Tai-Pan (32 page)

“I don’t understand you at all!” Culum burst out. “Everyone’s got lice. Lice are with us whether we like it or not. You scratch a little and that’s an end to it.”

“I dinna have lice, nor does Robb.”

“Then you’re peculiar. Unique.” Culum took an irritable swallow of champagne. “Bathing is a stupid risk to health, as everyone knows.”

“You stink, Culum.”

“So does everyone,” Culum said impatiently. “Why else do we always carry pomades? Stinking is a way of life, too. Lice are a curse of people, and that’s the end of it.”

“I dinna stink, nor does Robb and his family, nor do my men, and our health’s the best in the Orient. You’ll do as you’re told. Lice are na necessary and neither is stink.”

“Best you go to London, Father. That’s the biggest stink in the world. If people hear you go on about lice and stink, they’ll think you mad.”

Father and son glared at each other. “You’ll obey orders. You’ll clean yoursel’, by God, or I’ll get the bosun to do it for you. On deck!”

“Do it, Culum,” Robb interceded. He could feel Culum’s resentment and Struan’s inflexibility. “What does it matter? Compromise. Try it for five months, eh? If you don’t feel better yourself by that time, then go back to the usual way.”

“And if I refuse?”

Struan glowered down at him implacably. “I cherish you, Culum, beyond my own life. But certain things you’ll do. Else I’ll treat you like a disobedient seaman.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll tow you behind the ship for ten minutes and wash you that way.”

“Instead of giving orders,” Culum burst out indignantly, “why don’t you just say ‘please’ occasionally?”

Struan laughed outright. “By God, you’re right, lad.” He thumped Culum on the back. “Will you please do what I ask? By God, you’re right. I’ll say ‘please’ more often. And dinna worry about clothes. We’ll get you the best tailor in Asia. You need more clothes anyway.” Struan glanced at Robb. “Your tailor, Robb?”

“Yes. As soon as we’re settled in Hong Kong.”

“We’ll send for him tomorrow to come from Macao, with his staff. Unless he’s already in Hong Kong. For five months, lad?”

“All right. But I still think it’s peculiar.”

Struan refilled their glasses.

“Now. I think we should celebrate the rebirth of The Noble House.”

“How, Dirk?” Robb asked.

“We’ll give a ball.”

“What?” Culum looked up excitedly, his indignation forgotten.

“Aye, a ball. For the whole European population. In princely style. A month from today.”

“That’ll set a hawk among the pigeons!” Robb said.

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“There’ll be the biggest panic among the ladies you’ve ever seen. They’ll vie with each other for the honor of being the best-dressed—in the latest fashion! They’ll hound their husbands and try to steal each other’s dressmakers! My God, a ball is a marvelous idea. I wonder what Shevaun will wear.”

“Nothing—if it pleases her!” Struan’s eyes glowed. “Aye, a ball. We’ll give a prize for the best-dressed lady. I think the prize—”

“Have you not heard of the judgment of Paris?” Robb said aghast.

“Aye. But Aristotle’ll be the judge.”

“He’s much too clever to take that position.”

“We’ll see.” Struan reflected a moment. “The prize has to be worthy. A thousand guineas.”

“You must be joking!” Culum said.

“A thousand guineas.”

Culum was overwhelmed by the idea of such extravagance. It was obscene. Criminal. A thousand guineas in England today and you could live like a king, for five or ten years. The wage of a factory man who worked from sunup to sundown and deep into the night, six days a week, for all the weeks of the year, was fifteen to twenty pounds a year—and on this a home was made and children brought up and a wife kept, rent, food, clothing, coal. My father’s mad, he thought, money-mad. Think of the twenty thousand guineas he peed—yes, peed away—on the stupid bet with Brock and Gorth. But that was a gamble to dispose of Brock. A worthwhile gamble if it had come off, and in a way it has—the bullion is in 
China Cloud
 and we’re rich again. Rich.

Now Cullum knew that to be rich was no longer to be poor. He knew that his father was right—it wasn’t money that was important. Only the lack of it.

“It’s too much, too much,” Robb was saying, shocked.

“Aye. In one way it is.” Struan lit a cheroot. “But it’s the duty of The Noble House to be princely. The news will flood like no news before. And the story of it will last for a hundred years.” He put his hand on Culum’s shoulder. “Never forget another rule, laddie: When you’re gambling for high stakes you must risk high. If you’re na prepared to risk high, you dinna belong in the game.”

“Such a—a huge amount will make, may make, some people risk more money than they can afford. That’s not good, is it?”

“The point of money is to use it. I’d say this is going to be money well spent.”

“But what are the stakes you gain?”

“Face, lad.” Struan turned to Robb. “Who’s the winner?”

Robb shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know. Beauty—Shevaun. But best-dressed? There’re some who’d risk a fortune to get the honor, let alone the prize.”

“Have you met Shevaun yet, Culum?”

“No, Father. I saw her once taking a promenade on the road that George—George Glessing—has laid out from Glessing’s Point to Happy Valley. Miss Tillman’s beautiful. But I think Miss Sinclair’s much more attractive. So charming. George and I spent some time in her company.”

“Did you, now?” Struan held down his sudden interest.

“Yes,” Culum replied ingenuously. “We had a farewell dinner with Miss Sinclair and Horatio on George’s ship. Poor George has had his ship taken away from him. He was most upset. We’re really going to have a ball?”

“Why has Glessing lost his ship?”

“Longstaff appointed him harbor master and chief surveyor, and the admiral ordered him to accept the positions. Miss Sinclair agreed with me that it was a good opportunity for him—but he didn’t think so.”

“Do you like him?”

“Oh, yes. He was very nice to me.” Culum almost added, even though I’m the son of the Tai-Pan. He thanked his luck that Glessing and he had a shared interest. Both were fine cricket players—Culum had captained the university team, and last year had played for his county.

“By Jove,” Glessing had said, “you must be damned good. Only fielded for the navy myself. What bat did you play?”

“First wicket down.”

“By Gad—best I’ve made was second. Damme, Culum old chap, perhaps we should set aside a place for a cricket ground, eh? Get a bit of practice in, eh?”

Culum smiled to himself, very glad he was a cricketer.

Without that he knew Glessing would have dismissed him; then he would not have had the pleasure of being near Mary. He wondered if he could escort her to the ball. “Miss Sinclair and Horatio like you very much, Father.”

“I thought Mary was in Macao.”

“She was, Father. But she came back to Hong Kong for a few days, a week or so ago. A lovely lady, isn’t she?”

There was a sudden clanging of the ship’s bell and the scurry of feet, and the cry “All hands on deck!” Struan bolted out of the cabin.

Robb started to follow, but stopped at the cabin door. “Two things quickly while we’re alone, Culum. First, do what your father says and be patient with him. He’s a strange man, with strange ideas, but most of them work. Second, I’ll help you all I can to become Tai-Pan.” Then he rushed out of the cabin, with Culum trailing behind.

When Struan burst onto the quarterdeck, the crew was already at action stations and opening the gunports, and aloft men were swarming the rigging.

Directly ahead, spread against the horizon, was a menacing fleet of war junks.

“By Thor’s left buttock, it’s a bloody fleet!” Captain Orlov said. “I’ve counted more than a hundred, Tai-Pan. Turn and run?”

“Hold your course, Captain. We’ve the speed of them. Clear decks! We’ll go closer and have a look. Set royals and fore-royals!”

Orlov bellowed aloft, “Set royals and fore-royals! All sails ho!” The officers took up the shouts and the men raced into the shrouds and unfurled the sails, and 
China Cloud
 picked up speed and sliced through the water.

The ship was in the channel between the big island of Pokliu Chau, two miles to port, and the smaller island of Ap Li Chau half a mile to starboard. Ap Li Chau was a quarter of a mile off the coast of Hong Kong Island and formed a fine bay that had been named Aberdeen. On the shore at Aberdeen was a small fishing village. Struan observed more sampans and fishing junks than had been there a month ago.

Robb and Culum came up onto the quarterdeck. Robb saw the junks and his scalp prickled. “Who are they, Dirk?”

“Dinna ken, lad. Keep clear there!”

Culum and Robb jumped out of the way as a bevy of sailors clambered down the rigging and chanteyed the hawsers tight, then raced aft to their action stations. Struan passed the binoculars to Mauss, who had lumbered up beside him. “Can you make out the flag, Wolfgang?”

“No, not yet, Tai-Pan.” Wolfgang was peering dry-mouthed at a huge ponderous war junk in the lead, one of the biggest he had ever seen—over two hundred feet long and about five hundred tons, the dominating stern heeling slowly under the press of the three vast sails. “
Gott im Himmel,
 too many for a pirate fleet. Would they be an invasion armada? Surely they wouldn’t dare attack Hong Kong with our fleet so near.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Struan said. “Two points to starboard!”

“Two points to starboard,” the helmsman called. “Steady as she goes!” Struan checked the lie of the sails. The throbbing of the wind and the straining rigging filled him with excitement.

“Look!” Captain Orlov cried out, pointing astern. Another flotilla of junks was swooping out from behind the southern tip of Pokliu Chau, readying to cut off their retreat.

“It’s an ambush! Ready to go about . . .”

“Avast there, Captain! I’m on the quarterdeck!” Captain Orlov walked sourly over to the helmsman and stood by the binnacle, damning the rule which provided that when the Tai-Pan was on the quarterdeck of any ship of The Noble House he was captain.

Well, Orlov thought, good luck, Tai-Pan. If we don’t go about and run, those gallows-baited junks will cut us off and the others ahead’ll swamp us, and my beautiful ship will be no more. The devil she will! We’ll blow thirty of them to the fire pits of Valhalla and sail through them like a Valkyrie.

And for the first time in four days, he forgot the bullion and gleefully thought only of the coming fight. The ship’s bell sounded eight bells. “Permission to go below, Captain!” Orlov said. “Aye. Take Mr. Culum and show him what to do.” Orlov preceded Culum nimbly into the depths of the ship. “At eight bells in the forenoon watch—that’s noon, shore time—it’s the duty of the captain to wind the chronometer,” he said, relieved to be off the quarterdeck now that Struan had usurped command. But then, he told himself, if you were Tai-Pan you’d do the same. You’d never allow anyone to have the most beautiful job on earth when you were there.

His small blue eyes were studying Culum. He had seen Culum’s immediate distaste and the covert looks at his back and tiny legs. Even after forty years of such looks he still hated to be thought a freak. “I was birthed in a blizzard on an ice floe. My mother said I was so beautiful the evil spirit Vorg mashed me with his hoofs an hour after my birth.”

Culum moved uneasily in the half-darkness. “Oh?”

“Vorg has cloven hoofs.” Orlov chuckled. “Do you believe in spirits?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“But you believe in the Devil? Like all good Christians?”

“Yes.” Culum tried to keep his fear off his face. “What has to be done to the chronometer?”

“It has to be wound.” Again Orlov chuckled. “If you’d been born as I was, mayhaps you’d be Culum the Hunchback instead of Culum the Tall and Fair, eh? You look at things differently from here.”

“I’m sorry—it must be very hard for you.”

“Not hard—your Shakespeare had better words. But don’t worry, Culum the Strong. I can kill a man twice my size so easily. Would you like me to teach you to kill? You couldn’t have a better teacher. Except the Tai-Pan.”

“No. No, thank you.”

“Wise to learn. Very wise. Ask your father. One day you’ll need such knowledge. Aye, soon. Did you know I had second sight?”

Culum shuddered. “No.”

Orlov’s eyes glittered and his smile made him more gnomelike and evil. “You’ve a lot to learn. You want to be Tai-Pan, don’t you?”

“Yes. I hope to be. One day.”

“There’ll be blood on your hands that day.”

Culum tried to control his sudden start. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve ears. You’ll have blood on your hands that day. Yes. And soon you’ll need someone you can trust for many a day. So long as Norstedt Stride Orlov, the hunchback, is captain of one of your ships, you can trust him.”

“I’ll remember, Captain Orlov,” Culum said, and promised himself that when he did become Tai-Pan Orlov would never be one of his captains. Then, as he looked back into the man’s face, he had the weird feeling that Orlov had seen into his heart.

“What’s the matter, Captain?”

“Ask yourself that.” Orlov unlocked the housing of the chronometer. To do this he had to stand on a rung of the ladder. Then he began to wind the clock carefully with a large key. “You wind this clock thirty-three times.”

“Why do you do it? Not one of the officers?” Culum asked, not really caring.

“It’s the captain’s job. One of them. Navigation’s one of the secret things. If all aboard knew how to do it, there’d be mutiny after mutiny. Best that only the captain and a few of the officers know. Then, without them, the seamen are lost and helpless. We keep the chronometer locked and here for safety. Isn’t it beautiful? The workmanship? Made by good English brains and good English hands. It tells London time exactly.”

Culum felt the closeness of the passageway and nausea building inside of him—overlaid by fear of Orlov and of the coming battle. But he caught hold of himself and was determined that he would not allow Orlov to bait him into losing his temper, and tried to close his nostrils against the pervading sour smell from the bilges. There’ll be a reckoning later, he swore. “Is a chronometer so very important?”