Tai-Pan (18 page)

“Wat present?”

“Never mind.”

“Please, Tai-Pan, I won’t tease you any more. Wat present?”

“Never mind.”

“Please tell me. Please. Was it jade pin? Or gold bracelet? Or silks?”

“How’s your headache?”

She slapped him crossly, then threw her arms tighter around his neck. “You are so bad to me and I’m so good to you. Let’s make love, then.”

“We’ll play four games. A thousand dolla point.”

“But that is too much gamble!” She saw the mocking challenge in his face, and her eyes flashed. “Four games. I beat you, by God.”

“Oh no, by God!”

So they played four games and she cursed and cheered and wept and laughed and gasped, consumed with excitement as her fortunes changed. She lost eighteen thousand dollars.

“God’s death, I’m ruined, Tai-Pan. Ruined. Oh woe, woe, woe. All my savings and more. My house—One more game,” she begged. “You must let me try to get back monies.”

“Tomorrow. Same stakes.”

“Never will I gamble again for such stakes. Never, never, never. Except one more time tomorrow.”

After they had made love, May-may got out of the four-poster bed and went to the fireplace. An iron kettle hissed softly on the little iron shelf near the flames.

She knelt down and poured the hot water from the kettle on the clean white towels. The flames danced over the purity of her body. Her feet were encased in tiny sleeping shoes and the bindings were neat around her ankles. Her legs were long and beautiful. She brushed the shiny blue-blackness of her hair behind her and came back to the bed.

Struan held out his hand for one of the towels.

“No,” May-may said. “Let me. It gives me pleasure and it is my duty.”

When she had dried him she washed herself and then settled peacefully beside him under the quilts. A crisp wind rustled the damask curtains and made the flames in the grate hiss. Shadows danced on the walls and high ceiling.

“Look, there’s a dragon,” May-may said.

“No. It’s a ship. Are you warm enough?”

“Always, near you. There’s a pagoda.”

“Aye.” He put an arm around her, glorying in the smooth coolness of her skin.

“Ah Gip is making tea.”

“Good. Tea will be very good.”

After the tea they were refreshed, and they lay back in the bed and he blew out the lamp. They watched the shadows again.

“Your custom is that you may only have one wife, heya?”

“Aye.”

“Chinese custom is better. 
Tai-tai
 is more wise.”

“What’s that, lassie?”

“ ‘Supreme of the Supreme.’ The husband is supreme in family, of course, but in the home, first wife is supreme of supreme. It is Chinese law. Many wives is also law but one Tai-tai.” She moved her long hair more comfortably. “How soon will you marry? What is your custom?”

“I dinna think I’ll marry again.”

“You should. A Scottish or English. But first you should marry me.”

“Aye,” Struan said. “Perhaps I should.”

“Aye, perhaps you should. I am your Tai-tai,” and then she nestled closer to him and let herself slip into tranquil sleep.

Struan watched the shadows a long time. Then he slept.

Just after dawn he awoke, sensing danger. Taking his knife from under the pillow, he walked softly to the window and pulled the curtains aside. To his astonishment he saw that the square was deserted. Beyond the square, in the river, an uneasy silence seemed to hang over the floating villages.

Then he heard muffled footsteps padding toward the room. He glanced at May-may. She still slept peacefully. With his knife ready, Struan leaned against the wall behind the door and waited.

The footsteps ceased.

A gentle knock.

“Aye?”

The servant came softly into the room. He was frightened, and when he saw Struan naked, the knife in his hand, he gasped out, “Mass’er! Hooknose Mass’er and Black Hair Mass’er dooa here. Say quick-quick plees can.”

“Say I quick-quick dooa.”

Struan dressed quickly. He dropped a hairbrush and May-may half awoke. “Is too early to get up. Come back to bed,” she said sleepily, and curled deeper into the quilts and was instantly asleep again.

Struan opened the door. Ah Gip was squatting patiently in the corridor, where she had slept. Struan had given up trying to make her sleep elsewhere for Ah Gip would smile and nod and say, “Yes, Mass’er,” and still sleep outside the door. She was short and square and a smile seemed to be permanently fixed on her round, pockmarked face. For three years she had been May-may’s personal slave. Struan had paid three taels of silver for her.

He beckoned her into the room. “Missee dooa sleep can. Waitee this piece room, savvy?”

“Savvy, Mass’er.”

He hurried downstairs.

Cooper and Wolfgang Mauss were waiting for him in the dining room. Mauss was moodily checking his pistols.

“Sorry to disturb you, Tai-Pan. There’s trouble,” Cooper said.

“What?”

“There’s a rumor spreading that two thousand Manchu soldiers—bannermen—came into Canton last light.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Cooper said. “But if it is true, there’s going to be trouble.”

“How-qua sent for me this morning,” Mauss said heavily.

“Did he say if Jin-qua was back yet?”

“No, Tai-Pan. He still says his father’s away. For myself, I do not think so, 
hein
? How-qua was very afraid. He said that he’d been awoken early this morning. An imperial edict signed by the emperor was given him which said that all trade with us was to cease instantly. I read it. The seals were correct. The whole Co-hong’s in an uproar.”

There was a clattering in the square. They hurried over to the window. Below them a company of mounted Manchu soldiers trotted into the east end and dismounted. They were big men and heavily armed—muskets, long bows, swords and bannered lances. Some were bearded. They were called bannermen because they were imperial troops and carried the imperial banners. Chinese were not allowed into their regiments; they were the elite of the emperor’s army.

“Well, there are certainly forty or fifty in Canton,” Struan said.

“And if there are two thousand?” Cooper asked.

“We’d better get ready to leave the Settlement.”

“Bannermen are a bad sign,” Mauss said. He did not want to leave the Settlement; he wished to stay with his Chinese converts and to continue the preaching to the heathen that took all of his time when he was not interpreting for Struan. 
“Schrechlich
 bad.”

Struan considered possibilities, then rang for a servant. “Big chow quick-quick. Coffee—tea—eggs—meat—quick-quick!”

“Bannermen are in the square, and all you think of is having breakfast?” Cooper asked.

“No point in worrying on an empty stomach,” Struan said. “I’m hungry this morning.”

Mauss laughed. He had heard the whispered rumor among the servants that the Tai-Pan’s legendary mistress had arrived in secret. At Struan’s suggestion, two years ago he had secretly taught May-may Christianity and had converted her. Yes, he thought proudly, the Tai-Pan trusts me. Because of him, oh Lord, one at least has been saved. Because of him, others are being saved for Thy divine mercy. “Breakfast is a good idea.”

Standing beside the window, Cooper could see the traders scurrying through the garden and into their factories. The bannermen were grouped in an untidy mass, squatting and chattering. “Maybe it’ll be like the last time. The mandarins’ll hold us for ransom,” Cooper said.

“Na this time, laddie. If they start anything, they’ll try to cut us up first.”

“Why?”

“Why send bannermen to Canton? They’re fighting men—na like the local Chinese army.”

Servants came in and began to lay the huge table. Later the food was brought. There were cold chickens and boiled eggs and loaves of bread and hot stew and dumplings and hot meat pies and butter, marmalade and jam.

Struan ate heartily and so did Mauss. But Cooper had no relish for his food.

“Mass’er?” a servant said.

“Aye?”

“One-Eye Mass’er dooa here. Can?”

“Can.”

Brock stalked into the room. His son Gorth was with him. “Morning, gentlemen. Morning, Dirk lad.”

“Breakfast?”

“Thank you kindly.”

“You had a good voyage, Gorth?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Struan.” Gorth was of a size with his father, a hard man, scarred and broken-nosed, with grizzled hair and beard. “Next time I be beating 
Thunder Cloud.
”

“Next time, lad,” Brock said with a laugh, “you be captaining her.” He sat and began to gorge himself. “Will thee pass the stew, Mr. Cooper?” He jerked a bent thumb at the window. “Them bastards doan mean no good.”

“Aye. What do you think, Brock?” Struan asked.

“The Co-hong be tearing their pigtails out. So trade be finished for the time. First time I seed poxy bannermen.”

“Evacuate the Settlement?”

“I baint bein’ chased out by Chinee or by bannermen.” Brock helped himself to more stew. “Course I may retreat a little. In me own time. Most of us’n be starting back tomorrer for the land sale. But we’d do good to call a council right smartly. You’ve arms here?”

“Na enough.”

“We’ve plenty for a siege. Gorth bringed ’em. This place be the best to defend. It be almost ourn anyway,” he added.

“How many bullyboys have you?”

“Twenty. Gorth’s lads. They’ll take on a hundred Chinese apiece.”

“I’ve thirty, counting the Portuguese.”

“Forget the Portuguese. Better us’n alone.” Brock wiped his mouth and broke a small loaf in two and smeared it with butter and marmalade.

“You can’t defend the Settlement, Brock,” Cooper said.

“We can defend this factory, lad. Doan thee worry about us’n. You and the rest of the Americans hole up in yorn. They won’t touch thee—it’s us’n they want after.”

“Aye,” Struan said. “And we’ll need you to watch our trade if we have to leave.”

“That be another reason I come here, Dirk. Wanted to talk open about trade and Cooper-Tillman. I made a proposal which were accepted.”

“The proposal was accepted subject to Struan and Company’s not being able to fulfill prior arrangements,” Cooper said. “We’re giving you thirty days, Dirk. On top of the thirty days.”

“Thank you, Jeff. That’s generous.”

“That be stupid, lad. But I doan mind the time, I be generous too with yor time. Five more days, Dirk, eh?”

Struan turned to Mauss. “Go back to the Co-hong and find out what you can. Be careful and take one of my men.”

“I don’t need a man with me.” Mauss heaved his girth out of the chair and left.

“We’ll hold the council downstairs,” Struan said.

“Good. Perhaps we should all move in here. There be space enough.”

“That would give us away. Better to prepare and wait. It may just be a trick.”

“Right thee are, lad. We be safe enough till servants disappear. Come on, Gorth. Conference in an hour? Downstairs?”

“Aye.”

Brock and Gorth left. Cooper broke a silence. “What does it all mean?”

“I think it’s a ploy by Ti-sen to make us nervous. To prepare for some concessions he wants.” Struan laid a hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “Thanks for the thirty days. I will na forget.”

“Moses had forty days. I thought thirty’d be adequate for you.”

The conference was noisy and angry, but Brock and Struan dominated it.

All the traders—with the exception of the Americans— were in the huge state room that Struan used as his private office. Kegs of cognac, whisky, rum, and beer lined one wall. Tiers of books and ledgers lined another. Quance paintings hung on the walls—landscapes of Macao, portraits, and ships. Glass-fronted chests with pewter mugs and silver tankards. And racks of cutlasses, and muskets; powder and shot.

“It’s nothing, I tell you,” Masterson snorted. He was a red-faced, dewlapped man in his early thirties, head of the firm of Masterson, Roach and Roach. He was dressed like the other men—dark wool broadcloth frock coat, resplendent waistcoat and felt top hat. “The Chinese have never molested the Settlement ever since there was one here, by God.”

“Aye. But that was before we went to war with them and won it.” Struan wished they would all agree and go. He held a perfumed handkerchief over his nose against the rancid stench of their bodies.

“I say toss the bloody bannermen out of the square right now,” Gorth said, refilling his tankard with beer.

“We be doing that if it be necessary.” Brock spat into the pewter spitoon. “I be tired of all this talkin’. Now be we agreeing with Dirk’s plan or baint we?”

He glared around the room.

Most of the traders glared back. There were forty of them—English and Scots, except for Eliksen the Dane, who factored for a London firm, and a corpulent Parsee dressed in flowing robes, Rumajee, from India. MacDonald, Kerney, Maltby from Glasgow and Messer, Vivien, Tobe, Smith of London were the chief traders, all tough, oak-hard men in their thirties.

“I sniff troubles, 
sir
,” Rumajee said and pulled at his vast mustache. “I counsel immediate retreat.”

“For God’s sake, the whole point of the plan, Rumajee, is not to retreat,” Roach said caustically. “To retreat only if necessary. I vote for the plan. And I agree with Mr. Brock. Too much bloody talking and I’m tired.” Struan’s plan was simple. They would all wait in their own factories; if trouble began, on a signal from Struan, they would converge on his factory under covering fire from his men if necessary. “Retreat before the heathen? Never, by God!”

“May I suggest something, Mr. Struan?” Eliksen asked.

Struan nodded at the tall, fair-haired, taciturn man. “Of course.”

“Perhaps one of us should volunteer to take word to Whampoa. From there a fast lorcha could hare for the fleet at Hong Kong. Just in case they surround us and cut us off as before.”

“Good idea.” Vivien said. He was tall, pallid and very drunk. “Let’s all volunteer. Can I have another whisky? There’s a good chap.”

Then all at once they were talking again and quarreling about who should volunteer, and at length Struan pacified them. “It was Mr. Eliksen’s suggestion. If he’s a mind to, why na let him have the honor?”