Roger sat with his back pressed against the mast of the old steamer ship. A salty breeze tousled his black hair and caused the pages of his book to turn. Flipping them back he stretched, flexing his right shoulder. It was still somewhat stiff but the wound had closed well with no trace of infection though he doubted the scar would look any better than the one that adorned the back of his hand - though at least his bad stitching might be excused for its having been preformed almost blindly and single handed, he smirked. He looked up at the sky - a few dark clouds had gathered on the horizon promising rain that evening, but that was still quite a ways off. If the winds held favorable they might even make Port within the hour. He smiled as he wondered if they had yet found the final guard, bound and gagged in the auxiliary sandbox. Mostly likely. It had been a fortnight since they had shipped out of Calcutta - hopefully the drought had not made the train crews lax in their duties, he chuckled. Beneath him the dull droning of the compound engine pounded away with such constant rhythm as a lullaby.

Reading another sentence he turned the page. For all their flaws these American novels were quite a good deal more exciting than their English counterparts: duels and deceit and disaster and blasphemous rakes and unbelievable coincidence bringing together impossible connections - though what would possess anyone to name their son St. Elmo was beyond him. At least St. John was traditional, but St. Elmo was just unnecessarily cruel - it was no small wonder he grew into such a troublesome man. For all his wild ways Mr. Rochester would never have engaged in such a thing as dueling and murder. It was the only thing that made his time among the Americans bearable. Such an uncivilized lot - how they had managed to spring from Britannia in such rude form was nothing short of remarkable. England could send off its criminals and a civilized land would spontaneously create itself with proper respect for Parliament and the Crown, even the northern portion of the colony had managed despite the taint of their southern half, and yet somehow this lot seemed unable to understand such a basic concept as tea. Everything was bitter coffee. A sailor fixed Roger with an unpleasant glare as he tightened the halyard; Roger pretended not to notice. He had every intention of returning the book when he was finished, until then he had little to worry about insofar as its owner demanding its return - on such a ship no man would dare admit to having his dear little romance novel pilfered and thus impotent scowls served as the sailor's only weapon. Roger hummed a few merry notes as he turned the page.

"Land ho!" came the cry from above. Roger's eyes shot to the horizon. He squinted. Sure enough the line where the sky met the sea had thickened. Damnation! His eyes ran over the pages at three times the speed.

Forty minutes later Roger strode over to the gangplank, "Oh! I almost forgot." he said and he turned and deposited the book into the unfortunate sailor's hand. The sailor's face reddened at the sudden attention the gift bestowed upon him garnered from his fellow crew members. Roger could scarcely keep a straight face as he heard the derisive mocking of the crew behind. Served the man right, he should take more pride in his preferences. At the bottom of the plank a lovely young Han woman stood, her jet black hair tied by a white ribbon. "Ji-Yun, it is lovely to see you again though I wish the circumstances were better." he said giving Mrs. Pyong a peck on the cheek. He handed her a small white envelope, "I am sorry for you loss."

"Gomawo. I am only glad he did not die alone."

"Did they ever discover why he and Kim were on the ship or what caused the explosion?"

"No." the young woman lowered her eyes. "They tell me the ship had a barrel of gunpowder which had accidentally been ignited."

"But you don't believe them?" Roger probed. Mrs. Pyong shook her head ever so slightly.

"I have a telegram for you from Councilman Collingsby," she said, handing Roger a yellow envelope.

"Councilman, eh? He wasted no time at that, did he?" Roger mumbled as he slid a thin blade up through the top of the envelope and took out the letter and read:

Mr. Bond stop

You will be pleased to hear Mr. Stanton has been arrested and will spend the foreseeable future in prison stop

I have been appointed temporarily to the council in his place which I expect will become permanant stop

When you have finished the case please report to Vienna for your new assignment stop

If you require further assistance do not hesitate to ask stop

Bombay thanks you for your service stop

Dr. Collingsby

PS: Imelda Stanton eloped with Alexander the week after you left stop

Roger smiled as he stuffed the document back into its protective covering and slid it into his waistcoat pocket; it seemed the good doctor had a rather keen understanding of his nature. Perhaps he might send the happy couple a gift once he arrived in Vienna.

"We would be honored if you would stay at our house tonight, James." Mrs. Pyong bowed.

"Thank you, I would be glad to. If you please." He gestured that they might go.


Roger knelt at the table. Beside him a small child black haired child, the very image of his father but for his mother's chin, no older than a year and a half, poked and prodded at his Western clothes. "Jae-sang, do not be rude to our guest." Ji-yun scolded.

"It's alright, I don't mind it. He's just being curious - aren't you?" He said, picking up the child and holding him almost nose to nose with himself. The child shrieked with laughter as the Englishman bounced him up and down.

"You'll spoil him, James." Ji-yun smiled softly accentuating the graceful liniments of her face. For an instant the sorrow that had lined her mouth and eyes disappeared from her visage. She was so lovely. Roger set the child down before him and placed a finger on the tip of the child's nose.

"That is precisely what I intend to do." he said with a smile as the chubby arms reached up to him demanding to once more be picked up.

"Come Jae-sang, it is time for bed." an elderly woman clucked, gathering up the child in her arms.

"Thank you, Grandmother." Ji-yun said clearing the table.

Roger watched the infant wistfully as his grandmother took him from the room. "Have you considered how you plan to pay for his education?" he mused.

"No." the young woman acknowledge sadly.

"Then, if it is not too much to ask, I would like to take on the role of benefactor for him."

"Oh Roger, I could not accept such a thing!" she cried. The use of his proper name struck Roger - of all the men and women of the world he had met during his mission it was only Gun and Ji-yun who knew his true identity... and now that number was one less and his soul felt a certain hollowness for that fact. "We have some savings. And I am still a young woman."

"Nonsense. You should not be forced to remarry to provide your son with the fullest education he might attain. It is not uncommon for a wealthy English Gentleman to become the patron of a likely looking young man - particularly one who has no children of his own." Roger remarked; Ji-yun still appeared troubled by the proposal. "Besides, I owe it to Gun. He saved my life, it is a debt I never repaid. Please allow me the honor of providing for my namesake." Roger argued - he was not a man for tears but at the moment one threatened to reveal itself - a flash of emotion not lost on his companion. After a few moments consideration, Ji-yun finally relented with a nod. "Now that that is settled and we are alone, do tell me why you do not believe the explosion was an accident?"

Ji-yun nodded, glancing about she beckoned him, "Come, let us visit my husband. I am certain he will be glad to see you." Roger followed the woman into a small room where the photograph of a handsome, young Korean man sat overlooking a small shrine. Roger knelt on the floor before the image, lit a stick of incense, and placed it in the ornamental holder beside the portrait. Ji-yun brought a basket filled with clothing over from the corner. "The police were able to salvage some of his clothing," she explained as she lifted the top rim of basket out, revealing that the basket holding the clothing was actually a similar basket fitted inside the first. Within the bottom of the second basket sat the tattered remains of a black topcoat. "One day I will show Jae-sang, but not now. He is too young for such things."

Roger hesitantly reached into the basket and ran a piece of the charred black fabric between his fingers - instantly the image of he and his friend, both garbed in Western clothing as they walked through the alleys of Hong Kong's seedy red-light district from the noodle stand they frequented sprung to his mind. They were laughing over some nonsense, some joke of no consequence Gun had told - for the life of him he could not recall what it was that had been so funny, he dearly wished he could. Gun's top coat, the one he had joked made him look like a real Westerner but was glad of during the dark rainy nights waiting on the docks for those deals that are never done in the warm sun of day when an umbrella would have been far too noticeable. A dull ache settled in his heart as he rubbed the dark wool between his fingers. It felt strangely greasy. He sniffed it. Faint undertones of wood pulp and cotton wafted from the thick woolen fabric. "Gelignite." he said.

"Gelignite?" the young woman repeated, confused.

Roger rocked back on his heels and stood, still holding the fabric, "You were right, Ji-yun, the explosion was no accident. Gelignite cannot explode without a detonator. I suspect Gun and Agent Kim were lured onto that ship." Ji-yun gasped. "What was it that made you suspect foul play?"

"It was this." The young woman dug into the bottom of the basket, "I hid it so no one would find it." She produced a small white piece of silk, "It's Gun's handkerchief - silk so it was not completely burned in the fire - and look!" she cried pushing the silken corner toward Roger.

He grabbed it from her, examining the thing closely. There, stained into the silk in black ink was a picture. It was only a fragment of the complete image: there was an arc, probably part of a circle or an arch, a horizontal line went through the bottom of the image describing what would have been the diameter but that it extended beyond the edge of the arc, a diagonal line bisected the line with the obtuse angle facing the arc and the acute angle on the side on which was drawn a partial face that appeared animal in feature though it was so poorly portrayed Roger could not even begin to guess what species of creature it was supposed to be. In the center of the arc side of the line a diminuative letter "k" was written.

"Do you know it?" Ji-yun demanded eagerly, leaning over the scrap to look though she was wholly familiar with every stroke by this time.

"No." Roger shook his head. His dear friend's face fell, she rolled backward from kneeling to sitting, defeated, as though her last shed of hope of finding out what had happened to her husband had vanished in that single syllable. "I have never seen anything like this symbol before. Tell me, did Gun say anything about what he was working on before he left? Even the smallest detail could be important."

"He had been assigned to something involving the French, something to do with a treaty they were working on. I recall he was telling me that French was a very difficult language to learn because many of the letters in a word did not make any sounds and he was very frustrated."

"The day he died, do you recall what he did or said before he left? Was he acting strangely? Did he seem at all preoccupied?"

"No!" Ji-yun shook her head furiously. "No, there was nothing at all! We ate breakfast and then Gun said he had to go and kissed Jae-sang and I and left. He seemed happy."

"Did he take anything with him?"

"Just an... he called it an at-tah-shay case?" she attempted.

"An Attache case?"

"Yes!"

"Interesting..." So Gun had been working for the French attache on the treaty.

"Do you know if he was working with Agent Kim?"

She shut her eyes so tightly it almost appeared she was in pain, putting her forefingers to her temples as if trying to stimulate the memory. "No," she said, "he was not. But he did mention something last week during a game of yut that Gun thought was unusual - a number of Russians who were associating with some Englishmen from one of the ships but, he said, neither ship bought or sold anything through the import shop but for some porcelain and a few reams of silk."

"They simply traveled all that way to, in essence, sit in the harbor?"

"That is what Ji-hyun said."

"Did he say anything further on the subject?"

"That it was not the first time he had noticed similar behavior between the Russians and English. Is this why my husband was killed?"

"I don't believe so. Did Kim say anything regarding the Dutch ship?"

"No, nothing!"

"That is... troublesome. Very troublesome indeed." Roger pondered for a moment. "Do you know where Agent Kim lived?"

Ji-yun nodded.


Agent Ji-hyun Kim's house was a small affair, a straight hanok, abandoned now that its owner had passed. Obscured by the dark shadows of late evening that covered the long porch, Roger slid in through the back window that no one had seen fit to be bothered to close. The house was in a sorry state, two weeks of neglect left the floor littered with leaves. A rat, disturbed by the entrance of the large stranger, scurried from the kitchen into a hole in the wall. He knew little of the man beyond that he had come to the island from some village in the mountains last year following the incident with the Russians. From Ji-yun's testimony he could guess he had been placed in the Import shop - a fairly common placement allowing for oversight of the harbor without being particularly conspicuous, particularly if the agent was a native. And given this particular harbor's troubled history it was all the more prudent to be watchful; especially with the French Attache's visit. The information about the empty English ships and their crew's association with the Russians (whose ships possessed equally empty holds) nagged at his mind. He had a hunch - if it bore out. He strolled to the kitchen, eyes searching for something, he did not know what specifically, something that did not quite belong - a thin empty space, a long crack where none should be, an unusually short floorboard. He peered into the shelves, heavy metal plates and bowls - all of the weighted variety common to ships... A thought occurred to him, he had heard tales of secret messages being hidden in the bottoms of weighted shipware: he took one of the bowls and weighed it in his hand; he took another and tested it against the first - it was lighter, as though hollow! He turned the bowl over and unscrewed the bottom. Wedged within the hollow interior sides were a number of folded pieces of paper. He opened a few until he found the one he was hoping for and read:

May 14, 1886: The Captain of the Clarabell met with the Captain of the Minsk after pulling into port. The Clarabell has a crew of twenty but only six crates of cotton, most of poor quality such that the Import shop refused to purchase it. The Captain of the Minsk made an offer for it. Suspecting smuggling I searched the ship but found nothing to indicate contraband. Most of the sailors were asleep in the hold despite it being midday. After two days The Clarabell left with a small cargo of silks and a few tea sets. Inspected the Minsk before it left port. They had, apparently, taken on ten crew members as well as three crates of the cotton from the Clarabell and one hundred seal skins. During the inspection I noted most of their crew was asleep in the hold.

Roger folded the note and returned it to its place in the bowl more out of habit than necessity - no one was coming who would notice whether it had been tampered with. So it had been the Clarabell. Now he knew how the kidnapped men had been transported, they had been drugged and made to appear as though they were merely sleeping crew members. So, the sailors were being sold to the Russians... given the antagonistic relationship between England and Russia this boded poorly for the missing men. Two possibilities sprang to mind: the Government could be intending to use them as hostages that might be traded for their own people (of which a number were being held in secret - Roger could think of two spies he had helped capture who were being held somewhere in the vicinity of Manchester); but just as likely they might be being used as slave labor in areas where the profit only outweighed the danger when it was not your own countrymen being employed. He would have to find where the Minsk had been destined. He read through the rest of the notes before screwing the bottom back onto the bowl. There was nothing on the Dutch ship! What had enticed he and Gun to board the ship that day? Was it something he had discovered or had Gun been the one to approach Kim? Were it Gun who had come to Kim then was their murder in any way tied to the French Attache? Certainly there were plenty who would prefer the treaty not go through, but what had the Dutch to do with it? Or was the Dutch ship merely a casualty in a plot that was unrelated to it? Irritation gnawed at the back of his mind so ferociously it caused him to shudder. A Dutch ship, a gelignite detonation, two murdered agents, the French Attache, and a piece of a strange symbol. His fist hit the counter with startling force, causing the dishes to rattle. Where could he even begin? Oh he certainly knew where but were he to question the French delegation about possible strange doings he could be certain the fact they were being questioned by a heretofore unknown Englishman would be the most noteworthy item; and he could be assured he would fare no better at the Import shop. And all the while he was chasing ghosts in Korea all evidence of Hoople and the other kidnapped men would vanish into the Russian wilderness. He let out a cry of frustration as he punched a wooden column. How could he let his friend's murder go unsolved! A bird, her nest in the rafters having been disturbed, flew across the ceiling, scolding the violent intruder.

He looked once more at the plain room, almost empty but for a few personal effects that no one would ever come for. A pang pierced his heart - would this one day be his room that another Agent searched, a room devoid of life but for a few small items to say he had once lived. He was not so young as he once was - it had only been by sheer luck Alexander's blade had missed its mark - how long did he have before it was he buried in a foreign grave no family nor friend's shadow would ever darken with soil unmoistened by tears? He had resigned himself to this lonesome existence, told himself it was wrong to bring a wife or children into it, but now, thinking of Ji-yun playing with Jae-Sang in the warm light of their hanok for the first time he felt a yearning in his heart. He shook off the thought returning once more to the cold, darkened room - no, it was better this way. Had not Chapman threatened his sister? His niece? How could he live without the ever pervasive fear that one day one of his enemies might find the woman he loved and do her harm? Might slaughter his children? Had that not happened to Conway? Infiltrated a gang, when he was discovered they slit the throats of his children with razor blades and did things far worse than death to his wife. He came home to the scene, his children lying in crimson puddles on the floor, his wife, warm gun still in her cold hand. Agent Conway had never been quite right after that, lost his fear of death, sought out the most dangerous assignments and preformed them with ruthless efficiency. In the end he was no better than an assassin and worthless as a spy. On the anniversary of his wife's death he launched a one man war on the gang that had killed his wife - apparently he had spent every moment of his spare time obsessively plotting his endgame - killed thirty men and one woman, the wife of the gang leader, before the police were able to stop him. He surrendered without a fight. Roger could still remember Conway's cold, determined eyes as they led him to the gallows. He had smiled just before they had put the bag over his head. That icy smile Roger would never forget. He shuddered.

Roger pretended he was indifferent, but every letter that came from Quentin was greeted with a tightness in his chest, a fear he never could admit he felt that perhaps this time... He shook his head again. He should have never brought her into this life, he should have never recommended her to the Code Breaking department. He should have denied his identity, lied about the scar - she would have married Quentin eventually anyway; it was not as though her fate would have been inexorably altered. But the way her eyes had shone with admiration... the way they still shone with something that was only his - it had been selfish of him to want to keep her in his world. Selfish of him to recommend taking her on, selfish to recommend her promotion deeper into his world. She had had dozens of missions now, she had proved her worth a hundred times over. Who would have thought a woman-! And with the addition of that maid, Moneypenny, taken into the confidence of the agency last year as her assistant (at Mina's request), they had become the most formidable weapon in intelligence gathering the agency had ever known. Only three members of the agency knew her true identity, four if you counted Russell Shaw in the Code Breaking department - a revelation he had taken rather well after he had recovered from the initial shock. The remainder knew her only as Agent M - a name she was quite pleased with - and simply presumed she was a man, taking little notice of the young woman who occasionally visited headquarters (rumor had it she was the Goddaughter of the agency head). It had been remarkable the information that the women of society let slip to their kind, or that servants readily shared with those of their class - not to mention the men who noticed the intrusion of neither women nor servants on their conversations and thought nothing of them roaming the corridors. Still, the thought of what might happen if she were discovered... He often had visions of the Duke, having discovered her without her knowledge, inviting the family to supper (as the Moore and Wyndham families frequently dined together) and using a ploy to get her alone where he would unsheathe that wicked sword from its home in his cane- He needed to stop such thinking! Tomorrow he would see the Port master. He had best be returning to Ji-yun's house before night fell.

He crawled onto a mat of the floor not too far from Ji-yun and the softly snoring Jae-sang. She looked to him as he lay down. He shook his head. Sadly she lowered her eyes and kissed her child on his forehead. He took her hand in his. "I will find the man who murdered Gun," he swore in whispered tones.

"I know you will." she sighed, grasping the proffered hand.