Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (39 page)

‘I expect he’s wondering why my cousin is trying to murder my wife,’ Killian said. ‘He’ll have a deal of explaining to do when he wakes up.’ He said the name of an official to Li, who shook his head and mentioned another. Then the Chinese man left the room, presumably to arrange to transport Farquhar to whoever was to take him into custody. ‘This is a damnable business,’ Killian muttered. ‘Are you hurt?’ he added to Jess, as if seeing her properly for the first time.

She was now trying to quiet Brice. The little boy was still upset that his cries had been ignored for so long and was having a hard time settling. ‘No, just shaken.’

Killian went over to her and enveloped both her and the baby in a hard embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder. ‘Dear God, but I want to tear him limb from limb for what he tried to do. What’s the matter with the man? Why does he hate me, us, so much?’

‘It must be jealousy, pure and simple. He can’t be quite right in the head.’ Jess sighed. ‘What will happen to him now?’ She glanced at Farquhar.

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to go back to Campbell and find out. I need the linguist in order to make myself understood when I tell the authorities about this.’ He stepped away from her and pushed his fingers through his hair distractedly. ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened, please?’

Jess did, and soon after Li came back with several strong-looking men who carted Farquhar off. He started to come to and began to shout and swear, but everyone ignored him. Killian went over to Jess one more time and put his arm round her shoulder. ‘You’re sure he didn’t harm you or Brice?’

‘No, he didn’t succeed.’ She saw that he was torn between staying with her and going off to report what had occurred. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘We’ll be fine now he’s under guard. Perhaps you can come back and see us tomorrow?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Have you run completely mad?’ John Ley was staring intently at the man who was officially in his care since he had come on the ship that was under his command. He looked as if he wished him at Jericho or possibly in hell, a sentiment echoed by Killian.

Farquhar said nothing. He just stared into space, the blue-grey eyes vacant, as if he was there in body only while his mind wandered elsewhere. His wide mouth hung open, although occasionally he muttered unintelligibly to himself.

‘It’s no use,’ Killian muttered. ‘I think he really has gone insane.’

‘Well, what shall we do?’ Ley asked, scowling now. ‘The Chinese are saying he’s my responsibility. If it was up to them he’d be executed straight away and I’m very tempted to let them do it, but I can’t have that on my conscience. I could put him on trial on board my ship, but since this didn’t happen while at sea, that doesn’t seem a good option either. The only other alternative is to lock him up at the factory until we leave and transport him back to Ostend. You’d have to arrange for someone to pick him up there.’

Killian nodded. ‘I suppose that might work. I could send word to my grandfather. He should sort out this mess since it’s partly his fault for putting ideas in Farquhar’s head.’

‘You’re not saying the old man put him up to this?’ Ley looked horrified.

‘No, no. I mean that if he had treated me the way a man normally treats his heir, Farquhar wouldn’t have thought he had a chance to step into my shoes. Or that he was the rightful heir, not me.’ He sighed. ‘It’s complicated, but trust me, it’s indirectly my grandfather’s fault.’

‘Well, I’ll take him into my custody and make sure he doesn’t trouble you or your wife any more. It’s only for two months, then hopefully we’ll all be off for home.’

‘Thank you, I appreciate your help.’

Killian threw one last glance over his shoulder at his cousin, but Farquhar was still lost in his own little world. There seemed no point jolting him out of it. Reality was obviously not to his liking.

The next few months passed almost in a blur and Killian felt as if he did nothing but look at tea, smell tea and watch others pack tea in chest after lead-lined chest.
Bohea
,
Pekoe
,
Souchong
and Green tea, all carefully weighed and stamped on by coolies, after he and Campbell had checked it to make sure it was of the quality they had contracted for. Inside the chests a second lining of paper added extra protection against humidity. Then it was covered with a piece of cotton material, a lead top and finally nailed shut by the carpenter before the whole chest was wrapped in oiled paper. Over and over again he watched this procedure. Hundreds of chests began to pile up in the courtyard of the factory and they all had to be brought indoors every evening just to be on the safe side. He was so sick of the stuff he refused to drink it.

Campbell was often annoyed with the merchants. ‘They keep on trying to pass off inferior tea as top quality. Do they take me for a fool?’ he muttered.

The only one who didn’t was a man named Poan Key-qua, who seemed different from the rest and whose company Killian enjoyed. He had a longish face and a kind expression, unlike most of the others who often looked dissatisfied. He was also happy to answer Killian’s many questions about China and its inhabitants.

Key-qua’s perfectly trimmed moustache with pointy ends and an equally pointy goatee beard seemed to be the norm. He wore plain robes with embroidered panels on the chest and shoulders, together with a silk hat. Like most of his countrymen, he had high rounded cheekbones and a small, fairly broad nose and of course the obligatory long pigtail down his back. At first, the merchant’s looks and clothing seemed very exotic to Killian, but he soon became used to it. He even bought a silk robe like Key-qua’s for himself, finding it very comfortable and soft.

‘He’s the only one I trust,’ Campbell said more than once. ‘The rest of them are deceitful wretches.’ Killian considered this too sweeping a statement, but there was definitely a lot of cheating going on. He and Campbell had to be constantly on their guard.

They often ate a meal with Key-qua before beginning the day’s tea packing, sitting in a small courtyard outside his dining room if the weather was fine. It was very pleasant, a paved area filled with tiny trees, flowers and herbs in porcelain pots. There was even a glass bowl with little gold and silver fishes.

Chinese food was like nothing he’d ever eaten before, but as usual Killian enjoyed every morsel he ate. ‘This is delicious,’ he told the man. Key-qua seemed pleased that he appreciated what he was given.

The silks they had ordered started to trickle in and were sent down to the ship at Whampoa after they had bought as much porcelain as they wanted.

‘It’s not the right quality, but we simply can’t wait any longer,’ Campbell was heard to complain, but the blue and white china looked perfectly fine to Killian.

He was also very pleased with the silks, especially the ones chosen by Jess.

‘You have an eye for colour and patterns,’ he told her, making her smile with pleasure. ‘Campbell ordered mostly taffetas, paduasoys and damask of different colours, as well as striped satin and some velvet. I think we’ve done better.’

‘I hope so.’

Killian and Jess had opted for floral patterns and silks with embroidery. Crimson was the most expensive, but they had bought some anyway as they thought it would fetch a good price at home. They had also ordered some finished products like handkerchiefs and night caps, which Jess thought would be in high demand.

All in all, Killian thought they would do quite well out of this venture and he couldn’t wait to see his grandfather’s face when he told him he was a rich man in his own right.

The weather had turned colder, but a Chinese winter seemed less severe than a Swedish one and didn’t cause them any hardship. Killian didn’t see much of Jess and Brice, but knew they were safe and warm with Li and Mei. Now that Farquhar was under lock and key, there was no need to fret about them. Still, he was very much looking forward to going home so that he could spend more time with his family.

The last few days before their proposed departure date were even busier than usual. Killian had to concentrate really hard on the ledger he was keeping in order to record what had been sent down to the ship and what still needed to go. There was a Chinese man, commonly called the ‘Comprador’, who acted as a sort of accountant or steward on behalf of the Swedes. He had already added everything up, but Campbell wanted to make sure the man had done it correctly.

‘Could you please go through it all one more time?’ he asked Killian.

‘Yes, of course.’ Killian didn’t mind. He admired the way Campbell always scrutinised everything and tried to anticipate any difficulties and prepare himself with great attention to detail in order to avoid them. It seemed to Killian exactly the way the person responsible for an expedition such as this should behave.

He sat in a small room overlooking the courtyard and was engrossed in his task, checking and re-checking his figures just to make sure they were right. One of the coolies had to say his name twice before he looked up. ‘Oh, I’m sorry?’

‘Man to see you,’ he said. Killian realised this was the coolie who guarded the door to the street. He spoke a few words of English, enough to announce guests.

‘To see me? Right, well, send him in.’

Killian wondered who it could be, but guessed it was either Li or perhaps one of the Ostenders. He didn’t know anyone else, unless one of the merchants had come to offer him some last minute bargains. He looked up again when a voice said, ‘I’m glad to see they work you hard, cousin. It’s no more than you deserve.’

Killian swallowed a gasp and shot to his feet. Standing in the courtyard was none other than Farquhar, his pale eyes lit with a murderous light while he clutched a long knife in one hand. The reddish hair gleamed dully in the sunlight. ‘Farquhar? How did you get out? I thought …’

Farquhar laughed, a hollow sound entirely without humour. ‘You thought they could keep me locked up, did you? You should have known better. It never worked when we were young, did it. I always managed to get out somehow, like I did today.’

Killian had to admit that was true, but he hadn’t thought there was anyone to blackmail or bribe here in China. Obviously he’d been wrong.

‘Well, you should have stayed where you were,’ he said, anger flooding through him. ‘You have no business here.’

‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, cousin. I have to kill you before you can escape me again and when I’ve done that, I’m going after your silly bitch of a wife. This time, she won’t get away, I’ll make sure of that, and neither will your brat.’

Killian didn’t wait to hear any more, because a red mist of fury rose up in front of his eyes and he just wanted to shut Farquhar up. He didn’t think he could stand to ever hear that hateful voice again, nor see the madness lurking in his cousin’s eyes. This had to stop.

Killian threw himself at Farquhar, who was taken by surprise, but sidestepped at the last moment. He slashed wildly with the knife, forcing Killian to retreat, but the Chinese guard had heard the commotion and came rushing into the courtyard. One look showed him Killian’s predicament, and he called out, ‘Here!’ before throwing Killian the bamboo pole he kept with him for defensive purposes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

Back and forth across the courtyard, the two of them moved, like dancers following an intricate set of steps. Killian was aware of others coming running to see what was going on, but when someone shouted out an offer of help, he waved them away. He would deal with his cousin and he would do it now.

‘As always, you’re too cowardly to fight me with your fists, eh?’ he taunted Farquhar. ‘You were a snivelling brat, hiding behind grandfather’s coat tails and now you’re hiding behind a knife. It’s no more than I would expect.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Farquhar snarled, but Killian’s taunts threw him off balance and with a few quick thrusts of the bamboo pole, Killian managed to knock the knife out of his hand. Farquhar howled with frustration and launched himself at his cousin, fists at the ready.

Madness seemed to give him strength, but Killian had fought him many times before and knew where his weaknesses lay. He allowed him to get in a few punches, then sidestepped and landed a blow on the side of Farquhar’s head. This was quickly followed by a punch in the gut that had him doubling over. He straightened up and tried to fight back, but Killian could see that his cousin was tiring now. Being locked up for the best part of two months had weakened him, and taken its toll on his muscles.

He waited a little while longer, making Farquhar chase him round the courtyard to tire him. Then he stopped abruptly and began to rain blows on his face, head and upper body. ‘This is for trying to kill my wife,’ he panted, hitting as hard as he could, ‘this is for my son, and this,’ he aimed a particularly vicious punch at Farquhar’s jaw, ‘is for all the harm you’ve done me.’

That last blow finished Farquhar off. His knees buckled and his eyes disappeared upwards until only the whites were showing, and then he fell forward. Killian bent over, panting hard from the exertion and from sheer relief. Graham, the second supercargo came and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right, Kinross?’

‘Yes, thank you. I am now.’

‘What do we do with him?’

‘He’s to be bound and taken to the Ostenders. I’ll accompany him myself to make sure they lock him up properly this time. I’m afraid he’s completely insane.’