The fires in Tianjin had begun to die down.
Smoke still hung over parts of the port, but the worst of the flames had burned through what they could consume. Charred beams lay collapsed along the waterfront. The remains of the batteries were nothing more than broken earth and scattered stone.
The French fleet remained anchored just beyond the damaged harbor.
From the deck of the Napoleon I, the coastline looked quiet.
Villeneuve stood near the rail, watching the shoreline through a glass.
"They're taking their time," he said.
Remy stood beside him.
"They needed to send word to Beijing," he replied. "This was never going to be immediate."
Villeneuve lowered the glass.
"They've seen enough."
"Yes," Remy said. "Which is why they're thinking carefully."
Behind them, the ship moved with its usual rhythm. Crewmen passed along the deck carrying out routine tasks. Officers spoke in low voices near the bridge. The guns remained in position, silent but ready.
Nothing had changed.
