Tai-Pan (64 page)

“No,” Struan said, feeling tainted by the stench and the perfume Brock wore and the smell of stale beer. “It was about a long-standing promise I made to come after thee with a cat-o’-nine-tails.”

Brock picked up the handbell on the table and rang it vehemently. The sound splintered off the walls. When the door didn’t open immediately, he rang it again.

“That cursed monkey,” he said. “He be needin’ a right proper kick in the arse.” He went over to the barrel, of beer and, after refilling his tankard, sat down again and watched Struan. And waited.

“Wot about it?” Brock said at length.

“Tess Brock.”

“Eh?” Brock was astonished that Struan wanted to precipitate the decision over which he himself—and undoubtedly Struan, too—had fretted for so many nights.

“My son’s in love with her.”

Brock gulped some more beer and wiped his mouth again. “They’s met but once. At the ball. Then there were afternoon walks with Liza and Lillibet. Three.”

“Aye. But he’s in love with her. He’s sure he’s in love with her.”

“Are thee sure?”

“Aye.”

“Wot’s thy feeling?”

‘That we’d better talk this out. In the open.”

“Why now?” Brock said suspiciously, his mind trying to find the real answer. “She be very young, as thee knowed.”

“Aye. But old enough to wed.”

Brock thoughtfully toyed with the tankard, looking at his reflection in the polished silver. He wondered if he had guessed Struan correctly. “Is thee asking, formal, Tess’s hand for thy son?”

“That’s his duty, na mine—to ask formal. But we’ve to talk informal. First.”

“Wot’s thy feeling?” Brock asked again. “About the match?”

“You know it already. I’m against it. I dinna trust you. I dinna trust Gorth. But Culum’s got a mind of his own and he’s forced my hand, and a father canna always get a son to do what he wants.”

Brock thought about Gorth. His voice was brittle when he spoke. “If thee’s so strong against him, beat some sense into him or send him home, pack him off. Easy to rid of that young spark.”

“You know I’m trapped,” Struan said bitterly. “You’ve three sons—Gorth, Morgan, Tom. I’ve only Culum now. So whatever I want, he’s the one that’s got to follow me.”

“There’s Robb and his sons,” Brock said, happy that he had read Struan’s mind correctly, playing him now like a fish.

“You know the answer to that. I made The Noble House, na Robb. What’s your feeling, eh?”

Brock drained the tankard thoughtfully. Again he rang the bell. Again no answer. “I’ll have that monkey’s guts for garters!” He got up and began to refill his tankard. “I’m equal against the match,” Brock said roughly. He saw a flash of surprise on Struan’s face. “Even so,” Brock added, “I be accepting yor son when he be asking me.”

“I thought you would, by God!” Struan got up, his fists clenched.

“Her dowry’ll be the richest in Asia. They be married next year.”

“I’ll see you in hell first.”

The two men squared up to each other ominously.

Brock saw the same chiseled face he had seen thirty years ago, the same vitality permeating it. The same indefinable quality that caused his whole being to react so violently. By Lord God, he swore, I baint understanding why Thee put this devil in my path. I only knowed Thee put him there to be broken, regilar, not with knife in’t back and more’s the pity.

“That be later, Dirk,” he said. “First they be marrying, fair and square. Thee’s trapped right enough. Not o’ my doing and more’s the pity, and I baint driving thy bad joss in thy face. But I Seed thinking muchly—like thee—about they two and us’n, and I thinks it be best for they and best for us’n.”

“I know what’s in your mind. And Gorth’s.”

“Who knowed wot’s to be, Dirk? Mayhaps there be a joining in the future.”

“Na while I’m alive.”

“On the other hand, mayhaps there baint a joining and thee keeps thine an’ we our’n.”

“You’ll na take and break The Noble House through a girl’s skirts!”

“Now you be alistening to me, by God! Thee brung this’n up! Thee sayed to talk open and I baint finished. So thee’ll listen, by God! ’Less thee’s lost thy guts like thee’s lost thy manners an’ lost thy brains.”

“All right, Tyler.” Struan poured another brandy. “Say your mind.”

Brock relaxed slightly and sat down again and quaffed Jus beer. “I hate thy guts and I always will. I doan trust thee either. I be mortal tired of killing, but I swear by Jesus Christ I be killing thee the day I see thee again’ me with a cat in thy hand. But I baint starting that fight. No. I doan want to kill thee, just crush thee regilar. But I beed athinking that mayhaps the young’uns be puttin’ at rights wot we—wot baint possible for us’n. So I says, let wot’s to be, be. If there be a joining, then there be a joining. That be up to they—not t’ thee and me. If there baint a joining—likewise that be up to they. Wotever they do be up to they. Not us’n. So I says the match be good.”

Struan drained his glass and shoved it on the table. “I never thought you’d be so gutless as to use Tess when you’re as opposed as I am.”

Brock stared back at him without anger now. “I baint using Tess, Dirk. That be God’s truth. She be loving Culum and that be mortal truth. That be only reason I be talking like this’n. We both be trapped. Let’s be talking obvious. She be like Juliet to his Romeo, yus, by God, and that’s wot I be afeared of. An’ you too if truth be knowed. I baint wanting my Tess to end on marble slab ‘cause I hate thy guts. She love him. I be thinking of her!”

“I dinna believe it.”

“Nor I, by God! But Liza’s rit half a dozen time about Tess. She sayed Tess be mooning and sighing and talking about ball but only about Culum. An’ Tess’s ritted sixteen time or more about wot Culum sayed and wot Culum baint saying and wot she sayed to Culum and how Culum be looking and wot Culum be asaying back till I be fit to bust. Oh yus, she love him right enough.”

“It’s puppy love. It means nothing.”

“By the Lord God, you be a terrible hard man to talk sense to. Yo’re wrong, Dirk.” Brock suddenly felt very tired and very old. He wanted to be done with this. “Weren’t for ball it baint never happening. Thee picked her to lead dance. Thee picked her to win prize. Thee—”

“I did na! That was Zergeyev’s choice, na mine!”

“That be truth, by God?”

“Aye.”

Brock looked at Struan deeply. “Then mayhaps there be hand o’ God in this’n. Tess baint best-dressed in’t ball. I knowed it, all knowed it, ’cepting Culum and Tess.” He finished his tankard and set it down. “I makes thee offer: Thee doan love thy Culum like I be loving Tess, but give they two a fair wind and an open sea and a safe harbor and I be doing likewise. The boy deserve it—he saved thy neck over the knoll ’cause I swear by Christ I’d’ve strangled thee with it. If it’s a fight thee wants, thee’s got it. If I gets a lever to break thee, regilar, I swear by Christ I still be adoing it. But not to they two. Give ’em fair wind, open sea and safe harbor afore God, eh?”

Brock stuck out his hand.

Struan’s voice grated. “I’ll shake on Culum and Tess. But na on Gorth.”

The way Struan said “Gorth” chilled Brock. But he did not withdraw his hand even though he knew the agreement was fraught with danger.

They shook hands firmly.

“We be having one more drink to fix it proper,” Brock said, “then thee can get t’hell out of my house.” He picked up the bell and rang it a third time and when no one appeared he hurled it against the wall. “Lee Tang!” he roared.

His voice echoed strangely.

There was the sound of footsteps scurrying up the huge staircase, and the frightened face of a Portuguese clerk appeared.

“The servants have all disappeared, senhor. I can’t find them anywhere.”

Struan raced to the window. The hawkers and stall sellers and bystanders and beggars were streaming silently from the square. Groups of traders in the English garden were standing stock-still, listening and watching.

Struan turned and ran for the muskets, and he and Brock were at the rack in the same instant. “Get everyone below!” Brock shouted to the clerk.

“My factory, Tyler. Sound the alarm,” Struan said, and then he was gone.

Within the hour all the traders and their clerks were crammed into the Struan factory, and into the English Garden which was its forecourt. The detachment of fifty soldiers was armed, in battle order, beside the gate. Their officer, Captain Oxford, was barely twenty, a lithe, smart man with a wisp of fair mustache.

Struan and Brock and Longstaff were in the center of the garden. Jeff Cooper and Zergeyev were nearby. The night was wet and hot and brooding.

“You’d better order an immediate evacuation, Your Excellency,” Struan said.

“Yus,” Brock agreed.

“No need to be precipitous, gentlemen,” Longstaff said. “This has happened before, what?”

“Aye. But we’ve always had some sort of warning from the Co-hong or from the mandarins. It’s never been this sudden.” Struan was listening intently to the night, but his eyes were counting the lorchas moored alongside the wharves. Enough for everyone, he thought. “I dinna like the feel of the night.”

“Nor I, by God.” Brock spat furiously. “Afloat it be, says I.”

“Surely you don’t think there’s any danger?” Longstaff said.

“I dinna ken, Your Excellency. But something tells me to get out of here,” Struan said. “Or at least get afloat. Trade’s finished for the season, so we can go or stay at our pleasure.”

“But they wouldn’t dare attack us,” Longstaff scoffed. “Why should they? What do they gain? The negotiations are going so well. Ridiculous.”

“I’m just suggesting we put into effect what you’re always saying, Your Excellency: that it’s better to be prepared for any eventuality.”

Longstaff motioned queasily to the officer. “Split your men into three parties. Guard the east and west entrances, and Hog Street. Deny access to the square until further orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Struan saw Culum and Horatio and Gorth together near a lantern. Gorth was explaining the loading of a musket to Culum, who was listening attentively. Gorth seemed strong and vital and powerful alongside Culum. Struan looked away and glimpsed Mauss in the shadows talking to a tall Chinese whom Struan had never seen before. Curious, Struan walked over to them. “Have you heard anything, Wolfgang?”

“No, Tai-Pan. No rumors, nothing. Nor has Horatio. 
Gott im Himmel,
 I don’t understand it.”

Struan was studying the Chinese. The man was wearing filthy peasant clothes and appeared to be in his early thirties. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and piercing, and he was studying Struan with equal curiosity. “Who’s he?”

“Hung Hsu Ch’un,” Wolfgang said, very proudly. “He’s a Hakka. He’s baptized, Tai-Pan. I baptized him. He’s the best I’ve ever had, Tai-Pan. Brilliant mind, studious, and yet a peasant. At long last I’ve a convert who will spread God’s word—and help me in His work.”

“You’d better tell him to leave. If there’s trouble and the mandarins catch him with us, you’ll have one convert less.”

“I’ve already told him, but he said, ‘The ways of the Lord are strange and men of God don’t turn their backs on the heathen.’ Don’t worry. God will guard him and I’ll watch him with my own life.”

Struan nodded briefly to the man and went back to Longstaff and to Brock.

“I be going aboard,” Brock said, “and that be that!”

“Tyler, send Gorth and his men to reinforce the soldiers there.” Struan pointed to the maw of Hog Street. “I’ll take the east and cover you if there’s trouble. You can fall back here.”

“You look after yor’n,” Brock said. “I be looking after mine. You baint commander-in-chief, by God.” He beckoned to Gorth. “You come along with me. Almeida, you and the rest of the clerks get books and aboard.” He and his party marched out of the garden and headed across the square.

“Culum!”

“Yes, Tai-Pan?”

“Clean out the safe and get aboard the lorcha.”

“Very well.” Culum lowered his voice. “Did you talk to Brock?”

“Aye. Na now, lad. Hurry. We’ll talk later.”

“Was it yes or no?”

Struan felt others watching him, and although he wanted very much to tell Culum what had been said, the garden was not the place to do it. “God’s death, will you na do as you’re told!”

“I want to know,” Culum said, eyes blazing.

“And I’m na prepared to discuss your problems now! 
Do as you’re told!”
 Struan stamped off toward the front door.

Jeff Cooper stopped him. “Why evacuate? What’s all the hurry, Tai-Pan?” he asked.

“Just cautious, Jeff. Have you a lorcha?”

“Yes.”

“I’d be glad to give any of your people space who dinna have berths.” Struan glanced at Zergeyev. “The view from the river’s quite pleasant, Your Highness, if you’d care to join us.”

“Do you always run away when the square empties and the servants disappear?”

“Only when it pleases me.” Struan shoved back through the press of men. “Vargas, get the books aboard and all the clerks. Armed.”

“Yes, senhor.”

When the other traders saw that Struan and Brock were in truth preparing for a quick withdrawal, they hastily returned to their own factories and collected their books and bills of lading and everything that represented proof of their season’s trading—and thus their future—and began to pack them in their boats. There was little treasure to worry about, since most of the trading was done with bills of exchange—and Brock and Struan had already sent their bullion back to Hong Kong.

Longstaff cleared out his private desk and put his cipher book and secret papers into his dispatch box and joined Zergeyev in the garden. “Are you all packed, Your Highness?”

“There is nothing of importance. I find all this extraordinary. Either there is danger or there isn’t. If there’s danger, why aren’t your troops here? If there’s none, why run away?”

Longstaff laughed. “The heathen mind, my dear sir, is very different from a civilized one. Her Majesty’s Government has been dealing directly with it for more than a century. So we’ve come to learn how to cope with Chinese affairs. Of course,” he added dryly, “we’re not concerned with conquest, only with peaceful trade. Though we do consider this area a totally British sphere of influence.”