held aloft a bobbing lantern as Spencer guided Lorielle down the ladder to a waiting boat. The wind plastered her damp skirt around her body, and her fingers were numb on the rungs. She realized she had not asked Spencer any of the thousand questions that now crowded her mind. But he was alive and safe--and she was with him.

A long line ran from the boat's bow to the mother junk like an umbilical cord. Eight sailors bent their backs to the oars. Another boat, similarly tied, skittered as a wave lifted it, then disappeared into the trough. Slowly, they began to pull across the water. The wind was against them. For every yard the boat advanced, it was sucked back half the distance. At times, Lorielle could not be sure the lights were still flickering on the Joyau's deck were growing more distant. The noise of the sea crashing against the rocky shore was deafening. The sharp piercing whistle of the wind rose again, bringing with it a stinging downpour of rain worse than the ones that had hit earlier.

Lorielle sputtered as she breathed water and ducked her head against Spencer's chest. She heard him yell, but the sound merged into the wind. The boat spun in a dizzy circle as a wave caught it. Water flooded over the gunwales, dousing the lantern with a sizzle of sparks. Lorielle gripped Spencer with every ounce of strength she could muster, terrified that she would be plucked up and plunged into the raging water. She felt his arms around her, tight and loving, but little protection against the mighty forces of nature that had laid claim to them. For one unbelievable moment, the boat hung in midair, caught between the churning sea and the awesome black canyon of clouds. Then it went into a mad spin whirling and turning and pitching before it dived into the waves. Lorielle felt the icy impact of the water as she hit ... then its swallowing grip as she was sucked under.

The breath was bursting in her lungs, and the roar of the wind was still in her ears. Her hands clawed the swirling black water. She was held in a vise of the sea, buffeted and tossed--then spewed up just when she thought her chest would explode. She barely had time to gulp air hungrily before she was towed under again. The roaring became part of her, filling her head. When she came to the surface again, she hit something and grabbed at it frantically. Then she was being pulled out of the water as the torrent of rain slashed at her and her body thudded unmercifully against the wooden side of a ship.

Spencer cradled her in his arms and lifted her aboard the junk. She slowly became aware of the figures silhouetted in the misty lantern light. Voices babbled incoherently, and Chinese faces crowded around to shelter her from, the wind and rain. Suddenly, the drenching rain was gone--she was safe inside a cabin. She coughed and spit as Spencer laid her on a straw mat. She had never seen a sight more marvelous than his drenched face with tendrils of golden hair plastered across it like seaweed. She tried to talk and laugh and cry all at the same time, but he kissed away the sounds before they could leave her lips.

"Are you all right?" He looked so worried, she could only smile. She felt like a drowned rabbit, shivering and soaked, but she was all right. She raised her arms and put them weakly around his neck and murmured his name.

She did not know how long she was trapped in the black dream that would not release her. She drifted to the crashing sound of the waves and the rain, to the howling of the wind, to eerie silence that punctuated the numbness of her brain. And always, she felt the warm comfort of Spencer's body close to hers, and his arms holding her.

When she opened her eyes, the stormy motion of the ship had ceased. A fuzzy grayness filled the cabin, and she looked about. Murky light came from four high windows at the end of the cabin. Overhead, beams glistened damply. She recalled the storm and her close brush with death and sat up.

Spencer sat only two feet away, his back propped against the wall and his head resting on a support beam of the junk's cabin. His eyes were shut but flew open when she made a small sound of pleasure at finding him there. He came to her and enfolded her in his arms.

"The typhoon has spent itself," he said softly. "We are safe." At her quick worried look, he added, "The others, too--the General, Peh-t'ao, most of his men."

"And the Joyau?" she asked.

He brushed her tangled hair away from her face. "The anchor cable snapped. She is smashed on the rocks. Only a miracle would see any of her crew or passengers alive."

She suppressed a shudder as she remembered how frightened Giles and Delaurier had been. She gave a silent prayer of thanks that her father had not had to endure such a horrible death.

"I still cannot believe the miracle that you found me," she said. "I'm sure it's a dream and I shall wake any moment."

"Not a dream," he said earnestly. "I would find you at any end of the earth."

"How--?"

He moved beside her and laid her gently on the bamboo pillow. Quietly, he told of his adventures with the Gentle Cloud, his return to Macao and the journey to the Bogue. Anguish filled her when he described the attack on the Chinese fleet, but she was so eager to hear the rest of the story that she did not interrupt. Only when he had finished describing the perilous journey of the junk in search of the Joyau and the Travolta did she question him.

"But to find it in such a vast sea!"

He grinned engagingly. "You forget that I sailed these waters with the Gentle Cloud. It was logical that your father would choose the same place to rendezvous with the scrambling dragons. If the typhoon had not come up, our search might have been more difficult, but the ships were forced to seek shelter here."

Amazed, she sighed. "And now?"

"Elliot's violent action has forced Lin to reciprocate. Peh-t'ao has heard he plans to blockade the river with stone barges and chains. He has issued an edict that he will stop trade with Britain forever. The Americans will be forced to use the Inner Passage which can be guarded more easily." He smiled ruefully. 'The course is set."

"War?"

"It is inevitable. England will send forces and the Emperor will meet them head on. The old ways must give under the pressure. China will never be the same."

"You sound so hopeless," she whispered. Her heart was heavy as she thought of Luan and Tse Hi, and the beauty and serenity of a land that had not changed for centuries.

"Much as I hope that the tide may still be changed, I know it cannot. I’ve seen the gallant effort of dedicated men, and it is not enough. The Western world will force itself upon China."

"But your report to Lord Valentine--?" She resisted giving up hope that the few might still succeed.

He sighed. "Perhaps it will delay or diminish the impact of what is to come, but it cannot overcome the forces that are already in motion. The Western world is determined to open China's trade--and once opened, the Celestial Empire can never be the oasis it has been in the past" He smiled tenderly. "Such a solemn discussion for two lovers who have been apart. I prefer words of love, my sweet."

Her breath caught as he bent to kiss her. She savored the warm, delicious pressure of his lips.… The fears and pain of the past weeks were swept away in the delight of being in his arms again.

But even as she nestled in his arms and thought happily of the future that lay before them, she was touched with sadness for the past that would be left behind. She wished she might see Luan and Tse Hi before she left China, but perhaps it was better to go with memories of her joyful parting from her friends. She would not dwell on the losses, only the gains ... and the one gain that more than compensated for all else.

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