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bit strained by the duke's conventional response to my wife's well-exercised intelligence and its articulation-—where he began inquiring into our Malacca trade operations, the number of our ships, agents, and merchants, and the outrageous tariffs we endure, a conversation that traveled to our increasingly potent attack in the China Black tea war in England, how the Chinese were beginning to reap rather severe repercussions of the new competition for the rich prize of the insatiable English tea palate.
    I didn't see where the pointed conversation was leading until he at last made an offer—a shockingly blunt offer to buy us out. At first, I imagined it was a poor attempt at humor but then actual numbers fell from his mouth. Five hundred thousand pounds for our Malacca shipping trade and routes: Of course, I laughed rather too long and hard at his arrogance. He gave ho sign whatsoever of any hostility when, still amused and wishing like hell you were with me to enjoy this spectacle, I declined. I put the whole matter down to poor breeding and the endless delusions of French aristocracy.
    Until the murders and the explosion.
    While I do not have proof that they were the ruthless conceit of one Duke de la Armanac, he is well-known for employing these persuasive tactics. Joy and I discussed certain impressions and encounters that left us—and indeed all my crew—with the idea that the island hides a dark secret. I know you, Sean: you will want to shoot him first and wonder about his guilt later. If you do manage to discover some small measure of prudence and determine his guilt—an enormous if, I know—I leave it to you to demonstrate the consequences of threatening us. We can take no chances with Joy's life.
    If, indeed, the duke is responsible for the murders and explosion, the next task will neatly complement Clives's and the Earl's request for assistance, assistance only you can provide. The Earl has offered us four years' shipping free of British tariffs in return for destroying the opium stockpile on the island—one good explosion should do the job. Conveniently, the duke intends on spending the fall season in London, and he will be there by the time you read this. A small amount of ingenuity should land an invitation to the island. Our dear friend Clives will be able to tell you more.
    In consideration of the wealth of your love for Joy and our children: as you will need to be assured, the girl who loves freedom has lost hers; she does not leave the reach of my arms, and as her enthusiastic guard, I will not leave her side, or place her in a position of danger until the matter is completely, wholly resolved.
    To the tradition of our toss, you win the pleasure.
    Yours, Ram
    She set down the disquieting letter. The South China Seas. Malacca. Malay. Penang, where the British fought the Dutch for control of the ports, while the Orientals quietly went about their lives and business. Tea plantations. Aye, she knew these places. She knew of the opium trade. She knew Malacca. She knew the English outpost there, the Tampin River, the dangers and beauty of the jungle, washed for months in a deluge brought by the monsoons. 'Twas where she was from—so maybe there was a reason for her being in this house. She had lived there, but—
    When? What was she doing here in London?
    Malacca. In her mind's eye she saw the mountain range rising from the crystal-blue lagoons, crescent bays and swamps, the island covered by an impenetrable jungle populated by deadly snakes, screaming monkeys, and spiders the size of fists. She knew the beautiful English settlement made of rain-washed white stucco buildings and mansions, and the native township of Tunku Hamzah alongside. 'Twas where she had to return. Somehow, she knew she had to get back to Malacca.
    She felt the swift racing of her heart; she must get on with it. She examined the clothes over the chair. Too large. Curse it! She stepped quietly into the room-sized clothes closet. Boots