Tai-Pan (48 page)

“Mark them permanently,” Struan flared, “and you never give them a chance to become good citizens again.”

“Good citizens don’t band into secret anarchistic societies, my good sir,” the general said. “But then, only a gentleman would appreciate the value of that advice.”

Struan felt the blood soar to his face. “The next time you make a remark like that, M’Lord, I’ll send some seconds to call on you and you’ll find a bullet between your eyes.”

There was an aghast silence. White with shock, Longstaff rapped the table. “I forbid either of you to proceed with this line of talk. It is forbidden.” He took out his lace kerchief and wiped away the sudden sweat on his forehead. His mouth tasted dry and sour.

“I quite agree, Your Excellency,” the general said. “And I suggest further that this problem is solely one for the 
authorities
 to decide: you, in conjunction with the admiral and myself, should decide this sort of matter. It’s not in the—in the domain of tradespeople.”

“Thee’s so full of wind, M’Lord General,” Brock said, “that if thee farted here in Canton, it’d blow the gate off’n Tower of London!”

“Mr. Brock!” Longstaff began. “You will not—”

The general slammed to his feet. “I’ll thank you, my good sir, to keep that sort of remark to yourself.”

“I baint yor good sir. I be a China trader, by God, and the sooner thee knows it the better. The time be gone forever when the like of me’s to suck thy arse ’cause of a poxy title which like as not were gifted first to a king’s whore, a king’s bastard, or buyed by knife in a king’s back.”

“By God, I demand satisfaction. My seconds will call on you today!”

“They will do no such thing, M’Lord,” Longstaff said, crashing the flat of his hand onto the table. “If there is any trouble between either of you I’ll send you both home under guard and impeach you before the Privy Council. I’m Her Majesty’s plenipotentiary in Asia and I am the law. Goddamme, it’s most unseemly. You will each apologize to the other! I order you to. Immediately.”

The admiral hid his grim amusement. Horatio looked from face to face with disbelief. Brock was aware that Longstaff had the power to hurt him and he wanted no duel with the general. And, too, he was furious for allowing himself to be drawn into open hostility. “I apologize, M’Lord. For calling thee a bagful of fart.”

“And I apologize because I’m ordered to do so.”

“I think we’ll close this meeting for the present,” Longstaff said, greatly relieved. “Yes. Thank you for your advice, gentlemen. We’ll postpone a decision. Give us all time to think, what?”

The general put on his bearskin helmet, saluted, and made for the door, spurs and sword clinking.

“Oh, General, by the way,” Struan said casually, “I heat that the navy’s challenged the army to a prizefight.”

The general stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob, and bristled as he remembered the remarks the admiral purportedly had been making about his soldiers. “Yes. I’m afraid it won’t be much of a match though.”

“Why, General?” the admiral said irately, remembering the remarks that the general purportedly had been making about his jolly jack-tars.

“Because I’d say our man’ll win, M’Lord. Without too much of an effort.”

“Why na have the match the day of the ball?” Struan suggested. “We would deem it an honor and we’d be glad to put up a purse. Say fifty guineas.”

“That’s very generous, Struan, but I don’t think the army’ll be ready by then.”

“The day of the ball, by God,” the general said, purple. “A hundred guineas on our man!”

“Done,” said the admiral and Brock simultaneously.

“A hundred to both of you!” The general turned on his heel and stalked out.

Longstaff poured himself some sherry. “Admiral?”

“No, thank you, sir. I think I’ll get back to my ship.” The admiral picked up his sword, nodded to Struan and Brock, saluted and left.

“Sherry, gentlemen? Horatio, perhaps you’d do the honors?”

“Certainly, Your Excellency,” Horatio said, glad to have something to do.

“Thankee.” Brock emptied the glass and held it out to be refilled. “That be tasting good. You’ve a excellent palate, Your Excellency. Eh, Dirk lad?”

“I really must remonstrate with you, Mr. Brock. Unforgivable to say such things. Lord—”

“Yus, sir,” Brock said, acting the penitent. “You was right. I were in the wrong. We be lucky to have thee in charge. When be thee issuing the proclamation about the free port?”

“Well, er, there’s no hurry. These damned anarchists have to be dealt with.”

“Why not deal with them both together?” Struan said. “As soon as you get back to Hong Kong. Why not give our Chinese British subjects the benefit of the doubt? Deport them, but no flogging and no branding to begin with. That’s fair, eh, Tyler?”

“If thee says so and His Excellency agrees,” Brock replied expansively. Trade had been huge. 
Gray Witch
 was well away and in the lead. Buildings were going up at Happy Valley. There was open hostility between Struan and Culum. And now Hong Kong was to be a free port. Aye, Dirk, lad, he told himself ecstatically, you be having yor uses still. You be smart as a whip. Free port be making up for all thy devilment. An’ in two year our steamships be driving thee into bankruptcy. “Yus,” he added, “if thee both agrees. But soon you’ll be having to flog and brand.”

“I certainly hope not,” Longstaff said. “Disgusting business. Still, the law must be enforced and felons dealt with. An excellent solution, gentlemen, to the—what did you call them, Mr. Brock? Ah yes, Triads. We’ll call them Triads in future. Horatio, make a list in characters of the tong names His Excellency Ching-so gave us and we’ll post it with the proclamation. Take this down while I think of it: ‘All the above tongs are outlawed and will be known in future under the general name of “Triads.” The penalty for being a Triad is instant deportation and handing over to the Chinese authorities. The penalty for inciting overt rebellion against Her Britannic Majesty’s Government—or against His Highness, the Emperor of the Chinese—is hanging.’ ”

The village of Aberdeen lay dark and humid and silent under the full moon. The streets were deserted and the doors of the huts barred tight. Hundreds of sampans were moored in the still, muddy waters. And though they were as jam-packed as the huts, there was neither sound nor movement aboard.

Struan was standing at the prearranged place, at the fork in the path just outside the village, beside the well. The well was rock-lipped and Struan had hung three lanterns on it. He was alone and his gold fob watch told him it was almost time. He wondered if Wu Kwok and his men would come from the village or from the sampans or from the desolate hills. Or from the sea.

He studied the sea. Nothing moved but the waves. Somewhere out in the darkness, sailing close-hauled, was 
China Cloud,
 her men at action stations. Too far for those aboard to observe him closely, but near enough to see the light of the lanterns. Struan’s orders were that if the lanterns were abruptly extinguished, the men were to take to the boats and come ashore with musket and cutlass.

The muted voices of the handful of men he had brought along wafted up faintly from the beach. They were waiting beside the two cutters, armed and ready, also watching the lanterns’ light. He listened intently but could not distinguish what they were saying. I’d be safer to be completely alone, he told himself. I want no prying eyes in this. But to be ashore alone wi’out guards’d be foolish. Worse, it’d be testing my joss. Aye.

He stiffened as a dog snarled in the quiet of the village. He listened intently and watched for moving shadows. But he saw none and knew that the dog was only scavenging. He leaned back against the well and began to relax, content to be back on the island. Content that May-may and the children were safe in the house that had been built for them in Happy Valley.

Robb and Culum had handled expertly all that had to be done while he was away. The small house, with surrounding walls and strong gates, had been completed. Two hundred and fifty men had worked on it day and night.

There were still many details to be finished and all of the garden yet to be planted, but the house itself was habitable and mostly furnished. It was built of bricks and had a fireplace and wooden roof. The rooms were beamed. Many of the walls were paper-covered, but a few were painted, and all had glass windows.

The house faced the sea and contained a master suite and dining room and large living room. And, to the west, a latticed haven around a garden, private from the rest of the house. Here were May-may’s quarters and the children’s rooms, and beyond them the servants’ quarters.

Struan had brought May-may and the children and Ah Sam, the amah, with him into the house the day before yesterday and had settled them there. A trusted cook boy named Lim Din and a wash amah and makee-learnee—as apprentice scullion maids were called—had come back with him from Canton.

And though no Europeans had seen May-may, most of them were sure that the Tai-Pan had brought his mistress into the first permanent habitation on Hong Kong. They chuckled among themselves, or denounced him through their jealousy. But they said nothing to their wives. In due course they would want to bring their own mistresses and the less said the better. The wives who suspected held their peace. There was nothing they could do.

Struan had been very pleased with his house and with the progress on the warehouses and factory. And also with the results of his public coldness toward Culum. Culum had told him covertly that already he had had the first tentative probe from Brock, and that Wilf Tillman had invited him aboard Cooper-Tillman’s expensive opium hulk and had entertained him lavishly.

Culum had said that trade was discussed—how the future of Asia depended vitally on cooperation, particularly between the Anglo-Saxon races. He had said that Shevaun had been at dinner and that she had been very beautiful and vivacious.

A fish leaped out of the water, hung for a moment in the air, and fell back again. Struan watched for a moment, listening. Then he relaxed again and let his mind roam.

Shevaun’d make a good match for Culum, Struan thought dispassionately. Or for yoursel’. Aye. She’d make a fine hostess and an interesting addition to the banquets you’ll be giving in London. To the lords and ladies and members of Parliament. And Cabinet ministers. Will you buy yoursel’ a baronetcy? You could afford to ten times over. If 
Blue Cloud’s
 home first. Or second, even third—so long as she’s safe. If the season’s trade is safely concluded, then you can buy yoursel’ an earldom.

Shevaun’s young enough. She’d bring a useful dowry and interesting political connections. What about Jeff Cooper? He’s head over heels in love with her. If she says no to him, that’s his problem.

What about May-may? Would a Chinese wife bar you from the inner sanctum? Certainly. She would weigh the dice heavily against you. Out of the question.

Wi’out the right sort of wife English social life will be impossible. Diplomacy is mostly settled in private drawing rooms, in luxury. Perhaps the daughter, of a lord, or earl or Cabinet minister? Wait till you’re home, eh? There’s plenty of time.

Is there?

A dog barked shrilly among the sampans and then shrieked as others fell on it. The sounds of the death battle rose and fell, then ceased. Silence again but for the furtive growling, scuffling, ripping in the darkness as the victors began to feed.

Struan was watching the sampans, his back to the lanterns. He saw a shadow move, and another, and soon a silent press of Chinese was leaving the floating village and grouping on the shore. He saw Scragger.

Struan held his pistol loosely and waited calmly, searching the darkness for Wu Kwok. The men came up with the path noiselessly, Scragger cautiously in the middle. They stopped near the well and stared at Struan. All were young, in their early twenties, all dressed in black tunics and black trousers, thonged sandals on their feet, large coolie hats masking their faces.

“Top of the evening, Tai-Pan,” Scragger said softly, on guard and readying for instant retreat.

“Where’s Wu Kwok?”

“He asks your pardon, like, but he be powerful busy. Here be the ’undred. Take the pick and let’s be off, hey?”

“Tell them to split themsel’ into tens and to strip.”

“Strip, did y’say?”

“Aye. Strip, by God!”

Scragger blinked at Struan. Then he shrugged and went back to the men and spoke in soft singsong. The Chinese chattered quietly, then sorted themselves into separate tens and took off their clothes.

Struan beckoned to the first ten and they walked into the light. From some of the groups he picked one, from others two or three, from a few, none. He chose with utmost care. He knew he was assembling a task force which would spearhead his advance into the heart of China. If he could bend them to his will. The men who would not meet his eye he excluded immediately. Those whose queues were ratty and unkempt he passed over. Those with weak physiques were not considered. Those whose faces were dotted with smallpox marks had a point in their favor—for Struan knew that smallpox ravaged ships in all the seas, and that a man who had had the disease and had recovered was a man immune and strong and one who knew the value of life. Those with well-healed knife wounds he favored. Those who bore their nakedness carelessly he approved. Those who bore their nakedness with hostility he scrutinized painstakingly, knowing that violence and the sea are shipmates. Some he picked for the hatred in their eyes and some only because of a hunch he had when he looked into their faces.

Scragger watched the selecting with growing impatience. He drew his knife and repeatedly threw it into the dirt.

At last Struan had finished. “These are the men I want. They can all dress now.”

Scragger barked an order and the men dressed. Struan took out a sheaf of papers and handed one to Scragger.

“You can read this out to them.”

“Wot be it?”

“A regulation indenture. Rates of pay and terms of five years’ service. They’re all to sign one.”