Tai-Pan (73 page)

“Huh! How do you know all this, eh?” May-may asked. “I think you deserve a good pinching. I think you’re making this all up, you weevil-mouthed slave!”

“I most certainly am not, Mother. That barbarian madam—the old witch, with the impossible name? The one with the glass eyes and the incredible selfmoving teeth?”

“Fortheringill?” Gordon Chen asked. “Quite right, honored sir. Fortheringill. Well, this madam has the biggest house in Queen’s Town. Recently she bought six Hoklo girls and one Cantonese girl. One of the—”

“It was five Hoklo girls,” Gordon Chen said.

“Are you in that business too?” May-may asked politely.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “It’s becoming quite profitable.”

“Go on, Ah Sam, my pet.”

“Well, Mother, as I was saying, one of the Hoklo girls is a relation of Ah Tat—who, as you know, is related to my mother—and this girl was assigned to be his partner for the night. Once was enough!” Ah Sam dropped her voice even more. “He nearly killed her. He beat her belly and her buttocks till the blood flowed and then made her do peculiar things with his sex. Then—”

“What peculiar things?” Gordon Chen asked in an equal whisper, leaning closer.

“Yes,” May-may said, “what things?”

“It’s certainly not up to me to tell such weird and obscene practices, oh dear no, but she had to honor it with great facility with all parts of herself.”

“All?”

“All, Mother. What with the terrible beating and the way he bit her and kicked her and savaged her, the poor girl nearly died.”

“How extraordinary!” Then May-may told her sharply, “I still think you’re making it all up, Ah Sam. I thought you said that it was”—she snapped her fingers imperiously —
“pfft,
 like that for him.”

“Quite right. It is. And he always blames the girl hideously, though it’s never her fault. That’s the main trouble. That and being so small and limp.” Ah Sam raised her hands to heaven and began to wail, “May I never have children if I lied! May I die a withered spinster if I lied! May my ancestors be consumed by worms if I lied! May my ancestors’ ancestors never rest in peace and never be reborn if I lied! May my—”

“Oh all right, Ah Sam,” May-may said testily. “I believe you.”

Ah Sam huffily went back to sipping her tea. “How would I dare to lie to my superb mother and her honored relation? But I think the gods should surely punish such barbarian beast!”

“Yes,” Gordon Chen said.

And May-may smiled to herself.

That afternoon Struan went aboard
 China Cloud. 
He sent Captain Orlov to one of the lorchas and Zergeyev to spacious quarters in
 Resting Cloud. 
He ordered all sails set and the moorings let go and he fled the harbor into the deep.

For three days he drove
 China Cloud 
like an arrow southeast, her yards screeching with the fullness of canvas.

He had gone to sea to cleanse himself. To cleanse away the dross and the words of Sarah and the loss of Robb and of Karen.

And to bless May-may and the joy of her.

He went to the bosom of the ocean as a lover who had been gone for an eternity, and the ocean welcomed him with squall and with storm, yet controlled, never endangering the ship or him who drove the ship. She sent her wealth sparingly, making him strong again, giving him life, giving him dignity, and blessing him as only the sea can bless a man, cleansing him as only the ocean can cleanse a man.

He drove himself as he drove the ship, not sleeping, testing the limit of strength. Watch after watch changed and still he walked the quarterdeck: sunrise to sunrise to sunrise, singing softly to himself and hardly eating. And never talking, except to force more speed, or to order a ripped shroud replaced or another sail set. He drove into the depths of the Pacific, into infinity.

On the fourth day he turned about and drove her for half the day northwest. Then he hove to and went below and shaved and bathed and slept for a day and a night, and the next dawn he ate a full meal. Then he went on deck.

“Morning, sorr,” Cudahy said.

“Set course for Hong Kong.”

“Yes, sorr.”

He stayed on the quarterdeck all day and part of the night and once more he slept. At dawn he shot the sun and marked the chart and again ordered the ship hove to.

Then he dived over the side and swam naked in the sea. The seamen crossed themselves superstitiously. There were sharks circling.

But the sharks kept their distance.

He climbed aboard and ordered the spotless ship cleaned and the decks holystoned
—
sand and broom and water
—
rigging replaced, sails tended, scuppers and cannon cleansed. All his own clothes and those of his men he cast overboard. He issued new gear to his men and took seaman’s clothes for himself.

A double tot of rum was issued to all hands.

At dawn on the seventh day Hong Kong loomed on the horizon, dead ahead. The Peak was shrouded with mist. There was cirrus aloft and a lusty swell below.

He stood on the bowsprit, the spray billowing beneath him.

“Do your worst, Island!” he shouted into the wake of the east wind. “I’m home!”

China Cloud
 came back into harbor through the western channel. The rising sun was strong, the wind east and steady—and humid.

Struan was on the quarterdeck, naked to the waist, his skin deeply tanned and his red-gold hair sun-bleached. He trained his binoculars on the ships of the harbor. First 
Resting Cloud.
 Code flags fluttered on the mizzen: “Zenith”—owner to come aboard immediately. Only to be expected, he thought. He remembered the last time—an eternity ago—that he had read “Zenith” on 
Thunder Cloud,
 the time that had heralded the news of so many deaths, and Culum’s arrival.

In the harbor there were more troopships than before. They were all flying the East India Company flags. Good. The first of the reinforcements. He saw a large three-masted brigantine near the flagship. The Russian flag flew aft and the tsarist pennant aloft the mainmast.

There were many more sampans and junks than usual scurrying over the waves.

After he had scanned the rest of the fleet meticulously, he turned to the shore, the sea tang mixing nicely with the smell of land. He could see activity near Glessing’s Point and many Europeans and clusters of beggars walking Queen’s Road. Tai Ping Shan seemed to have grown appreciably.

The Lion and the Dragon flew over the abandoned factory of The Noble House and the abandoned emptiness of Happy Valley.

“Four points t’ starboard!”

“Aye, aye, sorr,” the helmsman sang.

Struan adroitly conned the lorcha alongside 
Resting Cloud.
 He pulled on a shirt and went aboard.

“Morning,” Captain Orlov said. He knew the Tai-Pan too well to ask where he had been.

“Morning. You’re flying ‘Zenith.’ Why?”

“Your son’s orders.”

“Where is he?”

“Ashore.”

“Please fetch him aboard.”

“He was sent for when you came into harbor.”

“Then why is he na here?”

“Can I have my ship back now? By Thor, Green Eyes, I’m mortal tired of being a captain-flunky. Let me be a tea captain or an opium captain, or let me take her into Arctic waters. I know fifty places to get a cargo of furs—more bellygutting bullion for your coffers. That’s not much to ask.”

“I need you here.” Struan grinned and years dropped from him.

“You can laugh, by Odin’s foreskin!” Orlov’s face twisted with his own smile. “You’ve been to sea and I’ve been stuck on an anchored hulk. You look like a god, Green Eyes. Did you have storm? Typhoon? And why’s my mains’l changed, and the foreroyal, crossjack, the flying jib? There’re new halyards and stays and clew lines all over. Why, eh? Did you tear the heart out of my beauty just to clean your soul?”

“What kind of furs, Captain?”

“Seal, sable, mink—you name them and I’ll find them—just so long as I can say to any, ‘Get to Hades off my ship,’ even you.”

“In October you sail north. Alone. Does that satisfy you? Furs for China, eh?”

Orlov peered up at Struan and knew at once that he would never sail north in October. A little shudder ran through him and he hated the second sight that plagued him. What’s going to happen to me twixt June and October? “Can I have my ship now? Yes or no, by God? October’s a bad month and far off. Can I have my ship now, yes or no?”

“Aye.”

Orlov shinned over the side and stamped onto the quarterdeck. “Let go the forehawser,” he shouted, then waved to Struan and laughed uproariously. 
China Cloud
 fell away from the mother ship and snaked daintily for her storm mooring off Happy Valley.

Struan went below to May-may’s quarters. She was deeply asleep. He told Ah Sam not to awaken her; he would come back later. Then he went to the deck above, to his own private quarters, and bathed and shaved and put on fresh clothes. Lim Din brought him eggs and fruit and tea.

The cabin door opened and Culum hurried in. “Where’ve you been?” he began with a rush. “There’re a thousand things that need to be done and the land sale’s this afternoon. You might have told me before you disappeared. The whole place’s in turmoil and—”

“Do you na knock on doors, Culum?”

“Of course, but I was in a hurry. I’m sorry.”

“Sit down. What thousand things?” Struan asked. “I thought you could manage everything.”

“You’re Tai-Pan, I’m not,” Culum said.

“Aye. But say I’d na come back today, what would you have done?”

Culum hesitated. “Gone to the land sale. Bought land.”

“Did you make a deal with Brock on which lots we would na bid against each other on?”

Culum was unsettled by his father’s eyes. “Well, in a way. I made a tentative arrangement. Subject to your approval.” He took out a map and laid it on the desk. The site of the new town surrounded Glessing’s Point, two miles west of Happy Valley. Level building space was cramped by the surrounding mountains and barely half a mile wide and half a mile deep from the shore. Tai Ping Shan overlooked the site and blocked expansion eastward.

“These are all the lots. I picked 8 and 9. Gorth said they wanted 14 and 21.”

“Did you check this with Tyler?”

“Yes.”

Struan glanced at the map. “Why pick two lots next to each other?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about land or factories or wharves, so I asked George Glessing. And Vargas. Then privately, Gordon Chen. And—”

“Why Gordon?”

“I don’t know. Just that I thought it was a good idea. He seems to be very smart.”

“Go on.”

“Well, they all agreed 8, 9, 10, 14 and 21 were the best of the marine lots. Gordon suggested two together in case we wanted to expand, then one wharf would service two factories. At Glessing’s suggestion I had Captain Orlov privately plumb the depth offshore. He said there’s good rock bottom, but the shelf is shallow. We’ll have to reclaim land from the sea and put our wharf well out.”

“Which suburban lots did you pick?” Culum nervously pointed them out. “Gordon thought we should bid on this property here. It’s—well, it’s a hill, and—well, I think it would be a fine place for the Great House.”

Struan got up and went to the stern windows and looked through the binoculars at the hill. It was west of Tai Ping Shan on the other side of the site. “We’d have to build a road up there, eh?”

“Vargas said if we could buy suburban lots 9A and 15B we’d have an—I think he called it an ‘easement,’ something like that, and that would protect our property. Later we could build on them and rent if we wished. Or resell later.”

“Have you discussed this with Brock?”

“No.”

“Gorth?”

“No.”

“Tess?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I like talking to her. We talk about lots of things.”

“It’s dangerous to talk to her about a matter like this. Like it or na, you’ve put her to a test.”

“What?”

“If Gorth or Brock bid for 9A and 15B, you know she canna be trusted. Without the smaller lots the hill’s an extreme gamble.”

“She’d never say anything,” Culum said belligerently. “It was private, between ourselves. Perhaps the Brocks have had the same idea. It won’t prove anything if they do bid against us.”

Struan studied him. Then he said, “Drink or tea?”

“Tea, thank you.” The palms of Culum’s hands felt clammy. He wondered if Tess had indeed talked to Brock or to Gorth. “Where did you go?”

“What other things need decisions?”

Culum collected his thoughts with an effort. “There’s a lot of mail, both for you and Uncle Robb. I didn’t know what to do about it, so I put it all in the safe. Then Vargas and Chen Sheng estimated our Happy Valley costs and I—well—I signed for the bullion. Longstaff’s paid everyone, like you said. I signed for it and counted it. And yesterday a man arrived from England on Zergeyev’s ship. Roger Blore. He said he picked her up in Singapore. He wants to see you urgently. He won’t tell me what he wants but, well—anyway I put him on the small hulk. Who is he?”

“I dinna ken, lad,” Struan said thoughtfully. He rang the bell on the desk and the steward came in. Struan ordered a cutter sent for Blore.

“What else, lad?”

“Orders for building materials and ships’ supplies are piling up. We have to order new stocks of opium—a thousand things.”

Struan played with his mug of tea. “Has Brock given you an answer yet?”

“Today’s the last day. He asked me aboard the 
White Witch
 tonight.”

“Tess has na indicated her father’s decision?”

“No.”

“Gorth?”

Again Culum shook his head. “They’re leaving for Macao tomorrow. Except Brock. I’ve been invited to go with them.”

“Are you going?”

“Now that you’re back, I would like to. For a week—if he says we can marry soon.” Culum drank some tea. “There’d be furniture to buy and—well, that sort of thing.”

“Did you see Sousa?”