"Guess away," I muttered.

"If he doesn't want security advice, I'm in the dark here."

"Brew-san" Komatori smiled again "7'm eager to hear any advice you can give me. As my master's senior student, I'm responsible for the chops.

But Nakahatchi sensei won't discuss that with you."

I considered my options briefly while we left the head of the stairs and approached the meeting room.

"So what's your guess?"

Hideo inclined his head, acquiescing to something I couldn't identify.

"I expect my master wants to form a deeper impression of your character."

Oh, joy. And me without my references. Not to mention my characteristic good humor.

I ground my teeth.

"How will he do that?"

Now Komatori shrugged.

"I can't say."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't," he replied calmly. Instead of leading me into the meeting room, he halted at the foot of the stairway to the third floor.

"His methods are his own. And they vary. He assesses different people in different ways."

I was in no mood to accept anything from anyone. Nevertheless his answer sounded perfectly reasonable.

Facing him squarely, I said, "OK. I'll cope.

"Here's my security advice." For what it was worth.

"Understand that Alex Lacone won't want to spend the money for a really adequate alarm system. Oh, he wants to keep you and the chops here.

He's pretty clear about that. But he's not exactly brimming with cash."

As it stood, Lacone's "dream" would only work if it grew big enough. He needed to put up more buildings, attract more schools. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to generate the traffic, publicity, and revenue that would suck in serious investors. But without those investors he might not be able to put up more buildings.

"I'll get everything I can out of him," I promised.

"And you can bet that Watchdog will lean on him. But you'll have to take precautions of your own."

Komatori's face didn't show any particular reaction. He simply waited for me to go on.

I gave him the best I had.

"Don't trust this lock." I pointed at the meeting room door.

"Move the display into your apartment at night. Every night. Or

Nakahatchi sensei's. Then put extra deadbolts on your doors. And don't use the same key."

He nodded without hesitation.

"I'll begin tonight. Tomorrow I'll have the deadbolts installed.

"Thank you, Brew-sem." Then he added, "My master is upstairs. You'll be able to speak privately."

In other words, he wasn't coming with me.

The warning I'd missed earlier finally began to nag at the ends of my nerves. This was going to be such fun. I started up the stairs immediately so that I wouldn't have time to talk myself into a frothing rage.

Right away, however, I thought of another question. I stopped abruptly, turned to look down at Komatori. Trying to sound unconcerned, I asked, "By the way, how did your tea ceremony go?"

He laughed, a soft ripple of pleasure.

"Quite well. I was" he spread his hands "surprised. I expected some discomfort. But Mitsuku-san is really an extraordinary hostess. And Sifu Hong was very gracious. Poor T'ang Wen and I found it hard to emulate such grand manners without embarrassing ourselves."

That was a relief. Apparently the danger I'd created for Hong didn't involve driving him into overt conflict with Nakahatchi. Something that I'd wanted to accomplish had actually gone right.

I'd expected Hong's pride to assert itself somehow When I thanked Hideo and started upward again, I had a bit less dread in my stride.

This was my first visit to any top floor in Martial America. Sternway had told me that Nakahatchi had a private dojo up here, as well as a library and a guest apartment. I hoped that I wouldn't have to blunder around knocking on doors. Fortunately, at the head of the stair I found myself in the library, with the dojo immediately beyond it through a wide entryway.

Ignoring the library except to notice that the shelves along the walls held a number of books that looked old and weren't in English I crossed to the dojo.

Like the rooms on the ground level, this one had a hardwood floor, the wood rubbed and cleaned until it seemed to glow with its own warmth.

But this dojo didn't have any mirrors. Instead its long exterior wall held one long series of heavily tinted windows. Presumably the door in the neighboring wall gave access to Na-kahatchi's guest quarters.

Below the precise center of the windows stood a small three-sided structure like a shrine of some kind. It was made of wood lacquered black, ornament ally carved in an austere way, with a line of incense holders nearly at floor level, a black stand supporting two slightly curved swords above that, and above them another stand which cradled a scroll. The swords differed in size, but looked identical in other ways. The larger one, I assumed, was a katana. I didn't know what to call its smaller twin.

On both sides of the shrine where you could look at them while you lit your incense or slit open your guts hung sheets of paper or parchment in plain black frames. The characters written on them looked like kanji.

Sihan Nakahatchi knelt there. He'd replaced his elaborate tea-ceremony garb with a white gi cinched by a black belt so worn that it'd frayed white. He didn't kneel the way Catholics in Puerta del Sol did, straight up from the knees. Instead he'd lowered himself onto his heels with his feet extended under him. A small curl of incense rose past his swords and his bowed head. The air held a faint tinge of sandalwood, so delicate that I almost missed it.

Since I didn't know what else to do, I stayed where I was, watching him from the entryway. But then I caught an ambiguous flash of intuition.

Before I could question it, I bent down to take off my shoes. Leaving them in the library, I stepped onto the hardwood in my socks.

That may've been a signal of some kind. Or a clue. At once Nakahatchi lifted from his knees as lightly as smoke and turned toward me. Like he'd been watching to see how I entered the dojo.

He bowed in my direction, hands at his sides. When I'd bowed back, he beckoned me to join him in the middle of the room.

Up close he looked a bit less sorrowful than he had earlier, and his eyes were brighter, as if someone had rubbed a layer of tarnish off his gaze. I couldn't imagine that he felt better knowing his insurance rates were about to erupt like Krakatoa. Something else must've happened to ease his settled distress, reduce the rub of a worry that had galled him for a long time.

"Mr. Axbrewder." The lines at the corners of his mouth deepened he almost smiled.