Blank Doll takes a rest.

Imagine a room. Its four walls papered a sombre shade of green and hung with scrolls upon scrolls of calligraphy. A skilled connoiseur of such things would recognize them to be the works of Ly Duong Cui, all part of his Thoughts on an Amber Print. A bookcase stood with its back to a side of the room and an oblong table placed next to it, the satin grain of the wood lacquered till it gleamed like rouged amber. There was little else in the room, save for a man seated to the side of the table on a stool.

He folded his hands together, fingers laced, shifted and laced again. A bead of perspiration rolled down an errant strand of grey hair before being brushed away. The room was silent save for the humming of the air conditioner though he felt the compulsion to remove his jacket. He took a deep breath, his pale skin suffused with a blanched tautness that made his clenched jaw very prominent.

The door opened. He rose to his feet and made for the door in a motion like a large spring uncoiling in a sudden. The man who had just entered the room waved for him to sit down and then took his place behind the table.

"Terribly sorry, Childric," he said in Mandarin. Shuffling the paper that had been arranged into a pile on his table, he retrieved a sheaf from it. "Yes?"

"Mr. Vo, sir. We spoke about the contract with the Company, remember? You mentioned a reply-"

"Ah, that. Why yes, His Excellency has spoken with the Chinese Executive and there appears to be," he paused, silently mouthing the words on the paper, "some inconvenience involved."

"But, sir, surely the Vietnamese Embassy may have the right of it? To persuade the Company? I assure you, my colleagues and I have done the utmost with regards to this concern."

The man chuckled and put the piece of paper down. He leaned forward to take a better look at the man. A Frenchman. Ah, the irony of it.

"But of course, Childric. When has Vietnam never cared for her kin? It will take time, that is all, to convince that Chinese Executive that you will be the best candidate to serve the interest of the Company."

There was a pause where both men looked at one another. It was all the man could do to keep his gaze steady in the face of the official's bland smile, his eyes seeming to pierce through his.

The man coughed, "If there is anything else I can do, perhaps speak with the Chinese Executive myself-"

"-impossible, you know the protocol. For you to request their attention without a Vietnamese mediary," he shook his head and smiled.

"I understand, sir," the man said though his fists clenched beneath the table. It was the sort of obtuse procedures that the Chinese always required and he was never allowed to forget it, his place in the scheme of things.

The official remained silent, his attention turned to a letter he was currently writing. The meeting was over as far as he was concerned. There were things the Frenchman did not have to know.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Vo." The man inclined his head and walked out of the room, closing the door with deliberate slowness.

"Don't let me keep you."

C'est tout.