Tai-Pan

CHAPTER SEVEN

“My da’ warned you all, God damn yor eyes!” Gorth said, turning away from the dining room window and pushing through the traders.

“We’ve had mobs before,” Struan said sharply. “And you know they’re always controlled and only ordered out by the mandarins.”

“Yus, but not like this’n,” Brock said.

“There’s got to be a special reason. Nothing to worry about yet.”

The square below was jammed with a heaving mass of Chinese. Some carried lanterns, others torches. A few were armed. And they were screaming in unison.

“Must beed two to three thousand of the buggers,” Brock said, then called out, “Hey, Wolfgang! Wot be they heathen devils shouting?”

“ ‘Death to the devil barbarians.’ ”

“What rotten cheek!” Roach said. He was a small, spar-rowlike man, his musket taller than himself.

Mauss looked back at the mob, his heart thumping uneasily, his flanks clammy with sweat. Is this Thy time, oh Lord? The time of Thy peerless martyrdom? “I’ll go and talk to them, preach to them,” he said throatily, wanting the peace of such a sacrifice, yet terrified of it.

“An estimable idea, Mr. Mauss,” Rumajee said agreeably, his black eyes twitching nervously from Mauss to the mob and back again. “They’re bound to listen to one of your persuasion, sir.”

Struan saw Mauss’s beaded sweat and untoward pallor and he intercepted him near the door. “You’ll do nae such thing.”

“It’s time, Tai-Pan.”

“You’ll na buy salvation that easily.”

“Who are you to judge?” Mauss began to push past, but Struan stood in his way.

“I meant that salvation’s a long and hurt-filled process,” he said kindly. Twice before he had seen the same strangeness in Mauss. Each time it had been before a battle with pirates, and later, during the battle, Mauss had dropped his weapons and gone toward the enemy in a religious ecstasy, seeking death. “It’s a long process.”

“The—the Lord’s peace is . . . is hard to find,” Mauss muttered, his throat choking him, glad to be stopped and hating himself for being glad. “I just wanted . . .”

“Quite right. Know all about salvation meself,” Masterson butted in. He steepled his hands and his manner was pious. “Lord preserve us from the godrotting heathen! Couldn’t agree more, Tai-Pan. Damn all this noise, what?”

Mauss collected himself with an effort, feeling naked before Struan, who once again had seen into the depths of his soul. “You’re . . . you’re right. Yes. Right.”

“After all, if we lose you, who’s left to preach the Word?” Struan said, and decided to watch Mauss if there was real trouble.

“Quite right,” Masterson said, blowing his nose with his fingers. “What’s the point of throwing a valuable Christian to the wolves? That damned bunch of scallawags is whipped to a frenzy and in no mood to be preached at. Lord protect us! Goddamme, Tai-Pan, I told you there’d be an attack.”

“The hell you did!” Roach called from across the room.

“Who the devil asked your opinion, by God? Having a quiet talk to the Tai-Pan and Reverend Mauss,” Masterson shouted back. Then to Mauss, “Why not say a prayer for us, eh? After all, we’re the Christians, by God!” He bustled over to the window. “Can’t a fellow see what’s going on, eh?”

Mauss wiped the sweat off his brow. Oh Lord God and sweet Jesus, Thine only begotten Son, give me Thy peace. Send me disciples and missionaries so that I may lay down Thy burden. And I bless Thee for sending me the Tai-Pan who is my conscience and who sees me as I am. “Thank you, Tai-Pan.”

The door was flung open and more traders poured into the room. All were armed. “What the devil’s going on? What’s amiss?”

“Nobody knows,” Roach said. “One moment it was peaceful; the next, they started to arrive.”

“I bet we never see poor old Eliksen again. Poor devil’s probably had his throat cut already,” Masterson said, malevolently priming his musket. “We’ll die in our beds tonight.”

“Oh, shut up, for the love of God,” Roach said.

“You’re a harbinger of sweetness and comfort, ain’t you?” Vivien, a bull-like trader, glowered down on Master-son. “Why don’t you pee in your hat?”

The other traders roared, and then Gorth shouldered his way to the door. “I’ll take my bullyboys and blow ’em to hell!”

“No!” Struan’s voice was a lash. A hush fell. “They’re doing us nae harm yet. What’s the matter, Gorth? Are you frightened of a few men cursing you?”

Gorth reddened and started toward Struan, but Brock moved in the way. “Get thee below,” he ordered. “Stand guard in the garden and the first Chinese wot come in, blow his bloody head off!”

Gorth controlled his rage with an effort and walked out. Everyone started talking again.

“Baint proper to bait the lad, Dirk.” Brock poured a tankard of ale and drank it thirstily. “He might be handing thee thy head.”

“He might. And he might be taught a few manners.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Struan,” Rumajee interrupted, his nervousness overcoming his politeness. “Are there guards at the back entrance?”

“Aye. Three of my men. They can hold that against an army of this rabble.”

There was a burst of arguing among the traders and then Roach said, “I’m with Gorth. I say we should fight our way out instantly.”

“We will. If necessary,” Struan said.

“Yus,” Brock said. “Askin’ for trouble to do it now. We waits and keeps our guard up till light. Mayhaps they be gone by then.”

“And if they’re not? Eh? That’s what I’d like to know!”

“Then we spill a lot of blood. I snuck three of my men onto our lorcha and put her in midstream. There be a ten-pounder aboard.”

Struan laughed. “I think Mr. Brock deserves a vote of confidence.”

“By God, Mr. Brock, you’re right smart,” Masterson said. “Three cheers for Mr. Brock!”

They cheered and Brock grinned. “Thank’ee kindly, lads. Now, best to get some sleep. We be safe enough.”

“

Gott im Himmel! Look!” Mauss was pointing out the window, his eyes bulging.

A lantern procession with gongs and drums was pouring out of Hog Street into the square. Bannermen with flails preceded it, hacking a path through the mob. At the head of the procession was a man of vast girth. His clothes were rich but he was barefoot and hatless, and he staggered under the weight of chains.

“God’s death!” Struan said. “That’s Ti-sen!”

The procession wound into the center of the square and halted. All the Co-hong merchants except Jin-qua were in the procession. All had their ceremonial rank buttons removed from their hats, and they stood quaking. The mob began to jeer and hiss. Then the chief bannerman, a tall, black-bearded warrior, banged a huge gong and the mob fell silent once more.

An open sedan chair with mounted bannermen in front and behind was carried into the square. Seated on the chair, in full ceremonial gray-and-scarlet dress, was Hi’pia-kho, the imperial Hoppo. He was a squat, obese Manchu mandarin, almost neckless, and in his hand was the imperial fan of his office. The fan was ivory and studded with jade.

The Hoppo’s chair was put down in the center of the square and the chief bannerman screamed out an order. Everyone in the square kowtowed three times and then got up again.

The Hoppo unrolled a paper and, under the light of a lantern held by a guard, began to read in a high-pitched voice.

“Wot’s he asaying?” Brock asked Mauss.

“Look, there’s old How-qua,” Masterson said with a chuckle. “He’s bloody well shaking in—”

“Please. Quiet. I can’t hear,

hein?” Mauss said. He craned out the window. They all listened.

“It’s an emperor’s edict,” Mauss said, quickly. “ ‘And the traitor Ti-sen, our late cousin, shall immediately be put in chains and sent to our capital under sentence of death and . . .’—I can’t hear,

hein? Wait a moment—‘and the contemptible treaty called the Convention of Chuenpi, that he signed without our authority, is revoked. The barbarians are ordered out of our kingdom and out of Canton and out of Hong Kong under pain of immediate and lingering death and—’ ”

“I don’t believe it,” Roach scoffed.

“Shut thy face! How can Wolfgang be hearing?”

Mauss listened intently to the eerie high-pitched voice cutting the brooding silence. “We’re ordered out,” he said. “And we’ve to pay an indemnity for all the trouble we’ve caused. No trade except under the Eight Regulations. Queen Victoria’s ordered to present herself at Canton in mourning—something about . . . it sounded like rewards are on our heads and—‘as a symbol of our displeasure, the criminal Ti-sen will be scourged publicly and all his property is forfeit. Fear this and tremblingly obey!’ ”

The chief bannerman approached Ti-sen and gestured at the ground with his flail. Ti-sen, chalk-white, knelt down and the chief bannerman raised his flail and brought it crashing down on Ti-sen’s back. Again and again and again. There was no sound in the square but for the slash of the whip. Ti-sen fell forward on his face and the bannerman continued to scourge him.

“I don’t believe it,” Masterson said.

“It’s impossible,” Mauss said.

“If they’ll do this to Ti-sen—by the Cross, they’ll kill us all.”

“Nonsense! We can take the whole of China—any time.”

Brock started guffawing.

“What’s so funny,

hein?” Mauss asked impatiently.

“This mean war again,” Brock said. “Good, says I.” He glanced at Struan, mocking him. “I told thee, lad. This be wot thee gets for making a soft treaty with the scum.”

“It’s a ruse of some kind,” Struan said calmly. But inwardly he was stunned by what was happening. “Ti-sen’s the richest man in China. The emperor’s got a whipping boy, a scapegoat. And all Ti-sen’s wealth. It’s a matter of face. The emperor’s saving face.”

“Thee and thy face, lad,” Brock said, no longer amused. “ ’Tis thy face that be red. Treaty be finished, trade finished, Hong Kong finished, thee be finished, and all thee talks about be face.”

“You’re so wrong, Tyler. Hong Kong’s just begun,” Struan said. “A lot of things have just begun.”

“Yus. War, by God.”

“And if there’s war, where’s the base for the fleet, eh? Macao’s as useless as it always has been—it’s part of the mainland and the Chinese can fall on that at whim. But na our island, by God. Na with the fleet protecting it. I’ll agree that wi’out Hong Kong we’re finished. That wi’out it we canna launch a campaign north again. Never. Nor protect whatever mainland ports or settlements we get in the future. You hear, Tyler? Hong Kong’s the key to China. Hong Kong’s got you by the short and curlies.”

“I knowed all about havin’ a island fortress, by God,” Brock blustered above the chorus of agreement. “Hong Kong baint the only place, I be saying. Chushan be better.”

“You can na protect Chushan like Hong Kong,” Struan said exultantly, knowing that Brock was committed as they were all committed. “That ‘barren, sodding rock,’ as you call it, is your whole godrotting future.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Brock said sourly. “We be seeing about that. But thee baint be enjoying Hong Kong nohow. I be having the knoll, and thee be finished.”

“Dinna be too sure.” Struan watched the square again. The lash still rose and fell. He pitied Ti-sen, who had been caught in a trap not of his own choosing. He had not sought the job as Chinese Plenipotentiary—he was ordered to take it. He was trapped by the era in which he lived. Just as Struan himself, and Longstaff and Brock and the Hoppo and all of them were trapped now that the first move had been made. The result would be as inexorable as the flail. There would be a move against Canton just as before. First take the forts at the approaches to Canton and then only threaten the city. There would be no need to capture it, for Canton would pay ransom first. Then, when the winds were ripe in the summer, north once more to the Pei Ho River mouth and landings, and once more the emperor, trapped like everyone else, would immediately sue for peace. The treaty would stand because it was fair. Then, over the years, the Chinese would gradually open up their ports willingly—seeing that the British had much to offer: law, justice, the sanctity of property, freedom.

For the ordinary Chinese want what we want, he thought, and there’s nae difference between us. We can work together for the benefit of all. Perhaps we’ll help the Chinese to throw out the barbaric Manchus. That’s what will happen so long as there’s a reasonable treaty now, and we’re patient, and we play the Chinese game with Chinese rules, in Chinese time. Time measured not in a day or year, but in generations. And so long as we can trade while we’re waiting. Without trade the world will become what it was once—a hell where only the strongest arm and the heaviest lash was law. The meek will never inherit the earth. Aye, but at least they can be protected by law to live out their lives as they wish.

When Ti-sen had had a hundred blows, the bannermen picked him up. Blood was streaming from his face and neck, and the back of his robe was shredded and bloody. The mob jeered and hooted. A bannerman banged the gong but the mob paid no attention and the bannermen cut into them, slashing and chopping. There were screams, and the mob backed away and fell silent again.

The Hoppo waved an imperious hand toward the garden. The sedan chair was lifted and the bannermen moved ahead of it, wielding their flails to clear the way toward the traders.

“Come on,” Struan said to Mauss and Brock. “The rest of you get ready in case there’s an attack.” He dashed out into the garden, Brock and Mauss close behind.

“Be thee sick in the head?” Brock said.

“No.”

They watched tensely as the mob parted and the bannermen appeared at the garden gate. The Hoppo stayed in his chair, but he called out to them imperiously.

“He orders you to take a copy of the edict, Mr. Struan,” Mauss said.

“Tell him that we are not dressed in ceremonial clothes. Such an important matter needs great ceremony to give it the dignity it merits.”

The Hoppo seemed puzzled. After a moment he spoke again.

“He says, ‘Barbarians have no ceremony and are beyond contempt. However, the Son of Heaven has urged clemency on all those who fear him. A deputation will come to my palace in the morning, at the Hour of the Snake.’ ”

“When the hell be that?” Brock asked.

“Seven A.M.,” Mauss said.

“We baint about to put our heads in his godrotting trap. Tell him to dung himself.”

“Tell him,” Struan said, “according to the Eight Regulations we’re na allowed to meet personally with the exalted Hoppo but must receive documents through the Co-hong here in the Settlement. The Hour of the Snake gives us na enough time.” He looked up; dawn was streaking the sky. “When’s eleven o’clock at night?”

“The Hour of the Rat,” Mauss said.

“Then tell him that we will receive the document from the Co-hong here with ‘due ceremony’ at the Hour of the Rat.

Tomorrow night.”

“ ‘Due ceremony’ be clever, Dirk,” Brock said. “That be plenty of time to prepare a bleeding welcome!”

Mauss listened to the Hoppo. “He says that the Co-hong will deliver the edict at the Hour of the Snake—that’s nine A.M.—today. And all British barbarians are to leave the Settlement by the Hour of the Sheep—that’s one P.M.,— today.”

“Tell him that one P.M. today gives us na enough time. At the Hour of the Sheep tomorrow.”

“He says we must evacuate the Settlement at three P.M. today—the Hour of the Monkey—that our lives are spared until that time and that we can leave without harm.”

“Tell him: the Hour of the Monkey tomorrow.”

The Hoppo replied to Mauss, and barked an order. His chair was lifted and the procession began to form again.

“He said we must leave today. At the Hour of the Monkey. Three o’clock this afternoon.”

“Curse him to hell!” Struan said, enraged. The procession was heading for Hog Street. One of the bannermen shoved Ti-sen behind the sedan chair and flailed him as he stumbled after it; more began to close on the mob, which coursed out of the square. The bannermen who remained split into two groups. One moved closer to the factory, cutting it off from Hog Street; the other was posted to the west. The factory was surrounded.

“Why was you pressing for delay?” Brock said.

“Just normal negotiation.”

“Thee knowed right well, be more’n the Hoppo’s life be worth to delay after wot happened to Ti-sen! Wot be so important to stay another night, eh? Most of us was leaving today, anyway. For the land sale.”

Good sweet Christ! Struan thought, knowing that Brock was right. How can I wait for the bullion?

“Eh?” Brock repeated.

“No reason.”

“There be a reason,” Brock said, and entered the factory.

Promptly at the Hour of the Snake the full complement of Co-hong merchants came into the square, escorted by fifty bannermen with gongs and drums sounding. The guard bannermen let them through and then closed ranks again. Again Jin-qua was absent. But his son How-qua, the leading Co-hong merchant, was there. How-qua, a middle-aged, roly-poly man, always smiled. But today he was somber and sweating, so terrified that he almost dropped the neatly rolled imperial edict, bound with vermilion ribbon. His fellow merchants were equally panic-stricken.

Struan and Brock were waiting to receive them in the garden, dressed in their best frock coats and white cravats and top hats. Struan was freshly shaved and Brock had had his beard combed. Both wore ostentatious flowers in their buttonholes. They knew that ceremony gained them much face and made the Hoppo lose face.

“Right you are,” Brock had said with a hoarse laugh. “Struan an’ me’ll take the godrotting edict, an’ if we baint acting proper like they, then mayhaps they be burning us up like rats in a trap an’ not waiting the time they give us. Now, do exactly as Struan sayed.”

The party halted at the gate. Mauss opened it and Struan and Brock went to the threshold. The bannermen glowered at them. Struan and Brock were grimly aware of the rewards that were still on their heads, but they showed no fear, for they were covered by unseen guns in the windows behind them and by the cannon on Brock’s lorcha anchored in midstream.

The chief bannerman spoke heatedly, gesticulating with his flail.

“He says come out and get the edict,” Mauss interpreted. Struan merely raised his hat and held out his hand and planted his feet firmly. “The Hoppo said the edict was to be delivered. Deliver it.” He kept his hand out.

Mauss translated what he had said, and then after a nervous moment the bannerman cursed at How-qua and How-qua hurried forward and gave Struan the rolled paper. Struan and Brock and Mauss immediately doffed their top hats, and shouted at the top of their voices, “God save the queen.” At this signal Gorth put a taper to the firecrackers and tossed them into the garden. The Co-hong merchants leaped back, and the bannermen drew their bows and swords, but Struan and Brock, their faces solemn, stood perfectly still, holding their hats in the air.

The exploding firecrackers filled the garden with smoke. When the explosions ceased, to the Co-hong’s horror Mauss, Struan and Brock shouted, “God rot all Manchus!” and from inside the factory there were three resounding cheers. The chief bannerman strode forward belligerently and harangued Mauss.

“He asks what this is all about, Tai-pan.”

“Tell him, just like I told you.” Struan caught How-qua’s eye and winked covertly, knowing his hatred of the Manchus.

Mauss said in loud, ringing, perfect Mandarin, “This is our custom on a very important occasion. Not every day are we privileged to receive so estimable a document.”

The bannerman cursed him for a moment, then ordered the Co-hong away. The Co-hong went, but now they were emboldened.

Brock started laughing. And laughter spread through the factory and was echoed from the far end of the square where the American factory was situated. A Union Jack appeared from one of its windows and waved bravely.

“We’d best be getting ready t’move,” Brock said. “That were very good.”

Struan did not answer. He tossed the edict to Mauss. “Give me an accurate translation, Wolfgang,” he said, and went back to his suite.

Ah Gip bowed him in and went back to her cooking pots. May-may was dressed but she was lying on the bed.

“What’s the matter, May-may?”

She glared at him and turned her back, pulling up her robe and revealing her bruise-tinted buttocks.

“That’s wat’s matter!” she said, with mock rage. “Look what you’ve done, you brute barbarian fan quai. I must either stand or lying on my belly.”

“ ‘Must lie on,’ ” he said, and slumped moodily in a chair.

May-may pulled down her robe and gingerly got off the bed. “Why do you na laugh? I thought that would make you laugh.”

“Sorry, lass. I should have. But I’ve a lot to think about.”

“Wat?”

He motioned to Ah Gip. “You dooa out, heya, savvy?” and bolted the door after her. May-may knelt beside the pot and stirred it with a chopstick.

“We’ve got to leave at three o’clock,” Struan said. “Say you wanted to stay in the Settlement until tomorrow, what would you do?”

“Hide,” she said immediately. “In a—how you say—a small up room near the roof.”

“Attic?”

“Yes. Attic. Why you want to stay?”

“Do you think they’ll search the factory when we’ve left?”

“Why stay? Very unwise to stay.”

“Do you think the bannermen will count us as we leave?”

“Those godrotting scum canna count.” She hawked noisily and spat in the fire.

“Will you na spit!”

“I tell you many times, Tai-Pan, it is important, wise Chinese custom,” she answered. “There is poisons in the throat always. You become very sick if you dinna expectorate it. It is very wise to expectorate it. The louder the hawk, the more the spit-poison god is frightened.”

“That’s nonsense, and it’s a disgusting habit.”

“Ayee yah,” she said impatiently. “Do you na understand English? Sometimes I wonder why I trouble to explain all so many civilizationed Chinese wisdoms to you. Wat for should we hide here? It is dangerous na to go with the others. It will be dangerous badly if the bannermen see me. We will need protections. Why should we hide?”

He told her about the lorcha. And about the bullion.

“You must trust me very much,” she said very seriously.

“Aye.”

“What must you give Jin-qua in returns?”

“Business concessions.”

“Of course. But what else?”

“Just business concessions.”

There was a silence.

“Jin-qua is a clever man. He would na want just business concessions,” she mused. “Wat concessions I would ask if I am Jin-qua! To anything you must agree. Anything.”

“What would you want?”

She stared at the flames and wondered what Struan would say if he knew that she was Jin-qua’s granddaughter—second daughter of his eldest son How-qua’s fifth wife. And she wondered why she had been forbidden to tell Struan—on pain of the removal of her name from the ancestral scrolls forever. Strange, she told herself, and shuddered at the thought of being cast out of the family, for it meant that not only she but her offspring and their offspring and theirs forever would be lost from the mainstream, and therefore deprived of the protective mutual help that was the single rock of Chinese society. A perpetual rock. The only real thing of value that five thousand years of civilization and experimenting had taught was safe and worthwhile. The family.

And she wondered why, in truth, she had been given to Struan.

“Second daughter of fifth mother,” her father had said on her fifteenth birthday. “My illustrious father has conceived a great honor for you. You are to be given to the Tai-Pan of the barbarians.”

She had been terrified. She had never seen a barbarian and believed them to be unclean, loathsome cannibals. She had wept and begged for mercy, and then, secretly, she had been shown Struan when he was with Jin-qua. The giant Struan had frightened her but she had seen that he was not an ape. Even so, she had still begged to be married to a Chinese.

But her father had been adamant and had given her a choice: “Obey, or leave this house and be cast out forever.”

So she had gone to Macao and into Struan’s house with instructions to please him. To learn the barbarian tongue. And to teach Struan things Chinese without his knowing he was being taught.

Once a year Jin-qua and her father would send someone to her to learn her progress and to bring news of the family.

Very strange, May-may thought. Certainly I wasn’t sent as spy, but to be Struan’s concubine. And certainly neither Father nor Grandfather would do such a thing lightly—not with their own bloodline. Was I not Jin-qua’s favorite granddaughter?

“So much bullion,” she said, avoiding his question. “So much is terrifical big temptation. Huge. All in one place—just one risk, attack, or theft, and twenty, forty generations would be safe.” How foolish I was to be afraid of the Tai-Pan. He is a man like any other and my lord. Very much man. And I will be Tai-tai soon. At long last. And I will have face at long last.

She bowed deeply. “I’m honored you trust me. I will bless your joss, Tai-Pan, forever. You do me huge honor and give me so much face. For anyone would consider how to steal it. Anyone.”

“How would you go about that?”

“Send Ah Gip to the Hoppo,” she said at once and went back to stirring the pot. “For a guarantee fifty percent he disregard even the emperor. He would allow you to stay, secretly if you wish, until lorcha arrived. When he made sure it was right lorcha, he would let you go abroad secretly and intercept downriver. And cut your throat. But then he would cheat me out of my share and I’d have to be his woman. Dirty turtledung! Na for all the tea in China, na that pig fornicator. He has dirty tricks. You know that he’s almost impotent?”

“What?” Struan said, not really listening to her.

“It’s common knowledge,” she said. She tasted the stew daintily and added a little soya sauce. “He has to have two girls at same time. One has to play with him while the other works. Then, too, he’s so small that he fits things on himself, enormous things. Then, too, he likes to sleep with ducks.”

“Will you na talk such drivel!”

“What’s ‘drivel’ mean?” May-may asked.

“ ‘Nonsense.’ ”

“Huh, that’s na nonsense. Everyone knows.” She tossed her head prettily and the long plume of hair danced. “I dinna understand you at all, Tai-Pan. You are shock when I tell you about ordinary things. Many people use things to improve sex. Very important to improve if you can. Eat right foods, use right medicines. If you’re small, ayee yah, not bad to improve your joss and give your girl more pleasure. But na like that dirty pig! He does it just to hurt.”

“Will you na stop it, woman!”

She stopped stirring and looked at him. A tiny frown crossed her face. “Are all European like you, Tai-Pan? Na like to talk open about man-woman things, heya?”

“Certain things you dinna talk about, and that’s the end of it.”

She shook her head. “That’s wrong. It’s good to talk. How else can one improve? Man is man and woman woman. You dinna get shock about food! Why so crazy, eh? Sex is food, never mind.” Her eyes crinkled mischievously, and she looked him up and down. “Heya, all Mass’er dooa jig-jig like youa all same can, heya?”

“Are all Chinese girls like you, heya?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Most. Like me but na so good. I hope.” She laughed. “I think you must be very special. I’m special too.”

“And modest.”

“A pox on that sort of modest. I’m honest, Tai-Pan. Chinese are honest. Why for should I not appreciate me? And you. I enjoy you, like you me. Stupid to pretend na.” She peered into the pot, and took a piece of meat with the chopsticks and tasted it. Then she took the pot off the fire and put it near enough to the flames to keep it warm. She opened the door and whispered to Ah Gip. Ah Gip plodded away. May-may went back to the fire.

“Where’s she gone?”

“To find us place to hide.”

“I’ll do that.”

“In this she would be better. First we eat, then you decide about Brock.”

“What about him?”

“He will na let you hide and stay easily, heya?”

“I’ve already decided what to do about him.” Struan’s face crinkled with the breadth of his smile. “You’re very, very special, May-may.”

“Special enough for you to make me Tai-tai? Your Supreme Lady, according to your custom?”

“I’ll decide about that after I’ve accomplished three things.”

“Wat three things?”

“The first is to get the bullion safe into

China Cloud.”

“Next?”

“The second is to make Hong Kong absolutely safe.”

“The last?”

“I’m na sure. You’ll have to be patient on that one.”

“I will help you with the first two. The last I dinna ken. I am Chinese. The Chinese are very patient. But I am also a woman.”

“Aye,” he said, after a long moment.