“They look like floating lotus flowers,” he said.

“And the merchants like croaking frogs upon them.”

They were standing on a small bridge, watching boats move through the canal. Khin Myo said, “I hear that you are here to repair a piano?”

Edgar hesitated, surprised by the question, “Yes, yes I am. How did you know?”

“One learns a lot if others assume you are deaf to their tongue.”

Edgar looked at her. “I imagine so…Do you think that is strange? It is quite a distance to travel to repair a piano, I suppose.” He turned back to the canal. Two boats had stopped for a woman to measure out a yellow spice into a small bag. Some of the spice dusted the black water like pollen.

“Not so strange. I am confident that Anthony Carroll knows what he is doing.”

“Do you know of Anthony Carroll?”

Again she was silent, and he turned to see her staring out across the water. In the canal, the merchants poled through ink and islands of hyacinth, calling out the price of spices.

They walked back to the house. The sun was higher now,.and Edgar worried that he might not have enough time to bathe before Nash-Burnham came to take him to the reception. Inside, Khin Myo filled the basin in his bathroom with water and brought him soap and a towel. He bathed and shaved and dressed in a new shirt and new trousers, which she had pressed while he was bathing.

When he came outside, he found her kneeling by a washbasin, already washing his clothes.

“Oh, Miss Khin Myo, you don’t need to do that.”

“What?”

“Wash my clothes.”

“Who will wash your clothes if I don’t?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that—”

She interrupted him. “Look! Captain Nash-Burnham is here.”

He saw the Captain rounding the corner. “Hello!” he shouted. He was wearing mess dress: a scarlet shell jacket, a mess waistcoat, blue trousers. A sword hung from his waist.

“Hello, Mr. Drake! Hope you don’t mind a stroll. The carriage was needed for some of the less vigorous guests!” He walked into the yard and looked at Khin Myo. “Ma Khin Myo,” he said, bowing with a flourish. “Aaah, you smell lovely.”

“I smell like cleaning soap.”

“If only roses could bathe in such a soap.”

Here at last, thought Edgar, is the man who called the Irrawaddy a shimmering serpent.

The Commissioner’s residence was twenty minutes on foot from the house. As they walked, the Captain tapped his fingers on his scabbard. “How did you enjoy your morning, Mr. Drake?”

“Well, Captain, very well. I went on a most charming walk with Miss Khin Myo. She is unusual for a Burmese woman, isn’t she? They are all so shy. And she speaks beautiful English.”

“She is very impressive. Did she tell you how she learned?”

“No, I didn’t ask, I didn’t want to pry.”

“That is kind of you, Mr. Drake, although I don’t think she would mind telling you. But I appreciate your discretion. You wouldn’t believe all the problems I have had with other guests. She is very beautiful.”

“She is. Many of the women are. If only I were a young man again.”

“Well, be careful. You wouldn’t be the first Englishman to fall in love and never go home. Sometimes I think that the only reason we seek new colonies is for their girls. Let me be the one to warn you to stay away from matters of love.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Edgar protested. “I have a dear wife in London.” The Captain looked at him askance. Edgar laughed, But I am telling the truth, I do miss Katherine even now.

They followed a fence that enclosed a broad lawn surrounding a stately mansion. At the entrance to the driveway an Indian in a police uniform stood guard. Captain Nash-Burnham nodded at him and he opened the gate. They walked up a long path where several horses stood harnessed to carriages.

“Welcome, Mr. Drake,” said Nash-Burnham. “It should be a bearable afternoon if we survive lunch and the requisite poetry reading. We will be able to play some cards once the ladies retire. We are a bit jaundiced with one another, but we do manage to get along. Just pretend that you are back in England.” He paused. “But first some advice: don’t talk to Mrs. Hemmington about anything Burmese. She has some unpleasant views on what she calls ‘the Nature of Brown Races,’ which are embarrassing to many of us. Seems as if only mentioning a temple or Burmese food gets her talking and she won’t stop. Talk to her about London gossip, or crochet, but nothing Burmese.”

“But I know nothing about crochet.”

“Don’t worry. She does.”

They were near the top of the stairs. “And be careful if Colonel Simmons drinks too much. And don’t ask military questions– remember you are a civilian. And one last thing…perhaps I should have told you this first: most of them know why you are here, and they will extend the hospitality due a fellow countryman. But you are not among friends. Please try not to talk about Anthony Carroll.”

They were met at the door by a tall Sikh butler. The Captain greeted him. “Pavninder Singh, my good man, how are you today?”

“Fine, sahib, fine,” he smiled.

Nash-Burnham handed him his sword. “Pavninder, this is Mr. Drake.” He motioned to Edgar.

“The piano tuner?”

The Captain laughed, his hand on his belly. “Pavninder is an accomplished musician himself. He is a wonderful tabla player.”

“Oh, sahib, you are too generous!”

“Quiet, and stop calling me sahib, you know I hate that. I know music. There are thousands of Indians in Her Majesty’s service in Upper Burma, and you play the finest tabla of any of them. You should see the local girls swoon over him, Mr. Drake. Perhaps the two of you can play a duet if Mr. Drake is in town long enough.”

Now it was Edgar’s turn to protest. “Actually, Captain, I am quite unskilled on the piano—at playing, that is. I only tune and repair.”

“Nonsense, you both are too modest. Regardless, pianos seem to be quite a sore subject at the present time, so you have been spared. Pavninder, have they started lunch yet?”

“Soon, sir. You are just in time.”

He led them into a room crowded with officers and their wives, gin and gossip. He was right, I am back in London, thought Edgar, They have even imported the Atmosphere.

Nash-Burnham was forging a path between two rather large and tipsy women in flowing muslin, each decorated with a cascade of sashes that perched like butterflies on the slopes of their dresses. He placed his hand on a large and dimpled elbow, Mrs. Winterbottom, how are you? Introductions, Mr. Drake?

They moved slowly about the party, the Captain leading Edgar through the eddies of chatter with the intensity of a boatman, his face shifting rapidly between a look of caution as he scanned the room and a wide engaging grin when he pulled one powdered matron or another from their circles to introduce the tuner with a soliloquy, Lady Aston, My Dear, I haven’t seen you since the Commissioner’s Party in March, My Dear you do look so Lovely tonight, Was it the month in Maymyo, Yes? See I knew! Well, I must bring myself to travel there again soon, Not much fun for a bachelor, though, Too peaceful! But soon, soon, I must visit, Wait, let me introduce you to a visitor, Mr. Drake from London. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Aston. And you too, I do miss London dreadfully. Myself as well, madam, and I have only been away one month. Really? You have just arrived, well welcome, I must introduce you to my husband, Alistair? Alistair, meet Mr. Drick, recently arrived from London. A tall man with Dundreary whiskers held out his hand, My pleasure, Mr. Drick…Mr. Drake, actually, Lord Aston, It is a pleasure. Even I know Dundreary whiskers are long out of fashion in London, he thought.

Moving. I would like you to meet Mr. Edgar Drake, recently arrived from London. Mr. Drake, this is Miss Hoffnung, perhaps one of the craftiest whist hands in Upper Burma. Oh, Major, you flatter me, Don’t believe anything he tells you, Mr. Drake. Mrs. Sandilands, Mr. Drake. Mrs. Partridge, this is Edgar Drake from London. Mr. Drake, this is Mrs. Partridge, this is Mrs. Pepper.