At the wharf, Kowloon side, Line paid the boat off and they strolled to the hotel, arm in arm. A few waiters were still on duty in the lobby."Evening, sir, evening, missee," the old elevator man said sibi-lantly, and, on their floor, Nighttime Chang scurried ahead of them to open the door of the suite. Automatically Line gave him a dollar and they were bowed in. Nighttime Chang closed the door.She bolted it."Drink?" he asked."No thanks. It'd spoil that brandy."She saw him looking at her. They were standing in the center of the living room, the huge picture window displaying all of Hong Kong behind him, his bedroom to the right, hers to the left. She could feel the vein in her neck pulsing, her loins seemed liquid and he looked so handsome to her."Well, it's . . . thanks for a lovely evening, Line. I'll . . . I'll see you tomorrow," she said. But she did not move."It's three months to your birthday, Casey.""Thirteen weeks and six days.""Why don't we finesse them and get married now. Tomorrow?""You've . . . you've been so wonderful to me, Line, so good to be patient and put up with my … my craziness." She smiled at him. It was a tentative smile. "It's not long now. Let's do it as we agreed. Please?"He stood there and watched her, wanting her. Then he said, "Sure." At his door he stopped. "Casey, you're right about this place. It is romantic and exciting. It's got to me too. Maybe, maybe you'd better get another room."His door closed.That night she cried herself to sleep.WEDNESDAY275:45 A.M. :The two racehorses came out of the turn into the final stretch going very fast. It was false dawn, the sky still dark to the west, and the Happy Valley Racecourse was spotted with people at the morning workout.Dunross was up on Buccaneer, the big bay gelding, and he was neck and neck with Noble Star, ridden by his chief jockey, Tom Leung. Noble Star was on the rails and both horses were going well with plenty in reserve. Then Dunross saw the winning post ahead and he had that sudden urge to jam in his heels and best the other horse. The other jockey sensed the challenge and looked across at him. But both riders knew they were there just to exercise and not to race, there to confuse the opposition, so Dunross bottled his almost blinding desire.Both horses had their ears down now. Their flanks were wet with sweat. Both felt the bit in between their teeth. And now, well into the stretch, they pounded toward the winning post excitedly, the inner training sand track not as fast as the encircling grass, making them work harder. Both riders stood high in the stirrups, leaning forward, reins tight.Noble Star was carrying less weight. She began to pull away. Dunross automatically used his heels and cursed Buccaneer. The pace quickened. The gap began to close. His exhilaration soared. This gallop was barely half a lap so he thought he would be safe. No opposing trainer could get an accurate timing on them so he kicked harder and the race was on. Both horses knew. Their strides lengthened. Noble Star had her nose ahead and then, feeling Buccaneer coming up fast, she took the bit, laid to and charged forward on her own account and drew away and beat Dunross by half a length.Now the riders slackened speed and, standing easily, continued around the lovely course—a patch of green surrounded by massed buildings and tiers of high rises that dotted the mountainsides. When Dunross had cantered up the final stretch again, he broke off the exercising, reined in beside where the winner's circle would normally be and dismounted. He slapped the filly affectionately on the neck, threw the reins to a stable hand. The man swung into the saddle and continued her exercise.Dunross eased his shoulders, his heart beating nicely, the taste of blood in his mouth. He felt very good, his stretched muscles aching pleasantly. He had ridden all of his life. Horse racing was still officially all amateur in Hong Kong. When he was young he had raced two seasons and he would have continued, but he had been warned off the course by his father, then tai-pan and chief steward, and again by Alastair Struan when he took over both jobs, and ordered to quit racing on pain of instant dismissal. So he had stopped racing though he continued to exercise the Struan stable at his whim. And he raced in the dawn when the mood was on him. It was the getting up when most of the world slept, to gallop in half light—the exercise and excitement, the speed, and the danger that cleared his head.Dunross spat the sweet sick taste of not winning out of his mouth. That's better, he thought. I could have taken Noble Star today, but I'd've done it in the turn, not in the stretch.Other horses were exercising on the sand track, more joining the circuit or leaving it. Knots of owners and trainers and jockeys were conferring, ma-foos—stable hands—walking horses in their blankets. He saw Butterscotch Lass, Richard Kwang's great mare, canter past, a white star on her forehead, neat fetlocks, her jockey riding her tightly, looking very good. Over on the far side Pilot Fish, Gornt's prize stallion, broke into a controlled gallop, chasing another of the Struan string, Impatience, a new, young, untried filly, recently acquired in the first balloting of this season. Dunross watched her critically and thought she lacked stamina. Give her a season or two and then we'll see, he thought. Then Pilot Fish ripped past her and she skittered in momentary fright, then charged in pursuit until her jockey pulled her in, teaching her to gallop at his whim and not at hers."So, tai-pan!" his trainer said. He was a leather-faced, iron-hard Russian emigre in his late sixties with graying hair and this was his third season with Struan's. "So, Alexi?""So the devil got into you and you gave him your heel and did you see Noble Star surge ahead?""She's a trier. Noble Star's a trier, everyone knows that," Dunross replied calmly."Yes, but I'd've preferred only you and I to be reminded of it today and not"—the small man jerked a calloused thumb at the onlookers and grinned—". . . and not every viblyadok in Asia."Dunross grinned back. "You notice too much.""I'm paid to notice too much."Alexi Travkin could outride, outdrink, outwork and outstay a man half his age. He was a loner among the other trainers. Over the years he had told various stories about his past—like most of those who had been caught in the great turmoils of Russia and her revolutions, China and her revolutions, and now drifted the byways of Asia seeking a peace they could never find.Alexi Ivanovitch Travkin had come out of Russia to Harbin in Manchuria in 1919, then worked his way south to the International Settlement of Shanghai. There he began to ride winners. Because he was very good and knew more about horses than most men know about themselves, he soon became a trainer. When the exodus happened again in '49 he fled south, this time to Hong Kong where he stayed a few years then drifted south again to Australia and the circuits there. But Asia beckoned him so he returned. Dunross was trainerless at that time and offered him the stable of the Noble House."I'll take it, tai-pan," he had said at once."We haven't discussed money," Dunross had said."You're a gentleman, so am I. You'll pay me the best for face— and because I'm the best.""Are you?""Why else do you offer me the post? You don't like to lose either."Last season had been good for both of them. The first not so good. Both knew this coming season would be the real test.Noble Star was walking past, settling down nicely."What about Saturday?" Dunross asked."She'll be trying.""And Butterscotch Lass?""She'll be trying. So will Pilot Fish. So will all the others—in all eight races. This's a very special meeting. We'll have to watch our entries very carefully."