Tai-Pan (98 page)

He went back and checked the barometer. No change. He ate a good breakfast and prepared to leave again. “Up! Down! Why you so unpatient? Where you go now, heya?” May-may asked.

“The harbor master’s office. I want to see if Culum’s all right. Dinna on any account go out or open any of the windows or doors, Supreme Lady Tai-tai or nae Supreme Lady Tai-tai.”

“Yes, Husband.” May-may kissed him. Queen’s Road was deeply puddled and almost empty. But the wind and the rain felt bracing, and it was better than being shut up in the box of the factory. It was just like a spring nor’easter in England, he thought; nae, na as strong as that.

He entered the harbor master’s office and shook the rain off.

Glessing got up from his desk. “Morning. Strange storm, isn’t it? Care for tea?” He motioned to a chair. “Suppose you’re looking for Culum and Mrs. Struan, They’ve gone to early service.”

“Eh?”

“They’ll be back any minute. It’s Sunday.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten.”

Glessing poured the tea from a huge pot, then put it back on the side of the brazier. The room was large and filled with charts. A mast came through the raftered ceiling, and beside it was a hatch. Signal flags were in neat cubicles, muskets in racks, and the whole room was tidy and shipshape. “What’s your opinion of the storm?”

“If it’s a typhoon, then we’re dead in its path. That’s the only answer. If the wind does na back or veer, thea the vortex’ll pass over us.”

“God help us if you’re right.”

“Aye.”

“Once I got caught in a typhoon off Formosa. Never want to be in a sea like that again, and we weren’t anywhere near the vortex. If there is such a thing.”

A gust of rain-heavy wind rattled the storm shutters. They watched the wind indicator. Still inexorably north.

Glessing put down his teacup. “I’m in your debt, Mr. Struan. I got a letter the day before yesterday from Mary. She told me how kind you were—you and Culum. Particularly you. She sounds very much better.”

“I saw her just before I left. She certainly was ten times better than the first time I saw her.”

“She says she’ll be released in two months. That you told the Papist you’d accept responsibility for her. Of course, that’s up to me now.”

“As you wish. It’s only a formality.” Struan wondered what Glessing would do when he found out the truth about Mary. Of course he had to find out; how could May-may believe that he would na?

“Did the doctor say what her trouble was?”

“A stomach disorder.”

“That’s what she wrote. Again, thanks.” Glessing moved a chart on his desk and wiped a tea stain off the teak. “Culum mentioned that you were Royal Navy as a lad. At Trafalgar. Hope you don’t mind my asking, but my father had the honor of serving there too. I was wondering what ship you were in. He was flag lieutenant to Admiral Lord Collingwood, in—”

“In 
Royal Sovereign,”
 Struan said for him. “Aye. I was aboard.”

“By Jove!” was all that Glessing could splutter.

Struan had kept this private from Glessing deliberately, always knowing that he had another ace to play should he need it to bring him to his side. “Aye. Of course, I dinna remember your father—I was a powder monkey and scared out of my wits. But the admiral was aboard and I was in 
Royal Sovereign.”

“By Jove,” Glessing repeated. He had seen the 110-gun ship of the line off Spithead once as a boy. “A ship’s company of eight hundred and thirty-six and the future Tai-Pan of The Noble House. No wonder we won, by God!”

“Thank you,” Struan said. “But I had little to do with the battle.”

“By gad, Tai-Pan—if I may call you that—I think this is wonderful. I’m very glad. Yes, I am. My word! Used to hate your guts, as you know. Don’t any more. I still think my decision was right at the Battle of Chuenpi, but I realize now that that cursed nitheaded misbegotten sod Longstaff was right when he said if I’d been you or you’d been me our attitudes would have been the same.”

“What’re you riled at Longstaff for?”

Glessing’s face lost its warmth. “Bloody sod had the impertinence to interfere in naval affairs! He ‘suggested’ to the admiral that I be sent home! Thank God the admiral’s Royal Navy and the bugger’s sacked! And while we’re on the subject of fools, I’m sure you’ve read last night’s paper. That stupid bastard Cunnington! How dare he say Hong Kong’s a godforsaken rock with hardly a house on’t! Absolute bloody nerve! Best harbor on earth! How dare he say we don’t know anything about the sea?”

Struan remembered the first day—good Lord, was that only six-odd months ago?—and he knew that he had been right. Glessing might go down with Hong Kong, but he would fight to the death to protect Glessing’s Point. “Perhaps the new man, Whalen, will agree with Cunnington.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. Or the admiral. He nearly had apoplexy when he read it. Stands to reason. Look at the fleet. Riding snug and safe as in Portsmouth harbor. Where the devil’d we be a day like today without Hong Kong? Good sweet God! I’d be frightened to death if I was anchored at Macao. Got to have Hong Kong and that’s the end to it. Even that idiot general’s seen the light for once and agrees absolutely,” and he ranted on, damning Cunnington and Longstaff to Struan’s amusement.

The door opened and a flurry of wind and rain rustled the charts. Culum and Tess came in, their spirits high in spite of the weather. “Oh, hello, Tai-Pan,” Culum said. “Can we have tea, Glessing old boy? We said a prayer in your honor!”

“Thanks.” Glessing motioned at the iron pot on the coal stove. “Help yourself.”

Tess curtsied to Struan and took off her sodden cloak. “Morning, Tai-Pan.”

“You’re lovely today, Mrs. Struan,” he said.

She blushed and busied herself pouring the tea.

“You two look happy enough,” Struan said.

“Yes, we are,” Culum said. “We’ve given thanks to God. And for sending the change of wind.”

“Will you na change your mind, lad? Come over to the residence?”

“No, thanks, we’re quite safe here.”

Struan noticed a small jeweled silver box dangling from Culum’s watch chain. “What’s that, Culum?”

“A keepsake. Tess gave it to me.” The little box contained Brock’s twenty sovereigns now, and Culum felt guilty again that he had never told Tess of their significance. He had put them into the box after he and Tess had come ashore off 
White Witch
 the last time: to remind him about Tyler Brock—that Brock hadn’t been fair, hadn’t given him the chance to tell his side.

“It was my grandma’s. It’s not much of a wedding gift,” Tess told Struan. “But with no dowry and all, beggars can’t be pickers.”

“Dinna worry about that, lass. You’re part of The Noble House. When do you move into 
your
 house?”

“In three weeks,” Culum and Tess said together, and they laughed, happy again.

“Good. We’ll do the day proud. Well, see you all later.”

“Look at that fool, Tai-Pan!” Glessing said. He was training his telescope through a porthole at a lorcha barreling into the east channel, sails reefed.

“What the devil’s he doing? Nae day to be out there,” Struan said.

“With your permission, Mr. Struan, I’ll signal her to tie up to your wharf in Happy Valley. She’ll have trouble anchoring in the Roads. And your wharf’s clear.”

“Aye, with pleasure. Who is she?”

“Naval lorcha. Flying the deputy captain superintendent’s pennant.” He snapped his telescope shut. “Her captain needs his head examined to leave Macao in this weather. Or Mr. Monsey’s in a devil of a hurry. What’s your evaluation of that?”

Struan grinned. “I’m no crystal gazer, Captain Glessing.”

Glessing gave the necessary orders to a seaman, who promptly bound the signal flags to the halyard. He opened the ceiling hatch. Rain sprinkled them as the flags were run up.

“Where’s Longstaff?” Struan asked.

“Aboard the flagship,” Glessing said. “Must confess I’d be happier afloat myself.”

“I wouldn’t,” Culum said.

“Oh dear, no,” Tess added.

Struan finished his tea. “Well, I’ll be off. You know where I am if I’m needed.”

“Baint—I mean isn’t that dangerous, Tai-Pan?” Tess asked. “The Happy Valley fever and all? Staying there?”

“The wind and the rain’ll beat down any poison gases,” Struan said with a confidence he did not feel.

“Don’t forget, Tess, there’s some cinchona left, and we’ll soon have plenty,” Culum said. “Tai-Pan, I think the new venture is wonderful. A service to all mankind.”

Struan had told Culum about his arrangement with Cooper before it had been printed. He had also encouraged Culum to spend time with the American; the more he thought about a joining of Cooper and Culum, the more he liked the idea. “Jeff’s very smart, lad. You’ll like working with him.” He pulled on his rain cloak. “Well, I’ll be off. Listen, you two. Dinna worry about Brock. Dinna worry about your father, lass. I’m sure he’ll come around if you give him time. Just give him time.”

“I hope so,” Tess said. “Oh, I hope so.”

On his way out, Struan stopped at the barometer. “Good sweet Jesus! It’s down to 29.5 inches!”

Glessing looked at the time anxiously. It was almost ten o’clock. “That’s damn near half an inch in half an hour.” He made a notation on a pressure chart and followed Struan, who had run outside.

A quarter of the eastern horizon was black, and there seemed to be no division between sea and sky. The wind was fiercer, gusty, still dead-north, and the rain was heavier.

“There she is, all right,” Struan said tensely. “Batten down for your life.” He began sprinting along Queen’s Road toward Happy Valley.

“Inside! Culum, Tess!” Glessing ordered. He slammed the door and bolted it. “Whatever you do, don’t open any doors until further orders.” He pulled the porthole covers over the storm windows and checked all the fastenings, and he realized that Struan was right. The vortex was going to pass directly over them. “I’m very glad you’ve made peace with your father, Culum. Now, I think, some breakfast,” he said calming them. “Mrs. Struan, perhaps you’d supervise?”

Struan ran hard. A few Chinese sedan-chair coolies were hurrying for Tai Ping Shan, and a few stray Europeans were scurrying for cover. Through the rain Struan could see the naval lorcha abreast of him in the harbor, scudding fast for Happy Valley under many reefs. The churning sea was dull gray-green. The dark line of a squall raced at incredible speed across the harbor; its edge caught the lorcha, tore off her mainsail and heeled her over. Struan braced himself and was enveloped by the squall. It lasted only a few seconds, but he felt the lash of the blinding, wind-whipped rain and was almost thrown off his feet. When he could open his eyes, he looked seaward. Amazingly the lorcha was still afloat, limping ahead with a mizzen sail, her decks awash, the tatters of the mainsail streaming aft.

Once more Struan began running. He arrived on his wharf at Happy Valley just in time to see the white-capped swell catch the lorcha and fling her against the pilings. A sailor jumped from the gunnel with the fore hawser, but he slipped and fell between wharf and ship. His hands caught the edge of the wharf and he shrieked as the ship slammed into the jetty and cut him in half. When the sea pulled the ship away, the sailor had disappeared.

Struan shouted to the frightened deckhands and raced forward. One seaman threw him the line and he made it fast around a stanchion. Another, taking his life in his hands, jumped and made the wharf safely with the aft hawser.

The sea was rising and the lorcha and the wharf pilings screamed, and then the lorcha was fast and men began jumping ashore.

“Make for the factory!” Struan motioned them to follow and he ran for the front door. He yanked it open, the wind tugging at him. The crew of eight men ran in, cursing and blessing their luck.

Struan pulled off his soaking clothes, then noticed Horatio and Monsey. “Great God, what are you doing here, Horatio? Hello, Mr. Monsey!”

“Never thought we’d see land again,” Monsey wheezed.

Horatio leaned against a wall, his chest heaving, and vomited.

The door opened, and in a flurry of wind and rain the captain—a young lieutenant—strode in angrily and shook himself like a dog. Struan walked over and slammed the door.

“By the Lord God of Moses!” the man said to Struan. “Have you seen the sky?”

“What the devil were you doing at sea on a day like this? Did you na have sense enough to use your eyes in Macao?”

“Yes, by God! But I was ordered to Hong Kong, so I came to Hong Kong. We’re in the hands of a maniac!”

“Eh?”

“That blood-mucked Captain Superintendent of Trade, Sir Clyde Bloodmucking Whalen, by God! That stupid Irish bugger damn near sank my ship with all hands. I told him there was bad weather and he just looked at the sky and said, ‘Plenty of time to get there. You’re ordered to sea!’ Thank God for Hong Kong.”

“What’s the sea outside like?”

“One more hour and we’d never have made it. Twenty, thirty-foot waves. But that cursed wind! It won’t veer and it won’t back—it’s impossible! Is it a typhoon or isn’t it? How’s that possible?”

“Because the storm’s due east of us and we’re dead in its path, lad.”

“Oh God, protect us!”

“Make yourself at home. I’ll see about some tea and grog for all hands.”

“Thank you,” the young man said. “Sorry for the outburst.”

Struan went across the room to Monsey and Horatio. “Can you make it upstairs, Mr. Monsey?”

“Yes. Thank you, Tai-Pan. You’re very thoughtful.”

“Give me a hand with Horatio.”

“Of course. Don’t know what’s got into the poor lad. He’s been moaning incoherently ever since we left Macao. Most peculiar.”

“It’s fright,” Struan said.

They helped Horatio out of his rain-sodden coat. His face was dirty gray now and he was almost helpless with nausea. Together they half carried him up the stairs and laid him on a couch in the west wing in the quarters that once belonged to Robb.

Struan went to the sideboard and poured brandies. Monsey took one, his hands trembling, and drained it. He accepted a refill. “Thanks.”

“Give Horatio some,” Struan said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”