“Yes, we have one that makes a regular Shanghai-to-Wen-chou run. Our ships are all registered now with a partner company, a Portuguese firm. So far the Japanese have respected the foreign flag and don’t interfere.”

“When does the ship sail again?” Shao said. “I need to get home, Mr. Mah.”

“It returns to Wen-chou later today,” Mah said, “and sails for Shanghai the day after tomorrow. When everything’s on schedule, it’s an overnight trip.” He looked apologetic. “The Dong Feng isn’t our fastest freighter.”

“Where does my brother live?” Shao said. He felt a swell of confidence. For the first time in a long while, he was speaking from a position of authority. “My friends and I need rooms.”

“Your family owns a fine house here,” Mah said. “I’ll send word to the, ah, housekeeper to get some rooms ready for you.”

“We also need a doctor,” Sparrow said. “Mr. Liu has come down with a fever.”

“So unfortunate.” The manager shook his head. “I’ll send for a doctor to go to the house after lunch.”

After months of privation and now, a housekeeper. Private rooms. A doctor. “How can life be so normal in Wen-chou?” Shao said.

“The question is, how much longer can life go on as normal?” Manager Mah replied. “The Japanese are busy right now holding the north and the east while they bomb central China. We’re only a small port, not worth their notice, not yet anyway. So we take advantage of it while we can.”

After sending a messenger to the house, Mah insisted on ordering lunch. It would give the housekeeper time to get their rooms ready, he said. The restaurant next door sent over soup noodles with fried pork chops, a mixed vegetable stir-fry, and sesame-sprinkled buns. Lian and Sparrow quickly finished their portions, but Shao could only manage some noodle broth.

Rickshaws took them to an old-fashioned courtyard house. When they arrived, the gatekeeper bowed, then rushed inside. They heard his excited shouting.

“Mrs. Deng, Mrs. Deng! Ah Guo, Ah Guo! Come out! The master’s younger brother is here!”

Almost immediately a man past his middle years came out of the interior courtyard. He wore a plain tunic and trousers of dark blue, obviously a servant. The woman following close behind was dressed in a long skirt and old-fashioned jacket with a high collar. The cut and fabric were too fine for that of a mere servant. She was also exquisitely beautiful.

“I’m Mrs. Deng,” she said, with the slightest of bows. “The housekeeper. We have three rooms ready for you. Also hot baths.”

Beside him, Shao heard Lian’s quick intake of breath. He couldn’t blame her. He had to force his eyes away from Mrs. Deng. He’d never seen anyone as lovely as his brother’s housekeeper. If that’s who she was.