Tai-Pan

CHAPTER ELEVEN

China Cloud cut through the driving rain, heading up the south coast of Hong Kong Island for the main harbor on the north side.

The Struans were having dinner in the main cabin: oyster stew, smoked sausages, kippers, boiled cabbage and bacon fat, cold fried chickens, sea biscuits, dishes of apple pie and preserved fruit pies. Sea-chilled dry white wine and champagne. And tea.

“Forty lacs—four coins,” Robb said, toying with his food. “One to Wu Fang Choi. Who has the other three?”

“Jin-qua kept one, certainly. Perhaps two,” Struan said. He reached across the table and helped himself to another fried kippered herring.

“We’re committed to an immense favor,” Robb said. “That’s worth ten lacs to those devils. With a clipper like

China Cloud in their hands, why, even frigates could be ravaged. The Asian sea-lanes of the whole Empire could be cut. One ship—and ten men trained to build more. Nineteen men trained as captains—to train more! We’re trapped and our future’s trapped. Terrible.”

“Jin-qua cheated you. He cheated you,” Culum said.

“No. Outsmarted me, yes, but even that’s na correct. I was na smart enough. Me, lad! Na him. When you sit down at a table to make a deal, each side is obligated to make the best deal possible. It’s very simple. Aye, I was weaker than he, that’s all. But even if I’d thought that the coins would be split among other men—I still must make the deal as he wanted it. We’d nae option, nae option at all.”

“If you get outsmarted, Dirk, what chance is there for me? For Culum?”

“None. Unless you’re ready to think for yoursel’ and learn by the mistakes of others. And na treat the Chinese like one of us. They’re different.”

“Yes, they are,” Culum said. “Ugly, repulsive, heathen. And impossible to tell apart.”

“I dinna agree. I meant they think differently,” Struan said.

“Then what’s the answer to them, Father?”

“If I knew that, I’d be right every time. They’ve just had five thousand years of practice, that’s all. Now pass the stew please, there’s a good laddie.”

Culum handed him the dish and Struan helped himself to a third portion.

“You don’t seem perturbed, Dirk,” Robb said. “This could ruin us. Ruin Asian trade.”

“You’re na eating, Robb. And you, Culum. Eat.” Struan tore off a chicken leg and put it on his plate. “The situation’s na quite so dismal as all that. First the nineteen men: Aye, they’ll be spies for Wu Fang Choi and his scum. But for us to teach ’em they have to learn English, eh? And if we can

speak to them, why can we na change them? From pirate to useful citizen? Perhaps even to Christian, eh? Nineteen chances to bring them to our side. Good odds, I’d say. And if they’re on our side—even one of them—we’ll know the pirate lairs. Then we control them and destroy them at will. Second, the clipper: In a year and a day I’ve a sea battle to look forward to, that’s all. I’ll hand the ship over, then sink it. I made nae promise na to sink it.”

“Why not hand it over with kegs of powder in the hold and a slow taper to them?” Robb said.

“Wu Kwok’s too smart for that.”

“Is there no way you could hang mines on the outside of the hull, below sea level?”

“That’d be possible, perhaps. That might pass their scrutiny. But even when you’re trapped you have to try to work your way out, you canna break a holy oath. Nae trick, Robb. We’d lose face for a hundred years. I’m going to kill Wu Kwok.”

“Why?”

“To teach him the value of an oath. And to protect oursel’ for the next generation.”

There was a silence. “I thought you were going home in five months,” Robb said.

“I am. I’ll sail the new ship back when she’s ready. We’ll call her

Lotus Cloud.” Struan wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The men and the ship I can understand. But why train three boys as ‘toffs’? I dinna understand that. The boys worry me and I dinna know why.”

“They’d be Wu Kwok’s sons?”

“Sons or nephews, aye, certainly. But why? What do they gain?”

“Everything English. All our secrets,” Culum said.

“No, lad. The same applies to the boys as to the men. More so. Boys will be easier to convert to our ways. Wu Fang and Wu Kwok must have thought of that. Why would they be prepared to lose three sons? Why as ‘toffs’ —not as captains or soldiers or boat builders or armorers or anything useful? Why ‘toffs’?”

They could not answer him.

When

China Cloud broke through the west entrance into Hong Kong harbor, Struan was coming onto the quarterdeck to join Culum and Robb. The rain had ceased and the wind was brisk. Dusk was gathering. Struan felt greatly refreshed, and serene. But as soon as he stepped on deck, his serenity was shattered.

“Great God Almighty!”

The harbor was packed with the merchant shipping of Asia, and with the Royal Naval Fleet. And the beach was crowded with the tents which quartered the four thousand soldiers of the expeditionary force.

What really jolted Struan, however, was the hundreds of Chinese sampans clustered to the north of Glessing’s Point. Swarms of junks and sampans were leaving and arriving. Thousands of tiny hovels had sprung up like obscene mushrooms on the slopes of one of the hills.

“Chinese’ve been pouring in ever since I got back from Canton,” Culum said. “God alone knows how many. At least four or five thousand. They’re swamping us. They arrive by sampan or junk loads and stream ashore. Then they get swallowed up in that mess. By night those devils sneak out and steal anything that’s movable.”

“Great God Almighty!”

“At first they were spreading over all the island. Then I got Longstaff to allocate them that hillside temporarily. They call it Tai Ping Shan, something like that.”

“Why did you na tell me?”

“We wanted you to see for yourself, Uncle and I. A few hours wouldn’t make any difference. The European population—

apart from soldiers—is about a hundred and fifty. Longstaff is tearing out what little hair he has left. We’ve been picking up ten or fifteen Chinese bodies a night in the harbor. Murdered or drowned.”

“You’ve got to see the squalor up there to believe it,” Robb said. “The way they live! There was space enough, but they keep coming with every tide.”

“Well,” Struan said, “we will na suffer for lack of coolies and help.” He turned to Orlov. “Salute the flagship and send a signal in your name: ‘Permission to moor within eight cables.’ All hands on deck, and come aft!”

Orlov nodded.

China Cloud’s cannons boomed and there was an answering gun. Permission was granted. The crew was assembled. Then Struan walked to the quarterdeck rail. “Everyone’s confined to the ship till noon tomorrow. And no one’s to come aboard until noon tomorrow. Nae word of our cargo. Or that I’m aboard. I’ll keelhaul any that spills a word. A double month’s pay to all hands, paid in silver tomorrow at dusk. Officers will mount armed guard by the watch on the quarterdeck. Dismissed.”

There were three cheers for the Tai-Pan, and the men dispersed.

“What time’s the land sale, Culum?”

“Three o’clock, Father, tomorrow. In Happy Valley.”

“Robb, make sure we’ve the correct lot numbers well in advance.”

“Yes. We brought a list. We buy the knoll?”

“Of course.”

Robb thought a moment. “If Brock’s as inflexible as you, we may have to put our whole future on that damned hill.”

“Aye.” Struan beckoned Orlov. “At two bells in the forenoon watch, send a signal to Brock in Robb’s name, asking him to come aboard at four bells. Wake me at two bells. Until that time I’m na to be disturbed. You’re in command now.”

“Good,” Orlov said.

“I’m going to get some sleep. Robb, you and Culum do the same. We’ve a long day tomorrow. Oh yes, and, Culum, perhaps you’d like to think about the ball. Where and how. In thirty-one days.” He went below.

When

China Cloud was nearing the flagship, Culum walked over to Orlov. “Please bring the longboat alongside as soon as we’re anchored.”

“The Tai-Pan said everyone’s confined aboard. There’s no longboat without his permission.”

“That obviously didn’t apply to us, to Mr. Struan and me,” Culum said sharply.

Orlov chuckled. “You don’t know your father, Culum the Strong. He said ‘everyone.’ And that’s the way it’ll be.”

Culum turned for the hatch, but Orlov stopped him, the fighting iron easy in his hand. “He’s not to be disturbed. That’s his orders.”

“Get out of my way!”

“He never gives an order without meaning it. Ask your uncle. No one goes ashore while I’m captain o’

China Cloud! If he wanted you ashore, he’da said so.”

“We’re aboard till noon, Culum,” Robb said.

Through his fury Culum asked himself if he would be obeyed with such finality when he was Tai-Pan. He knew that such obedience was not paid automatically to the title. It had to be earned. “Very well, Captain.” He went and stood beside Robb at the gunnel. Silently they watched the island grow nearer. Soon they could see the knoll.

“That’s going to break us,” Robb said.

“Now we’ve the bullion, Brock won’t compete.”

“He’ll bid and bid and bid, knowing that Dirk’ll have it, whatever the cost. Brock’ll stop bidding when the price is astronomic. Dirk’s committed to the knoll like we’re committed to The Noble House. Now it’s a matter of face, godrotting face! Their godrotting hatred for one another will destroy both of them eventually.”

“Father said he’d deal with him, in five months, didn’t he?”

“Yes, lad. He has to. I canna. Nor can you.”

Culum riveted his eyes on the knoll and Hong Kong.

Like it or not, he told himself, his stomach twisting, there’s your kingdom. If you’ve the strength. And the guts to take it.

Suddenly he was very frightened.

At dawn Orlov turned out all hands and had the immaculate ship holystoned and cleaned. At two bells he sent the signal and went below.

“Morning. Two bells.” Orlov said to the bolted door.

“Morning, Cap’n,” Struan said, opening the door. “Come in.” He wore a green silk brocade dressing gown, and nothing underneath. Cold or hot, Struan slept naked. “Order breakfast for me. And ask Mr. Robb and Culum to join me in half an hour.”

“It’s ordered.”

“Where’s Wolfgang?”

“Aloft.”

“And the Chinese lad?”

“With him. Following him around like a dog.” Orlov handed Struan a neatly written list. “These boats came alongside last night or this morning, asking for you. Your brother’s wife sent a boat to ask for him to go aboard as soon as possible. Captain Glessing asked for your son—Sinclair and his sister asked for him too. She asked for you, so she’s on your list. There were a signal from the flagship. ‘Your son to go aboard the soonest.’ Cap’n Glessing cursed like a gutter rat when I sent him away.”

“Thank you.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Aye?”

“Morning, sorr!” the seaman said. “Signal from the

White Witch: ‘With pleasure.’ ”

“Thank you, signalman.”

The man hurried away. Struan handed Orlov a bank draft for one thousand guineas. “With our compliments, Captain.”

Orlov read the amount. He blinked and read it again. “That’s princely. Princely.” He handed it back. “I was only doing my job.”

“Na’ with that amount of bullion. Take it. You’ve earned it.”

Orlov hesitated, then put it in his pocket. He unthonged the fighting iron and thoughtfully placed it in the rack with the others. “Your son,” he said at length, “best watch him. There’s bad trouble ahead for him.”

“Eh?” Struan’s eyes snapped away from the list.

“Yes.” Orlov rubbed the stubble of his beard.

“What’s this? More of your devil witchcraft?”

“More of my second sight, yes.”

“What trouble?” Struan knew from long experience that Orlov did not forecast lightly. Too many times the strange little man had been right.

“I don’t know.” A sudden smile lit his face. “When he’s Tai-Pan he thinks he’s going to take away my ship.”

“Then you’ll have to earn his respect, change his mind, else you lose her.”

Orlov grinned. “Yes. And I will, never fear.” Then the smile faded. “But he’ll take over on a bad day. There’ll be blood on his hands.”

After a pause Struan said, “Whose? Mine?”

Orlov shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’ll be much trouble to you. Of that I’m sure.”

“What son is na?”

“You’re right there.” Orlov thought of his family in Narvik, of his own two sons, fine strapping men of twenty. Both of them hated him, despised him, even though he adored them and adored his wife Leka, a Laplander. They had been happy until the sons turned her against him. “Yes,” he said, feeling very tired, “you’re right. As usual.”

“Best get some sleep,” Struan said. “I’ll need you at eight bells.”

Orlov left.

For a long time Struan stared into space. What trouble? Whose blood? Why a “bad day”? Then he turned his mind away from the unanswerable, content to think about today, perhaps tomorrow. “You’re becoming more Chinese every day,” he said aloud. He smiled and perused the list again. Gorth Brock. Miss Tillman. Quance. Gordon Chen. Skinner. Bosun McKay. McKay?

“Steward!” he called out.

“Yus, sorr.” The steward set the hot water on the cabinet beside the shaving gear.

“Send word to Mr.Cudahy. If Bosun McKay comes alongside, bring him aboard.”

“Yus, sorr.” The steward vanished.

Struan stood by the cabin windows. He could see the pulsating mass that was the Chinese settlement of Tai Ping Shan. But his mind was elsewhere: Why did Shevaun Tillman come alongside? Now there’s a beddable queen if ever there was one. I wonder if she’s a virgin. Surely she is! Has to be. Would you bed her if you knew she was? Without marrying her? Nay. I would na bed her then. A man needs virginity but twice in his life. Once with his wife, and once in the prime of life with a young mistress chosen with great care. When the man has learned the knowledge of patience, and compassion, and can painlessly transmute girl into woman.

Of course Shevaun’s a virgin; you’re thinking like a fool. But the sparkle behind her eyes and the waggle of her buttocks promise well for her husband, eh? She’d make an interesting mistress. Do you want to marry Shevaun? Or just bed her?

If you were Chinese, you could have many wives openly. And they’d all live in peace under the same roof. Struan chuckled. I’d like to see Shevaun and May-may together under the same roof. Who’d win that battle? For battle it would be, hellcats both of them.

“Hello, Father.” Culum stood in the doorway.

“You sleep well, laddie?”

“All right, thank you.” Culum had had bad dreams: Orlov mixed with the knoll and prophesying poverty again. Oh God, don’t let us lose again. Help me to do that which I must do. “By the way, if we’re to be hosts at the ball, should we invite a partner?”

“Mary Sinclair?”

Culum tried unsuccessfully to be offhand. “Yes.”

Struan told himself that he had better find a girl for his son and quickly. “Perhaps, as we’re hosts, it would be better if we just welcomed everyone without favor. There’re twenty-odd young ladies for you to cast your eye on.”

“Orlov said there was a message from the flagship. For me to come aboard. Can I leave now? I want to see Longstaff about the final details of the land sale. I’d like this job to be well done.”

“Aye,” Struan said after a pause. “I would na’ fire Orlov if I was you.”

Culum flushed. “Oh, he told you, did he? I don’t like him. He makes my flesh crawl.”

“Accept him as the finest captain afloat—be patient with him. He could be a valuable ally.”

“He says he has second sight.”

“He has. Sometimes. Many people have. ‘Blood on your hands’ could mean anything or nothing. Dinna worry, laddie.”

“I won’t, Father. Can I go aboard the flagship now?”

“Aye. As soon as Brock’s left.”

“You don’t think I can keep a still tongue in my head?”

“Some men have a knack of extracting information just by looking at a face. Orlov for one. Brock for another. You’ve changed since you saw the bullion.”

“No I haven’t.”

Struan picked up his shaving brush. “Breakfast’ll be served in twenty minutes or so.”

“How have I changed?”

“There’s a great difference between a young lad who knows he’s bankrupt, and a young lad who knows he’s not. You’ve a wind under your tail, lad, and you can see it from four cables.” Struan began lathering his face. “Have you ever had a mistress, Culum?”

“No,” Culum answered uneasily. “I’ve been to a whorehouse, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“Most men out here have mistresses.”

“Chinee?”

“

Chinese. Or Eurasian.”

“Have you?”

“Of course.” Struan picked up his razor. “There are whorehouses in Macao. Oriental and European. But very few are safe, most diseased. So the custom—do you know about ‘woman disease,’ the French pox or Spanish pox, call it what you will?”

“Yes. Of course. Yes.”

Struan began to shave. “They say that it was first introduced into Europe by Columbus and his seamen, who caught it from the American West Indians. It’s ironic that we call it the French or Spanish pox, the French call it the Spanish pox or English pox, the Spanish call it the French pox. When we’re all to blame. I’m told it’s been in India and Asia forever. You know there’s nae cure for it?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll know the only way to catch it is from a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know about ‘protections’?”

“Yes—yes, of course.”

“Nothing to be shy about. I’m sorry that I was away so much. I would have liked to tell you about—about life—myself. Perhaps you know, perhaps you’re just shy. So I’ll tell you anyway. It’s very necessary to wear a sheath. The best are made of silk—they come from France. There’s a new type made out of some sort of fishskin. I’ll see you get a supply.”

“I don’t think I’ll need—”

“I agree,” Struan interrupted. “But there’s nae harm in having them. In case. I’m na trying to interfere in your life or to suggest you become a rake. I just want to be sure you know certain ordinary things—and that you’re safe. A sheath will prevent the pox. And prevent the girl getting with child, thus avoiding trouble for her and embarrassment for you.”

“That’s against all the laws of God, isn’t it? I mean, using—well, it’s a sin, isn’t it? Doesn’t it destroy the whole point of lovemaking? The whole reason is to have children.”

“The Catholics think so, aye, and the very religious Protestants, aye.”

“You question the Holy Book?” Culum was appalled.

“Nay, lad. Only some of the—what’s the word?—interpretations.”

“I thought I was an advanced thinker, but you—well, what you say is heresy.”

“To some men. But the House of God is very important to me—it has precedence over me, you, everyone, even The Noble House.” Struan continued to shave. “It’s custom out here to have your own girl. For yoursel’ alone. You keep her, pay her bills, provide her with food and clothes, a servant and so on. When you nae longer want her, you give her some money and dismiss her.”

“Isn’t that pretty callous?”

“Yes—if it’s done without face. Usually the little money, on our standards, you give her is more than enough to provide the girl with a dowry and find her a fine husband. The selecting of the girl is done very gracefully. You do it through a ‘broker’—a matchmaker—and it’s all according to ancient Chinese custom.”

“Isn’t that slavery? Of the worst kind?”

“If your idea is to buy a slave, aye, and you treat her like a slave. What do you do when you indenture a servant? Pay some money and buy them for a number of years. It’s the same thing.” Struan felt his chin and then began to relather the patches that were still rough. “We’ll go to Macao. I’ll arrange it for you, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Father, but”—he was going to say, but buying a woman, whore or slave or mistress, is disgusting and a sin—“I, well, thank you, but it’s not necessary.”

“If you change your mind, tell me, lad. Dinna be shy about it. I think it’s quite normal to have ‘appetites’ and nae sin. But beware of houses. Never go to one drunk. Never bed a girl unprotected. Never be forward out here with the wife or daughter of a European—particularly a Portuguese—or you’ll end up very dead, very quickly, and rightly so. Never call a man a son of a bitch, unless you’re prepared to back the words with steel or a bullet. And never, never go to a house that is na recommended by a man you can trust. If you dinna want to ask me or Robb, ask Aristotle. You can trust him.”

Very unsettled, Culum watched his father as he finished shaving with firm, definite strokes. He seems so sure of everything, Culum thought. But he’s wrong—about many things. Wrong. The Scriptures are quite clear—the lusts of the flesh are devil-sent. Love is God-sent, and lovemaking without wanting the child is lust. And a sin. I wish I had a wife. And could forget lust. Or a mistress. But that’s unlawful and against the Holy Word.

“You bought your mistress?” he asked.

“Aye.”

“How much did you pay for her?”

“I’d say that was none of your business, lad,” Struan said gently.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude—to be inquisitive or . . .” Culum flushed.

“I know. But that’s nae question to ask another man.”

“Yes. I meant what does a woman cost? To buy?”

“That’d depend on your taste. From as little as a tael to anything.” Struan was not sorry he had begun this line of talk. Better you do it yoursel’, he told himself, than let others do it for you. “By the way, Culum. We’ve never settled your salary. You start at fifty guineas a month. That’ll be almost pocket money, for everything will be found.”

“That’s very, very generous,” Culum burst out. “Thank you.”

“In five months we’ll considerably improve the amount. As soon as we own the land, we’ll begin to build. Warehouses, the Great House—and a house for you.”

“That’d be wonderful. I’ve never had a house—I mean I’ve never had even rooms of my very own. Not even at university.”

“A man should have a place of his own, however small. Privacy is very important to a clear head.”

“Fifty guineas a month is a lot of money,” Culum said.

“You’ll earn it.”

That’s enough to marry on, Culum was thinking. Easily. No whorehouses or stinking natives for him. He remembered with repugnance the three occasions he had gone to the house that the university students favored and could afford. He had had to be half grogged to act like a man and enter the stink-filled room. A shilling to tumble in a sweat-rancid bed with a cowlike hag twice his age. To get rid of the aches, devil-sent, that plague a man. And always the weeks of terror afterward, waiting for the pox to arrive. God guard me from sinning again, he thought.

“You feeling all right, Culum?”

“Yes, thank you. Well, I think I’ll shave before breakfast. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, well—I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I know.”

“Brock be alongside, sorr,” the seaman said.

“Guide him below,” Struan said. He did not look up from the catalog of lots that Robb had given him.

Culum and Robb felt the tension in the cabin mount as they waited.

Brock stamped in. He smiled broadly. “Ah, it be thee right enough, Dirk. I thought thee be aboard!”

“Grog?”

“Thankee. Morning, Robb. Morning, Culum.”

“Morning,” Culum said, hating the fear that seized him.

“Them clotheses suit thee right proper. Be you becomin’ a seafaring man now? Like your da’?”

“No.”

Brock sat in the sea chair. “Last time I seed yor da’, Culum, he were listing terrible. Sinking he were. Terrible indeed. That be a horrid occurrence—the accident.” He accepted a mug of rum from Struan. “Thankee. By the time I’d doused that godrotting fire wot sprung out of the night like a bolt from the deep and were ready to help him, why, he’d vanished. Spent all night and best part of next day asearching.”

“That was considerate of you, Tyler,” Struan told him.

“I send Gorth last night to inquire after thee. Right proper strange, eh, Culum?”

“What’s strange, Mr. Brock?”

“Why, that that devil midget doan knowed yor da’s aboard. An’ no one be allowed aboard till noon, so I hears. An’ anchoring under the guns o’ flagship—right proper strange.”

“Did Gorth touch the flagpole?” Struan asked.

“Aye. He were proper sad. He sayed it were like putting another nail in yor coffin. He were turrible reluctant.”

Struan passed over a banker’s order—twenty thousand guineas.

“Thankee, Dirk,” Brock said without touching it or looking at it. “But it baint mine. Mayhaps thee’d best give it to Gorth. Or send it aboard. It baint payment to me.”

“As you wish, Tyler. He’ll be at the land sale?”

“Oh, yes.”

Struan picked up the catalog. “The choice marine lots are 7 and 8 to the west of the valley, 16 and 17 in the center, 22 and 23 to the east. Which do you want?”

“You be giving me a free pick, Dirk?”

“There’s enough for both of us. You choose which you want. We’ll na bid against you. Nor you against us.”

“I’d the same thort. That be fair. An’ wise. 16 and 17 of the marine lots and 6 and 7 of the suburban lots.”

“We’ll take marine lots 7 and 8. Suburban lots 3 and 4.”

“Done. And that leave the knoll. You be planning on bidding, eh?”

“Aye.”

Brock swallowed some rum. He could sense Culum’s unease. “The fleet be leaving tomorrow, Dirk. Did thee hear?”

“No. Leaving for where?”

“North. To fight the war,” Brock said sardonically.

“I’d forgotten about the war,” Struan said with a short laugh. “To stab at Peking again? In winter?”

“Yes. Our leaders be ordering ’em north. Yor lackey’s cannon balls in his head. I beared the admiral screamed, but Longstaff just ranted, ‘North, by God, you be ordered north! We’ll teach the heathen treaty-breaking scum! Teach ’em a proper lesson!’”

“They will na go north.”

“With thee back, mayhaps not. It be a sorry state when the likes o’ Longstaff’s Tai-Pan. Ridikilus. An’ when the likes o’ you’ve his godrotting ear. When we’ve to rely on thee t’save our fleet.” He cleared his throat noisily, then sniffed the air. “There be a right proper strange smell aboard.”

“Oh?”

“Smells like bullion. Aye, bullion to be sure.” Brock shot a glance at Culum. “So you baint bankrupt, be you, lad?”

Culum said nothing, but the blood soared into his face.

Brock grunted. “I smelled it when thee anchored, Dirk. Why, even when thee come into harbor. So thee doan sink and thee’ve brass to pay and I be beat again.”

“When are the notes due?”

“Today, as thee well knowed.”

“Do you want to extend the time?”

“Weren’t for the lad’s face, an’ all aboard, I’d ask meself if you was bluffing. That mayhaps the bullion weren’t in yor hold. But I knowed better. It be writ in every face on board ’cepting yourn—and Robb’s. I’ll take yor banker’s draft today, by God. No credit.”

“After the land sale, we’ll settle.”

“Before. Aye, before. Thee’d better be clean o’ debts afore you bid,” he said, his eye glittering, his anger surfaced. “Thee beat me again, God curse you and the devil you serve to hell! But the knoll be mine. It be mine.”

“It belongs to The Noble House. Na to the second-best.”

Brock got up, his fists clenched. “I’ll spit on yor grave yet, by God.”

“I’ll spit on your house from my knoll, by God, before sunset!”

“Mayhaps there hain’t enough treasure in Asia to pay the price, by God! Good day to you.”

Brock stormed off, the sound of his seaboots clattering up the gangway.

Culum wiped the sweat off his hands.

“The knoll’s trapped you, Dirk. He’ll stop bidding and ruin us,” Robb said.

“Yes, Father. I know he will.”

Struan opened the cabin door. “Steward!”

“Yus, sorr!”

“Mr. Cudahy on the double!”

“Yus, sorr.”

“Listen, Dirk,” Robb said. “Here’s your chance. Do to him what’s he’ll do to you. Stop bidding suddenly. Leave him holding the mess. Then he’s ruined.

He is! Not

us!”

Struan said nothing. There was a knock and Cudahy hurried in.

“Yes, sirr?”

“Get the cutter alongside. Tell the bosun to take Mr. Robb and Mr. Culum to

Thunder Cloud. Wait for Mr. Culum and take him to the flagship. Then report back here. All hands on deck and aft!”

Cudahy closed the door again.

“Father, Uncle’s right. For the love of God, don’t you see that that damn pirate has you trapped?”

“Then we’ll have to see if the love of God will get us out of the trap. It’s a matter of face!”

“Dirk,” Robb pleaded, “will you not listen to reason?”

“Sarah wants you aboard. Nae word of the bullion yet. And, Culum, lad, if Longstaff asks about me, just say I’m aboard. Nothing more.”

“Dirk, here’s your one chance—”

“You’d better hurry, Robb. Give my best wishes to Sarah and the children.” He returned to the pile of papers on his desk.

Robb knew it was useless to argue further and left without another word. Culum followed, sick at heart. He knew nothing would change his father—or Brock; that The Noble House was committed to a worthless hillock on a worthless rock. Stupid, he shouted to himself. Why is Father so damned stupid?