he known the danger he was in, there was little he could do about

it. He had been bound and gagged as securely as the remainder of the

night watch and had resigned himself to remaining there until released

by his crew when they awoke in the morning and found the deck

deserted.

He did not, however, fail to identify the collective hiss as the six

lengths of fuse wire burned down through the last twelve inches into

the barrels beneath the overhang, and in those last few seconds, his

brain was able to appreciate the full horror of what was about to

happen BA-BA-BABOOOMMM!!

The high, wide stern of the junk disintegrated in a billowing

orange-white sheet of flame, reducing the luckless captain and the rest

of the night-watch into gobbets of flesh and bone not much bigger than

the gold pieces scattered by the same blast into the waters of the

bay.

And a split second later -BA-BOOOMMM!!

The two barrels of powder on the waterline exploded, demolishing what

was left of the stern right down to the keel. Water flooded in through

the gaping hole, and the junk began to sink. The off-duty crew, thrown

from their bunks in the for'sle by the shock of the first explosion,

found themselves sliding down the deck as the bows rose out of the

water. Scrambling up the companionway in blind panic, they found the

door had been barred from the outside. A few quick thinkers found

alternative exits they could wriggle through, the rest were reduced to

battering down the door.

When it finally gave way, those at the front fell forward and found

themselves tumbling down the main deck.

With the junk now settling fast, the deck was only some fifteen degrees

off the vertical and the lower half of the mast and mainsail were

already under water. A few more of their crewmates followed. Anyone

who hesitated was trampled underfoot by those clawing their way out

from behind, and there were still men wedged in the doorway as the bow

section sank into a grumbling, frothing pool of debris.

Cadillac, Roz and the rowers were the first to see the fan-shaped

orange starburst light up the night sky. Their gasps caused everyone's

head to turn. What they saw was a roiling cloud of smoke lit from

beneath by a blood-red glow. Silhouetted briefly against its

flame-bright heart was a tiny black shape.

Everyone knew, without being told, it was the junk which had carried

them to Aron-Giren. In the last hour they had travelled some four

miles, and now, in the wake of the distant fireball, the sound of the

explosion reverberated across the water.

... bbbaaa-bbbaa-bbboooommmm ... bbbabooommmm ....

Cadillac looked across at Mishiko and saw her arms tighten around her

two young daughters, Miyori, and Narikita. Toshi, her two-year-old

son, cocooned in a sleeveless, padded cotton pouch to protect him from

the cold, was held securely in the strong arms of his nurse.

Pitching his voice higher for the benefit of the servants huddled round

Mishiko, Cadillac said: 'You were right, your highness. We owe our

lives to your superior wisdom."

'Do not thank me,' replied Mishiko. 'Thank the loved one whose power

guides our steps."

Cadillac accepted this with a bow of the head. There wasn't room for

any of the usual extravagant kowtowing.

Pulling the hood of his cape as far forward as it would go, he huddled

down beside Roz in a space he'd created between the baggage. A

December night was definitely not the best time to go sailing on the

Eastern Sea, but there was one small advantage of being dressed up as a

courtesan; the close-fitting face-mask kept your nose warm.

From the deep shadow cast by his hood, Cadillac studied Lady Mishiko

and her children, and the uncomplaining servants perched on the baggage

that surrounded her. Ever since Roz had aired her own misgivings, he

had felt increasingly guilty about driving this woman to her death.

Mishiko was strong, intelligent and - by Iron-Master

standardsstrikingly beautiful. She was also extremely stubborn,

haughty and used to being waited on hand and foot.