Tai-Pan (93 page)

Struan thought about Mauss. He liked him as a man and pitied him. Then he remembered Sarah’s words again. Aye, he told himself, you’ve used Wolfgang in many ways. But in return you gave him what 
he
 wanted—the chance to convert the heathen. Without you he’d have been dead long ago. Without you . . . let it rest. Mauss has his own salvation to find. The ways of God are passing strange.

“Who knows, Vargas? Perhaps Hung Hsiu-ch’uan is what he claims. In any event,” he added, seeing Vargas bridle, “I agree. It is na amusing. I’ll talk to Wolfgang. Thank you for telling me.”

Vargas cleared his throat. “Do you think I could have next week off? This heat and—well, it would be nice to see my family.”

“Aye. Take two weeks, Vargas. And I think it would be good for the Portuguese community to have its own club. I’m starting a subscription. You’re appointed temporary treasurer and secretary.” He scribbled on a pad and tore off the sheet. “You can cash this at once.” It was a sight draft for a thousand guineas.

Vargas was overwhelmed. “Thank you, senhor.”

“Nae thanks,” Struan said. “Wi’out the support of the Portuguese community we’d na have any community.”

“But surely, senhor, this news—this editorial! Hong Kong is finished. The Crown has repudiated the treaty. Double the labor force? A thousand guineas? I don’t understand.”

“Hong Kong’s alive as long as one trader stands on it, and one naval vessel is in the harbor. Dinna worry. Any messages for me?”

“Mr. Skinner left word. He’d like to see you at your convenience. Mr. Gordon Chen too.”

“Send word to Skinner that I’ll stop by the newspaper this evening. And to Gordon that I’ll meet him aboard 
Resting Cloud
 at eight o’clock.”

“Yes, senhor. Oh, by the way, one other thing. You remember Ramsey? The sailor who deserted? Well he’s been living in the hills all this time in a cave, like a hermit. On the Peak. He survived by stealing food from the fishing village at Aberdeen. It seems he raped several women there and the Chinese tied him up and gave him to the authorities. Yesterday he was tried. A hundred lashes and two years penal servitude.”

“They might as well have hanged him,” Struan said. “He’ll never last two years.” Jails were death traps, indescribably brutal.

“Yes. Terrible. Thank you again, senhor. Our community will be most appreciative,” Vargas said.

He left, but returned almost instantly. “Excuse me, Tai-Pan. One of your seamen’s here. The Chinese, Fong.”

“Send him in.”

Fong bowed himself in silently.

Struan studied the thickset, pockmarked Chinese. In the three months that he had been aboard he had changed in many ways. Now he wore European seaman’s clothes easily, his queue coiled neatly under a knitted cap. His English was passable. An excellent sailor. Obedient, soft-spoken, quick to learn.

“What are you doing off ship?”

“Captain say can go shore, Tai-Pan. My watch go shore.”

“What do you want, Fong?”

Fong offered a crumpled piece of paper. The writing on it was childlike. “Aberdeen. Same place, matey. Eight bells, midwatch. Come alone.” It was signed “Bert and Fred’s Dad.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“Coolie stop me. Give me.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“I read, yes. Not read easy. Very hard, never mind.”

Struan considered the scrap of paper. “The sky. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, Tai-Pan.”

“What did it tell you?”

Fong knew that he was being tested. “Tai-fung,” he said.

“How long?”

“Doan knowah. Three day, four day, more, less. Tai-fung, never mind.”

The sun was already below the horizon, the light dying fast. Lanterns were dotting the foreshore and the building sites.

The veil over the sky had thickened. A gigantic bloody moon sat ten degrees above the clear horizon.

“I think you’ve a good nose, Fong.”

“Thank you, Tai-Pan.”

Struan held up the paper. “What does your nose say about this?”

“Not go alone,” Fong said.

With the coming of darkness the sky began to cloud over and the humidity intensified. The China traders who were old in the ways of wind and sea knew that rain would come soon. The clouds heralded merely the first of the season’s rains, which would alleviate the constant mugginess for a time and lay the dust. Just a shower if joss was with them. If joss was against them, there would be a storm. And only joss would decide if the storm was to become a typhoon.

“I’m hot, Tai-Pan,” May-may said, fanning herself in the bed.

“So am I,” Struan said. He was changing out of a limp, dank shirt into a fresh one. “I told you you should stay in Macao. It’s much cooler there.”

“That may be, but then I’d na have the pleasure of telling you that I’m hot, by God.”

“I preferred you when you were sick. Nae cheek then and nae vulgar swearing.”

“Huh!” she snorted. “Dinna be mendacious with me!”

“What with you?”

“Mendacious, Tai-Pan. Do you na ken the English? While you’re out all day, na worrying about your poor old mother, I’ve been terrifical busy reading your Dr. Johnson word book, improving my mind with the barbarian tongue. Everyone knows ‘mendacious.’ It means ‘lying.’ That’s wat you are, by God.” She forced a pout and this made her even prettier. “You dinna adore me any more!”

“I’ve a good mind to mendacious your bottom.”

May-may forced a long-suffering groan. “Tai-Pan want-shee cow chillo jig-jig, heya, Mass’er? Can, oh ko, never mind.”

Struan approached the bed and May-may backed off. “Now, Tai-Pan, that was joke.”

He held her tight. “Ah, lassie, you get yoursel’ well, that’s the important thing to do.”

She was wearing a soft blue silk tunic and her hair was done elegantly, her perfume intoxicating. “Don’t you dare to go to whorehouses, eh?”

“Dinna be silly.” He kissed her and finished dressing. He put his knife in its back holster and the small dirk in his left boot, and relied his hair neatly with a ribbon at the nape of his neck.

“Why for you cut your hair, Tai-Pan? Grow it into a queue like a civilized person. Very pretty.”

Lim Din knocked and came in. “Mass’er. Mass’er Chen here-ah. Can?”

“See-ah cabin topside.”

“You come back, Tai-Pan?”

“Nay, lassie. I’ll go straight ashore.”

“Ask Gordon to see me—yes?”

“Aye, lassie.”

“Where you go?”

“Out, by God. And you better behave yoursel’ while I’m away. I’ll na be back till after midnight. But I’ll look in as soon as I’m aboard.”

“Good,” she purred. “But wake me if I’m sleepings. Your old mother would like to know her mendaciousical son’s safe.”

He patted her fondly and went to the cabin on the next deck. “Hello, Gordon.”

Gordon Chen was wearing a long robe of blue silk and light silk trousers. He was hot and greatly worried. “Good evening, Tai-Pan. Welcome back. I’m so happy to hear about the cinchona. How is the Lady T’chung?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I’m sorry my inadequate efforts were fruitless.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Gordon Chen was again vexed because he had had to lay out a substantial number of taels on the quest, but his vexation was nothing compared to his anxiety over Hong Kong. The whole Kwangtung hierarchy of the Triads was in an uproar over the news from England. He had been summoned by Jin-qua and ordered to sound out the Tai-Pan, to use the total power of the Triads, and whatever means were necessary—bullion, squeeze, increased trade—to prevent the barbarians from leaving the island and to encourage them to stay. “There’s a matter of grave importance, Tai-Pan; otherwise I would not have intruded. Hong Kong. This editorial. Is it true? If it is, we’re lost—ruined.”

“I hear you’re Tai-Pan of the Hong Kong Triads.”

“What?”

“Tai-Pan of the Hong Kong Triads,” Struan repeated blandly, and told him what the Portuguese officer had said. “Stupid story, eh?”

“Not stupid, Tai-Pan, terrible indeed! A shocking lie!” If Gordon had been alone he would have torn his hair and clothes and screamed with rage.

“Why should Triads murder Gorth?”

“I don’t know. How should I know what those anarchists do? Tai-Pan of the Triads? Me? What a foul accusation!” My life’s not worth a price of a coolie’s droppings, he was shouting to himself. That turtledung traitor! How dare he divulge secrets! Get your wits about you. The Tai-Pan of the barbarians is staring at you and you’d better give him a clever answer! “I simply have no idea. Good heavens. Triads in Tai Ping Shan, under my very nose? Ghastly.”

“Have you enemies who’d spread such a story?”

“I must have, Tai-Pan. Great heaven! I wonder if—” The whites of his eyes showed.

“If what?”

“Well, I am—well, you are my father. Could it be that someone is trying to attack you, through me?”

“It could be, Gordon. It could be you 
are
 chief of the Triads.”

“An anarchist? Me?” Oh gods, why have you forsaken me? I spent fifty taels on incense and offerings, and on having prayers said only last week. Am I not the most lavish supporter of all your temples without favor? Have I not personally endowed three temples and four burial grounds, and have I not a retinue of forty-three Buddhist priests on my personal payroll? “Why should I mix with those felons? Through you I am becoming rich. I’ve no need to steal or rob.”

“But you’d like the Manchus off the throne of China?”

“Manchus or Chinese, it’s all the same to me, Tai-Pan. Why should I care? Nothing to do with me.” Oh gods, close your ears for a moment. “I’m not Chinese—I’m English. I’d think the last person any Chinese secret society would trust is me. That would be dangerous, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. I dinna ken. Perhaps you should spend some taels, Gordon. Start a spy system. Find out who these men are, who their leaders are.”

“At once, Tai-Pan.”

“Three months should be enough for a man of your astuteness to produce the leaders.”

“Six months,” Gordon Chen said automatically, desperately trying to think of a way out of the trap. Now he had an inspiration. Of course. Let the barbarians be the ones to deal with the anti-Triad turtledung. We’ll recruit spies from among them and arrange for them to join a sub-lodge and initiate them with false ceremonies. Excellent! Then . . . let me see. We let drop that the real Triad leader is—is who? I’ll think of some enemy when the time comes. Then we reveal them to the barbarians as actual Triads and off come their heads. “Oh yes, Tai-Pan, I’ll get onto it at once.”

“I think you should. Because one way or another, I’m going to smash the Triads.”

“And I’ll assist you to the limit of my being,” Gordon said fervently. Ten heads should satisfy even you, Tai-Pan. Pity Chen Sheng is family, otherwise he’d be the perfect one to set up as the “head Triad.” With any joss at all I’d be next in line to be compradore of The Noble House. Don’t worry, Jin-qua will assist you to find the right decoy. “Tai-Pan. To more important things. What about this editorial? Is Hong Kong finished? We stand to lose a fortune. It would be disastrous if we lost the island.”

“There are a few minor problems. But they’ll be settled. Hong Kong’s permanent. This Government will be out of office soon. Dinna worry. The Noble House and Hong Kong are one.”

Gordon Chen’s anxiety disappeared. “Are you sure? This Cunnington will be removed?”

“One way or another. Aye.”

He looked at his father with admiration. Ah, he thought, even by assassination. Excellent. He would have liked to tell the Tai-Pan that he had eliminated Gorth and thus saved his life. But this could wait until a more important time, he said to himself, filled with delight. “Excellent, Tai-Pan. You’ve reassured me marvelously. I agree. The Noble House and Hong Kong 
are
 one.” If they’re not, you’re a dead duckling, he thought. But you’d better not set foot on the mainland ever again. Not with this Triad story set in motion. No. You’re committed to Hong Kong. It’s your palace or your tomb. “Then we’d better expand, gamble heavily. I will work to make Hong Kong very strong. Oh yes. You can depend on me! Thank you, Tai-Pan, for reassuring me.”

“My Lady wished to say hello. Go below, eh?”

“Thank you. And thank you for warning me about that ridiculous but dangerous story.” Gordon Chen bowed and left.

Struan had watched his son very carefully. Is he or is he na? he asked himself. The surprise could have been real, and what he said makes a lot of sense. I dinna ken. But if Gordon 
is,
 you’ll have to be very clever to catch him. And what then?

Struan found Skinner in the printing-press room of the 
Oriental Times.
 It was stifling and noisy. He complimented the newspaperman on the way he had handled the release.

“Don’t worry, Tai-Pan,” Skinner said. “There’s a follow-up issue tomorrow.” He handed the proof sheet to Struan. “I’ll be glad when this cursed summer’s over.” He was wearing his usual black broadcloth frockcoat and heavy trousers.

Struan read the article. It was filled with invective and sarcasm and emphasized that all traders should band together to bombard Parliament and destroy Cunnington.

“I’d say this would make a few of the lads break out in a rash,” Struan said approvingly.

“I certainly hope so.” Skinner held his arms away from his sides to relieve the fiery itch in his armpits. “Cursed heat! You take your life in your hands, Tai-Pan, walking out in the night like that,” he said.

Struan wore only a light shirt and linen trousers and thin boots. “You should try it. You’ll sweat less—and no prickly heat.”

“Don’t mention that cursed plague. Nothing to do with heat, it’s a summer flux. Man was born to sweat.”

“Aye, and to be curious. You mentioned something in your note about a strange codicil to Longstaff s agreement with Viceroy Ching-so. What was it?”

“Just one of those strange bits of information a newspaperman collects.” Skinner wiped his face with a rag, which left ink stains in its wake, and sat back on the high stool. He told Struan about the seeds. “Mulberries, camellias, rice, tea, all sorts of flowers.”