They are not alone: the inevitable guard stands by the garden gate.

Jacob tries to ignore him: ' "Ladybird". A gardener's friend . . .'

Anna would like you, he thinks, looking into her face. Anna would like you Anna would like you.

'. . . because ladybirds eat greenfly.' Jacob raises his thumb to his lips and blows.

The ladybird flies all of three feet to the scarecrow's face.

She adjusts the scarecrow's hat as a wife might. 'How you call him?'

'A scarecrow, to "scare crows" away, but his name is Robespierre.'

'Warehouse Eik is "Warehouse Oak"; monkey is "William". Why scarecrow is "Robespierre"?'

'Because his head falls off when the wind changes. It's a dark joke.'

'Joke is secret language,' she frowns, 'inside words.'

Jacob decides against referring to the fan until she does: it would appear, at least, that she is not offended or angered. 'May I help you, miss?'

'Yes. Dr Marinus ask I come and ask you for rozu-meri rozu-meri. He ask . . .'

The better I know Marinus, thinks Jacob, the less I understand him the less I understand him.

'. . . he ask, "Bid Dombaga give you six fresh . . . 'sprogs' of rozu-meri rozu-meri." '

'Over here, then, in the herb-garden.' He leads her down the path, unable to think of a single pleasantry that doesn't sound terminally inane.

She asks, 'Why Mr Dazuto work today as Dejima gardener?'

'Because,' the pastor's son lies through his teeth, 'I enjoy a garden's company. As a boy,' he leavens his lie with some truth, 'I worked in a relative's orchard. We cultivated the first plum trees ever to grow in our village.'

'In village of Domburg,' she says, 'in Province of Zeeland.'

'You are most kind to remember.' Jacob breaks off a half-dozen young sprigs. 'Here you are.' For a priceless coin of time, their hands are linked by a few inches of bitter herb, witnessed by a dozen blood-orange sunflowers.

I don't want a purchased courtesan, he thinks. I wish to earn you I wish to earn you.

'Thank you.' She smells the herb. ' "Rosemary" has meaning?'

Jacob blesses his foul-breathed martinet of a Latin master in Middelburg. 'Its Latin name is Ros marinus Ros marinus, wherein "Ros" is "dew" - do you know the word "dew"?'

She frowns, shakes her head a little and her parasol spins, slowly.

'Dew is water found early in the morning before the sun burns it away.'

The midwife understands. ' "Dew" . . . we say "asa-tsuyu".'

Jacob knows he shall never forget the word 'asa-tsuyu' so long as he lives. ' "Ros" being dew, and "marinus" meaning "ocean", Ros marinus Ros marinus is "dew of the ocean". Old people say that rosemary thrives - grows well - only when it can hear the ocean.' is "dew of the ocean". Old people say that rosemary thrives - grows well - only when it can hear the ocean.'

The story pleases her. 'Is it true tale?'

'It may be . . .' let time stop let time stop, Jacob wishes '. . . prettier than it is true.'

'Meaning of "marinus" is "sea"? So doctor is "Dr Ocean"?'

'You could say so, yes. Does "Aibagawa" have meaning?'

' "Aiba" is "indigo",' her pride in her name is plain, 'and "gawa" is "river".'

'So you are an indigo river. You sound like a poem.' And And you, Jacob tells himself, you, Jacob tells himself, sound like a flirty lecher sound like a flirty lecher. 'Rosemary is also a woman's Christian name - a given name. My own given name is,' he strains to sound casual, 'Jacob.'

'What is . . .' she swivels her head to show puzzlement '. . . Ya-ko-bu?'

'The name my parents gave me: Jacob. My full name is Jacob de Zoet.'

She gives a cautious nod. 'Yakobu Dazuto.'

I wish, he thinks, spoken words could be captured and kept in a locket spoken words could be captured and kept in a locket.

'My pronounce,' Miss Aibagawa asks, 'is not very good?'

'No no no: you are perfect in every way. Your pronounce is perfect.'

Crickets scritter and clirk in the garden's low walls of stones.

'Miss Aibagawa -' Jacob swallows, 'what is your given name?'

She makes him wait. 'My name from mother and father is Orito.'

The breeze twists a coil of her hair around its finger.

She looks down. 'Doctor is waiting. Thank you for rosemary.'

Jacob says, 'You are most welcome,' and doesn't dare say more.

She takes three or four paces, and turns back. 'I forget a thing.' She reaches into her sleeve and produces a fruit, the size and hue of an orange, but smooth as hairless skin. 'From my garden. I bring many to Dr Marinus so he ask I take one to Mr Dazuto. It is kaki kaki.'

'Then, in Japanese, a persimmon is a cacky cacky?'

'Ka-ki.' She rests it on the crook of the scarecrow's shoulder.

'Ka-ki. Robespierre and I shall eat it later, thank you.'

Her wooden slippers crunch the friable earth as she walks along the path.

Act, implores the Ghost of Future Regret. I shan't give you another chance I shan't give you another chance.

Jacob hurries past the tomatoes and catches her up near the gate.

'Miss Aibagawa? Miss Aibagawa. I must ask you to forgive me.'

She has turned around and has one hand on the gate. 'Why forgive?'

'For what I now say.' The marigolds are molten. 'You are beautiful.'

She understands. Her mouth opens and closes. She takes a step back . . .

. . . into the wicket gate. Still shut, it rattles. The guard swings it open.

Damn fool, groans the Demon of Present Regret. What have you done? What have you done?

Crumpling, burning and freezing, Jacob retreats, but the garden has quadrupled in length, and it may take a Wandering Jew's eternity before he reaches the cucumbers, where he kneels behind a screen of dock leaves; where the snail on the pail flexes its stumpy horns; where ants carry patches of rhubarb leaf along the shaft of the hoe; and he wishes the Earth might spin backwards to a time she appeared, asking for rosemary, and he would do it all again, and he would do it all differently.

A doe cries for her yearling, slaughtered for the Lord of Satsuma.

Before the evening muster, Jacob climbs the Watchtower and takes out the persimmon from his jacket pocket. Hollows from the fingers of Aibagawa Orito are indented in her ripe gift and he places his own fingers there, holds the fruit under his nostrils, inhales its gritty sweetness, and rolls its rotundity along his cracked lips. I regret my confession I regret my confession, he thinks, yet what choice did I have? yet what choice did I have? He eclipses the sun with her persimmon: the planet glows orange like a Jack o' Lantern. There is a dusting around its woody black cap and stem. Lacking a knife or spoon, he takes a nip of waxy skin between his incisors, and tears; juice oozes from the gash; he licks the sweet smears and sucks out a dribbling gobbet of threaded flesh and holds it gently, He eclipses the sun with her persimmon: the planet glows orange like a Jack o' Lantern. There is a dusting around its woody black cap and stem. Lacking a knife or spoon, he takes a nip of waxy skin between his incisors, and tears; juice oozes from the gash; he licks the sweet smears and sucks out a dribbling gobbet of threaded flesh and holds it gently, gently gently, against the roof of his mouth, where the pulp disintegrates into fermented jasmine, oily cinnamon, perfumed melon, melted damson . . . and in its heart he finds ten or fifteen flat stones, brown as Asian eyes and the same shape. The sun is gone now, cicadas fall silent, lilacs and turquoises dim and thin into greys and darker greys. A bat passes within a few feet, chased by its own furry turbulence. There is not the faintest breath of a breeze. Smoke emerges from the galley flue on the Shenandoah Shenandoah and sags around the brig's bows. Her gun-ports are open and the sound of ten dozen sailors dining in her belly carries over the water; and like a struck tuning fork, Jacob reverberates with the parts and the entirety of Orito, with all the and sags around the brig's bows. Her gun-ports are open and the sound of ten dozen sailors dining in her belly carries over the water; and like a struck tuning fork, Jacob reverberates with the parts and the entirety of Orito, with all the her her-ness of her. The promise he gave to Anna rubs his conscience like a burr, But Anna But Anna, he thinks uneasily, is so far away in miles and in years; and she gave her consent, she as good as gave her consent, and she'd never know is so far away in miles and in years; and she gave her consent, she as good as gave her consent, and she'd never know, and Jacob's stomach ingests Orito's slithery gift. Creation never ceased on the sixth evening Creation never ceased on the sixth evening, it occurs to the young man. Creation unfolds around us, despite us and through us, at the speed of days and nights, and we like to call it 'Love' Creation unfolds around us, despite us and through us, at the speed of days and nights, and we like to call it 'Love'.

'Kapitan Boru-suten-boshu,' intones Interpreter Sekita, a quarter-hour later at the flagpole's foot. Ordinarily the twice-daily muster is conducted by Constable Kosugi who requires only a minute to check the foreigners, all of whose names and faces he knows. This evening, however, Sekita has decided to assert his authority by conducting the muster whilst the constable stands to one side with a sour face. 'Where is the . . .' Sekita squints at his list '. . . the Boru- suten-boshu?'

Sekita's scribe tells his master that Chief Vorstenbosch is attending the Lord of Satsuma this evening. Sekita administers a rebuke to his scribe and squints at the next name. 'Where is the . . . the Banku-rei-fu?'

Sekita's scribe reminds his master that Deputy van Cleef is with the Chief.

Constable Kosugi clears his throat loudly and unnecessarily.

The interpreter proceeds with the muster list. 'Ma-ri-as-su . . .'

Marinus stands with thumbs in his jacket pocket. 'It is Doctor Doctor Marinus.' Marinus.'

Sekita looks up, alarmed. 'The Marinus need the doctor?'

Gerritszoon and Baert snort, amused: Sekita senses he has made a mistake, and says, 'Friend in need is friend indeed.' He peers at the next name: 'Fui . . . sha . . .'

'That, I daresay,' replies Peter Fischer, 'is I, but one says it thus: "Fischer".'

'Yes yes, the Fuisha.' Sekita wrestles with the next name. 'Oe-hando.'

'Present, for my sins,' says Ouwehand, rubbing the ink-stains on his hands.

Sekita dabs his brow with a handkerchief. 'Dazuto . . .'

'Present,' says Jacob. To list and name people To list and name people, he thinks, is to subjugate them is to subjugate them.

Working down the muster, Sekita butchers the hands' names: the snide quips with which Gerritszoon and Baert respond do not alter the fact that they must, and do, answer. The White foreigners accounted for, Sekita proceeds to the four servants and four slaves who stand in two groups to the left and right of their masters. The interpreter begins with the servants: Eelattu, Cupido and Philander, then squints at the name of the muster list's first slave. 'Su-ya-ko.'

When there is no reply, Jacob looks around for the missing Malay.

Sekita hammers out the syllables, 'Su-ya-ko,' but there is no reply.

He fires a foul glare at his scribe, who asks Constable Kosugi a question.

Kosugi tells Sekita, Jacob guesses, 'This is your your mustering so missing names are mustering so missing names are your your problem.' Sekita addresses Marinus. 'Where - are - Su-ya-ko?' problem.' Sekita addresses Marinus. 'Where - are - Su-ya-ko?'

The doctor is humming a bass tune. When the verse ends and Sekita is riled, Marinus turns to the servants and slaves. 'Would you be so kind as to locate Sjako and tell him that he is late for muster?'

The seven men hurry to Long Street, discussing Sjako's likely whereabouts.

'I'll find where the dog is skulking,' Peter Fischer tells Marinus, 'faster than that Brown Rabble. Join me, Mr Gerritszoon, you are the man for this job.'

Peter Fischer emerges from Flag Alley less than five minutes later with a bloodied right hand, ahead of some house interpreters who all speak at once to Constable Kosugi and Interpreter Sekita. Moments later Eelattu appears and reports to Marinus in Ceylonese. Fischer informs the other Dutchmen, 'We found the dung-beetle in the crate store down Bony Alley next to Warehouse Doorn. I'd seen him go in there earlier today.'

'Why,' Jacob asks, 'didn't you bring him here for mustering?'

Fischer smiles. 'He shan't be walking for a little while, I daresay.'

Ouwehand asks, 'What did you do do to him, in Jesus' name?' to him, in Jesus' name?'

'Less than the slave deserves. He was drinking stolen spirits and spoke to us in an abusive manner unforgivable in an equal, let alone a stinking Malay. When Mr Gerritszoon made shift to correct this impertinence with a length of rattan, he changed into a Black Fury, howled like a blood-crazed wolf and tried to batter our skulls with a crowbar.'

'Then why did none of us us,' Jacob demands, 'hear this blood-crazed howl?'

'Because,' Fischer expostulates, 'he closed the door first, Clerk de Zoet!'

'Sjako'd never hurt an ant,' says Ivo Oost, 'not so far as I I know.' know.'

'Perhaps you are too close,' Fischer refers to Oost's blood, 'to be impartial.'

Arie Grote gently removes a whittling knife from Oost's grip. Marinus gives Eelattu an order in Ceylonese, and the servant runs in the direction of the Hospital. The doctor hurries as fast as his lameness allows into Flag Alley. Jacob follows, ignoring Sekita's protestations, ahead of Constable Kosugi and his guards.

The evening light turns the whitewashed warehouses of Long Street dim bronze. Jacob catches up with Marinus. At the Crossroads they turn down Bony Alley, pass Warehouse Doorn and enter the hot, dim, cramped crate store.

'Oh, you you took yer time,' says Gerritszoon, sat on a sack, 'din't yer?' took yer time,' says Gerritszoon, sat on a sack, 'din't yer?'

'Where's--' Jacob sees the answer to his question.

The sack is Sjako. His once-handsome head is on the floor in a pond of blood; his lip is slit; one eye is half disappeared; and he gives no sign of life. Splintered crates, a smashed bottle and a broken chair lie around. Gerritszoon kneels on Sjako's back, binding the slave's wrists.

The others crowd into the crate store behind Jacob and the Doctor.

'Jesus, Mary,' Con Twomey exclaims, 'and Oliver fecking fecking Cromwell, man!' Cromwell, man!'

The Japanese witnesses utter expressions of shock in their language.