Tai-Pan

CHAPTER SIX

Struan sat in the sedan chair and swayed easily to its motion as the bearer coolies trotted through the silent alleys. The inside of the curtained box was grimed and sweat-stained. From time to time he peered through the curtained side-window openings at the alleys. He could not see the sky, but he knew that dawn was near. The wind carried the stench of rotting fruit and feces and offal and cooking and spices and, mixed with it, the smell of the sweat of the coolies.

He had worked out a safer plan with Jin-qua to get the bullion to Hong Kong. He had arranged for Jin-qua to load the bullion in its crates onto an armed lorcha. In two nights the lorcha was to be brought secretly to the Settlement wharf. At exactly midnight. If this was not possible, the lorcha was to be left near the south side of the wharf, one lantern on the foremast, another on the prow. To make sure that there was no mistake, Jin-qua had said that, as a sign, he would paint the near side eye of the lorcha red. Every lorcha had two eyes carved into the teak of their prows. The eyes were for joss and also to help the soul of the boat to see ahead. The Chinese knew that it was essential for a boat to have eyes to see with.

But why should Jin-qua let me have Hong Kong safe? he asked himself. Surely Jin-qua must realize the importance of a mandarin. And why should he want a son educated in London? Was Jin-qua, of all the Chinese he knew, so far-sighted as to understand, at long last, that there was to be a permanent joining of the fortunes of China with the fortunes of Britain?

He heard dogs barking, and through the curtains saw them attack the legs of the front coolie. But the coolie who carried the lantern ahead of the sedan chair ran back and, with practiced skill, hacked at the dogs with his iron-pointed staff. The dogs fled yelping into the darkness.

Then Struan noticed a cluster of bannermen foot soldiers—perhaps a hundred—seated at a far intersection. They were armed, and had lanterns. They were ominously quiet. Several of the men stood up and began to walk toward the chair. The coolies swerved into an alley, much to Struan’s relief. Now all you have to do, laddie, he told himself, is to get the bullion safe to Hong Kong. Or safe to Whampoa, where you can transship it into

China Cloud. But until it’s safe aboard, you’re na safe, laddie.

The sedan chair lurched as a coolie almost stumbled into one of the potholes that pockmarked the roadbed. Struan craned around in the confining space, trying to get his bearings. Later he could see the masts of ships, half hidden by hovels. Ahead there was still nothing recognizable. The chair turned a corner, heading toward the river, then cut across this narrow alley into another. Finally ahead, over the roofs of huts, he could make out part of the Settlement buildings glinting in the moonlight.

Abruptly the sedan chair stopped and was grounded, throwing Struan to one side. He tore the curtains aside and leaped out, knife in his hand, just as three spears ripped through the thin sides of the chair.

The three spearmen desperately tried to pull their weapons free as Struan darted at the nearest one, shoved his knife into the man’s side and spun as another charged him with a double-edged war ax. The ax blade scored his shoulder and he grimaced with pain but sidestepped and grappled with the man for possession of the ax. He tore it from the man’s hand and the man screamed as a spear aimed for Struan impaled him. Struan backed against the wall. The remaining spearman circled him, panting and cursing. Struan feinted and hacked at him with the ax but missed and the man lunged. His spear pierced Struan’s coat but Struan ripped free and buried his knife to the hilt in the man’s stomach and twisted it, gutting him.

Struan jumped clear of the bodies, his back against the safety of the wall, and waited. The man that he had knifed was howling. Another was inert. The one he had gutted was holding his stomach and crawling away.

Struan waited an instant, gathering strength, and an arrow thudded into the wall above his head. He picked up one of the spears and raced down the alley toward the Settlement. He heard footsteps behind him and ran faster. As he rounded the corner, he saw that Thirteen Factory Street was just ahead. He dropped the spear and zigzagged across the street and into Hog Street, down Hog Street and across the square, which was filled with more bannermen than before.

Before the bannermen could intercept him, he was through the garden door. A musket slammed him in the stomach.

“Oh, it’s thee, Dirk,” Brock said. “Where the hell’s thee beed?”

“Out.” Struan gulped for air. “God’s blood, I was jumped by stinking highwaymen.”

“Be that yor blood or theirs?”

Under the light of the lantern, Struan ripped the coat and shirt away from his wounded shoulder. The slice was clean and shallow across his shoulder muscle.

“A gnat’s bite,” Brock scoffed. He found a bottle of rum and poured some into the wound and smiled when Struan winced. “How many were they?”

“Three.”

“An’ thee get cutted? Thee be getting old!” Brock poured two glasses of rum.

Struan drank, and felt better.

“I thort you was asleeping. Yor door were locked. Where thee beed?”

“What’s going on here?”

“The servants vanished ’bout an hour ago. That’s wot. I thort it best not to bringed everyone here till daybreak. Must be ’arf a hundred guns covered thee while thee ran.”

“Then why the devil shove a musket in my belly?”

“Just wanted to welcome thee rightly.” Brock gulped some rum. “Just wanted thee to knowed we was awake.”

“Anyone know why the servants left?”

“No.” Brock walked over to the gate. The bannermen were settling back into sleep. A nervous dawn hesitated on the horizon. “Looks godrotting bad,” he said, his face hard. “Doan like this here a little bit. Them bastards doan do nothing but sit an’ sometimes beat their drums. I think we better retreat while the retreating’s good.”

“We’re safe for a few days.”

Brock shook his head. “I got a bad feeling. Something’s right bad. We’d better goed.”

“It’s a ploy, Brock.” Struan tore off a piece of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face.

“Mayhaps. But I got this feeling, and when I gets this feeling it be time to move.” Brock jerked a thumb at the bannermen. “We counted ’em. Hundred an’ fifty. How-qua sayed there be more’n a thousand spread all round the Settlement.”

“I saw perhaps two or three hundred. To the east.”

“Where thee beed?”

“Out.” Struan was tempted to tell him. But that will na help, he thought. Brock’ll do everything in his power to prevent the bullion from arriving safely. And without the bullion you’re as dead as you ever were. “There’s a girl just around the corner,” he said flippantly.

“Pox on a girl! Thee baint so stupid to leave for any doxy.” Brock tugged his beard peevishly. “Thee be taking over from me in a hour?”

“Aye.”

“At noon we pull out.”

“Nay.”

“I say at noon.”

“Nay.”

Brock frowned. “Wot’s to keep thee here?”

“If we leave before there’s real trouble, we lose face badly.”

“Yus. I knowed. Doan please me to run. But somethin’ tells me it be better.”

“We’ll wait a couple of days.”

Brock was very suspicious. “Thee knowed I never beed wrong about aknowing when to run. Why thee want to stay?”

“It’s just Ti-sen up to his old tricks. This time you’re wrong. I’ll relieve you in an hour,” Struan said, and went inside.

Now wot be Dirk up to? Brock brooded. He hawked loudly, hating the danger stench that seemed to come from the dying night.

Struan climbed the marble staircase to his quarters. The walls were lined with Quance paintings and Chinese silk hangings. On the landings were giant Ming teak dragons and teak chests. The corridors leading off the first landing were lined with paintings of ships and sea battles, and on a pedestal was a scale model of H.M.S.

Victory.

Struan found his door locked.

“Open the door,” he said, and waited. Ah Gip let him inside.

“Where the hell’ve you been, May-may?” he said, trying not to show his relief.

She was standing in the shadows near the window. She spoke to Ah Gip, then motioned her out.

Struan bolted the door. “Where the hell’ve you been?”

She moved into the lantern light, and he was shocked by her pallor.

“What’s amiss?”

“There’s plenty rumors, Tai-Pan. Word says all barbarians are going to be put to the sword.”

“Nothing new in that. Where’ve you been?”

“Bannermen are new. There’s rumor that Ti-sen’s in disgrace. That he’s sentenced to death.”

“That’s nonsense. He’s cousin to the emperor, and the second-richest man in China.”

“Rumor says the emperor’s so godrot angry Ti-sen make a treaty, Ti-sen is to suffer public torture.”

“That’s madness.” Struan stood by the fire and stripped off his coat and shirt. “Where’ve you been?”

“What happened to you?” she exclaimed, seeing the cut.

“Highwaymen jumped me.”

“Did you see Jin-qua?”

Struan was wonder-struck. “How do you know about Jin-qua?”

“I went to kowtow and pay my respects to his Supreme Lady. She told me he just returned and sent for you.”

Struan had been unaware that May-may knew Jin-qua’s first wife, but he was so furious that he dismissed this from his mind. “Why the devil did you na tell me where you were going?”

“Because then you would have forbid me,” May-may snapped. “I want to see her. Also to have my hair done and to consult the astrologer.”

“What?”

“There’s a terrifical good hairdresser that Jin-qua’s ladies use. Terrifical good for hair. This woman is famous in all Kwangtung. Very expensive. The astrologer said joss was good. Very good. But to watch building of houses.”

“You’d risk your life to talk to soothsayers and get your hair treated?” he erupted. “What the hell’s the matter with your hair? It’s fine as it is!”

“You dinna ken these things, Tai-Pan,” she said coldly. “That’s where I hear rumors. At hairdresser’s.” She took his hand and made him touch her hair. “There, you see. It is much softer, no?”

“No! It is na! God’s death, if you ever leave without first telling me where you’re going, I’ll whack you so hard you will na sit for a week.”

“Just try, Tai-Pan, by God,” she said and glared back at him.

He grabbed her swiftly and carried her, struggling, to the bed and flung up her robe and petticoats and gave her a smack on her buttocks that stung his hand and tossed her on the bed. He had never struck her before. May-may flew off the bed at him and viciously raked at his face with her long nails. A lantern crashed to the floor as Struan upended her again and resumed the spanking. She fought out of his grip, and her nails slashed at his eyes, missing by a fraction of an inch, and scoring his face. He caught her wrists and turned her over and tore off her robe and underclothes and smashed her bare buttocks with the flat of his hand. She fought back fiercely, shoving an elbow in his groin and clawing at his face again. Mustering all his strength, he pinned her to the bed, but she slipped her head free and sank her teeth into his forearm. He gasped from the pain and slashed her buttocks again with the flat of his free hand. She bit harder.

“By God, you’ll never bite me again,” he said through clenched teeth. Her teeth sank deeper, but he deliberately did not pull his arm away. The pain made his eyes water, but he smashed May-may harder and harder and harder, always on her buttocks, until his hand hurt. At last she released her teeth.

“Don’t—no more—please—please,” she whimpered, and wept into the pillow, defenseless.

Struan caught his breath. “Now say you’re sorry for going out without permission.”

Her mottled, inflamed buttocks tightened and she flinched against the expected blow, but he had not raised his hand. He knew that the spirit of a thoroughbred must only be tamed, never broken. “I’ll give you three seconds.”

“I’m sorry—sorry. You hurt me, you hurt me,” she sobbed.

He got off the bed and, holding his forearm under the light, examined the wound. May-may’s teeth had bitten very deeply and blood seeped.

“Come over here,” he said quietly. She did not move but continued to weep. “Come over here,” he repeated, but this time his voice was a lash and she jerked up. He did not look at her. She quickly pulled the remnants of her robe around her and began to get off the bed.

“I did na tell you to dress! I said come here.”

She hurried over to him, her eyes red and her face powder and eye makeup streaked.

He steadied his forearm against the table and daubed the seeping blood away and poured brandy into each wound. He lit a match and gave it to her. “Stick the flame in the wounds, one by one.”

“No!”

“One by one,” he said. “A human bite is as poisonous as a mad dog’s. Hurry.”

It took three matches, and each time she wept a little more, nauseated by the smell of burning flesh, but she kept her hand steady. And each time the brandy ignited, Struan grit his teeth and said nothing.

When it was finished, he slopped more brandy over the blackened wounds and May-may found the chamber pot and was very sick. Struan quickly poured some hot water from the kettle over a towel and patted May-may’s back gently, and when she had finished he wiped her face tenderly and made her rinse her mouth with some of the hot water. Then he picked her up and put her into the bed and would have left her. But she held on to him and began to weep, the deep inner weeping that cleans away the hatred.

Struan soothed her and gentled her until she slept. Then he left and took over the watch from Brock.

At noon there was another meeting. Many wished to leave immediately. But Struan dominated Brock and persuaded the merchants to wait until tomorrow. They agreed reluctantly and decided to move into the factory for mutual safety. Cooper and the Americans went to their own factory.

Struan returned to his suite.

May-may welcomed him passionately. Later they slept, at peace. Once they awoke together and she kissed him sleepily and whispered, “You were right to beat me. I was wrong, Tai-Pan. But never beat me when I am na wrong. For sometime you must sleep and then I kill you.”

In the middle watch their peace was shattered. Wolfgang Mauss was pounding on the door. “Tai-Pan! Tai-Pan!”

“Aye?”

“Quick! Downstairs! Hurry!”

Now they could hear the mob swarming into the square.