Tai-Pan

CHAPTER TWELVE

That afternoon Struan was standing beside the large tent that he had had set up on the foreshore of Happy Valley. He was watching Captain Orlov supervise the seamen as they hauled barrels from the longboat and stacked them neatly inside the tent. He was so engrossed that he did not hear Mary Sinclair come up behind him.

Her face was framed by a bonnet which tied under her chin. Her maroon broadcloth gown swept the sand, tight at the waist to make a fashionable hourglass figure. But the cloth was of poor quality and the cut old-fashioned. She carried a ragged muff, and around her shoulders was a gray shawl that matched her eyes. She appeared neat and plain and poor, demure, ladylike.

“Hello, Tai-Pan,” she said.

Struan came out of his reverie. “Oh, hello, Mary. You look very pretty.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Mary said with a fleeting smile. She curtsied gracefully. “That’s praise indeed.”

The beach and valley were filling up with traders and their wives and children, festive and in their best clothes, greeting one another and conversing volubly. Groups of soldiers and sailors, their officers resplendent, were dotted about. Longboats were bringing other families and officers ashore. Close to the shore were clusters of sampans fishing, and to the west a mass of noisy, curious Chinese, cordoned off from the valley by soldiers.

The auctioneer’s dais had been placed on a small rise fifty yards away, and Struan noticed Gordon Chen standing nearby. His son bowed immediately. It was obvious to Struan that the youth wanted to talk to him and must have been waiting patiently for an unobtrusive opportunity.

“Afternoon, Gordon. I’ll see you in a minute,” he called out.

“Thank you, sir,” Gordon Chen called back, and he bowed again.

Struan saw Robb strolling with Sarah who was heavy with child, her face strained. Karen was romping beside them. Struan looked for Culum but couldn’t find him and presumed he was still on the flagship; then he saw him, deep in conversation with Glessing. He found it odd that Culum had not sought him out as soon as he had come ashore.

“Excuse me, Tai-Pan, Miss Sinclair,” Orlov said. “That’s all of them.”

“I should hope so, Captain Orlov,” Mary said teasingly. “I hear you’ve been bringing barrels ashore for the last two hours. Do you want the whole European population inebriated, Mr. Struan?”

Struan laughed shortly. “No. Thank you, Cap’n.”

Orlov touched his forelock to Mary and entered the tent with some of the seamen. Others collected around it, while a few sat on the shore and began to shoot dice.

“You’re early, Mary. The bidding does na start for an hour yet.”

“Captain Glessing was kind enough to offer me escort,” she said. “Let’s walk a little, shall we?”

“Surely,” Struan replied as he detected an edge to her voice. They began to stroll inland.

The bed of the valley was damp, and the rain of yesterday was lying in quiet pools. A stream snaked placidly from the small waterfall. Flies and dragonflies and bees and gnats sang an undercurrent to the breakers. The sun carried the promise of spring.

When they were well removed from the crowd, Mary stopped. “First, I wanted to tell you how sorry I was over your loss.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

“I tried to see you before you left for Canton.”

“I remember. That was kind of you.”

“Last night I tried to come aboard. I wanted to see how you were. That was bad joss.’”

“Aye. But it’s over. Past.”

“Yes. But I can read the hurt in your face. Others won’t, but I can see it.”

“How are things with you?” he asked, staggered, as always, that Mary could seem so ordinary—sweet, gentle, everything she should be—but was not. I should na like her, he thought, but I do.

“Life amuses me. For a time.” Mary glanced back at the beach. Brock, Gorth and Nagrek Thumb, Eliza Brock and her daughters, were getting out of their longboat. “I’m glad you’ve beaten Brock again. So very glad.”

“Have I?”

Mary’s eyes crinkled. “Forty lacs of bullion? Four coins?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Have you forgotten, Tai-Pan? I have friends in high places.” She said it conversationally. But when she was with the Tai-Pan she despised these “friends.”

“Who has—who have the other half coins?”

“Would you like me to find out?”

“Maybe I think you already know.”

“Ah, Tai-Pan, you are a man among men.” Her warmth deepened. “I know where two are. When I know about the other two, I’ll tell you.”

“Who have the two?”

“If you arranged such a huge loan, how many would you keep?”

“All of them. Aye, by God, all of them. Jin-qua has two?”

“One.” She toyed with her shawl and arranged it more neatly. “There are four thousand bannermen in Canton now. And a big armada of fire ships. There’s to be an attack on our fleet if it tries to force the Bogue forts. Another fleet’s waiting fifty miles north. Does the name Wu Kwok mean anything?”

Struan pretended to think, but inside he was reeling. Before the meeting with Scragger he had never heard of Wu Kwok—of Wu Fang Choi, the father, of course, but not the son. Mauss had not been told what had transpired on the junk or what Scragger had said. Only Robb and Culum knew. Impossible for Mary to have heard about Wu Kwok from them. So it must have come from Wu Kwok—or from Jin-qua. But how? “That’s an ordinary enough name,” he said. “Why?”

“He’s Wu Fang Choi’s eldest son.”

“The pirate warlord? The White Lotus?” Struan feigned astonishment.

“I adore shocking you,” she said gaily. “Well, the emperor has secretly offered mandarinates to Wu Kwok and Wu Fang Choi through the Hoppo at Canton. And the governor-generalships of Fukien Province—and Formosa—in return for an attack on the shipping in Hong Kong harbor. Their entire fleet.”

“When’s the attack?” His shock was authentic.

“They haven’t accepted yet. As the Chinese say, ‘negotiations are proceeding.’ ”

Could the favors Wu Kwok requested be a blind? Struan asked himself. A devilish play within a play to put him at ease and trap him? Why, then, the coin? Would they risk their entire fleet? Four thousand junks manned by those pirate scum could finish us—perhaps!

“Would you know if they accept—if there’s to be an attack?”

“I’m not sure—but I think so. But that’s not all, Tai-Pan. You should know that the reward on your head is doubled. There’s a reward on Culum now, too. Ten thousand dollars. On all the English. George Glessing, Longstaff, Brock.” Her voice flattened. “And on May-may, Duncan and Kate. If kidnaped alive.”

“What?”

“I heard three days ago. You weren’t here, so I caught the first boat I could for Macao, but you’d just left. So I went to see May-may. I told her I’d been sent by you, that you’d heard she and the children were in danger. Then I went to your compradore and told him, in your name, to take May-may and the children into his house; that if anything happened to them before you got back you’d hang him and his children and his children’s children.”

“What did Chen Sheng say?”

“He said to tell you that you need have no fear. I saw May-may and the children into his house, then came back to Hong Kong. I think they’re safe for the time being.”

“Does he know about the bullion?”

“Of course. Part of it, a small part of it, is his. What better investment could he make?”

“Who else put up the bullion?”

“I know about Chen Sheng, Jin-qua, the Co-hong merchants—they all have a share. That made about fifteen lacs. The rest I’m not sure. Probably the Manchu mandarins.”

“Ti-sen?”

“No. He’s in complete disgrace. All his wealth is forfeit. The Co-hong estimate that to be about two thousand lacs. Gold.”

“Chen Sheng said he’d look after them?”

“Yes. Now that you’re rich again, he’ll guard them with his mother’s life. For the time, anyway.”

“Wait here, Mary.” Struan turned for the beach. He picked out Wolfgang and shouted to him, beckoning, and hurried toward him.

“Wolfgang, get Orlov and take

China Cloud to Macao. Get May-may and the children and bring them and the amah back. Full sail. Leave Cudahy in charge of the tent.”

“Bring them here?”

“Aye. Be back by tomorrow. They’re at Chen Sheng’s.”

“Bring them here? Openly?”

“Aye, by God! Leave immediately.”

“I won’t do it, Tai-Pan. Not openly. You’d destroy yourself. You know you’d be ostracized.”

“The mandarins have put a ransom on their heads. Hurry!”

“Gott im Himmel!” Mauss tugged at his beard nervously. “I’ll bring them aboard secretly and swear Orlov to secrecy.

Gott im Himmel, forgive this poor sinner.”

Struan walked back to Mary. “Who told you about the kidnaping, Mary?”

“No one you know.”

“You put yoursel’ in great danger, lassie. Getting information, then acting on it yoursel’.”

“I’m very careful.”

“Leave Macao once and for all. Take yoursel’ out of that life while you have your life. Your joss will na last forever.”

“Let’s talk about you, Tai-Pan. You can’t flaunt your Chinese mistress here.”

“She and the children’ll be safe aboard, and that’s all that counts.”

“Not in our society, by God, and you know it. They’ll break you, Tai-Pan—even you—if you go against their godrotting code. They have to. She’s Chinese.”

“The pox on them!”

“Yes. But it’ll be a lonely curse, and you’ve your house to think of. So long as May-may’s kept private, she’s no threat to them—what’s not seen does not exist. It’s not my place to advise you—you know that better than anyone— but I beg you, keep her private.”

“I do, and I will—unless they’re in danger. I owe you a favor, Mary.”

“Yes.” Her eyes lit with a curious flame. “I would like a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Anything I ask?”

“Name it.”

“Not now. When I want my favor, I’ll ask it. Yes. One day I’ll want a favor.” Then she added lightly, “You should be more cautious, Tai-Pan. I’m a woman, and a woman’s mind works very differently from a man’s.”

“Aye,” he said, and grinned.

“You’ve such a nice smile, Tai-Pan.”

“Thank you, kind lady,” he said. He bowed elegantly. “That’s praise indeed!” He put his arm in hers and they began to walk back to the beach. “Who told you about May-may and the children?”

“We agreed, two years ago, that the sources of my information were sacrosanct.”

“Will you na use those long words?”

“I’m glad I met May-may at long last. She’s so beautiful. And the children.” She was feeling warmed by his touch.

“Is there a chance the information was incorrect?”

“No. Kidnaping for ransom is an ancient Chinese art.”

“It’s filthy. To touch women and children.” Struan was silent a moment. “How long are you staying here?”

“A few days. Horatio—Horatio gets a little lost when he’s alone. By the way, Chen Sheng knows I speak Cantonese, of course. Now May-may knows. I asked her to keep it secret. She will, won’t she?”

“Aye. Nae fear of that. But I’ll remind her.” He forced his mind off May-may and the children and Wu Kwok and the fire ships and the remaining three half coins. “One secret deserves another. The Noble House is giving a ball in thirty-odd days. Of course you’re invited.”

“What a marvelous idea!”

“We’re giving a prize. A thousand guineas for the best-dressed lady.”

“Good God, Tai-Pan, you’ll have your eyes scratched out!”

“Aristotle’s going to be the judge.”

“You’ll still have your eyes scratched out.” Her eyes seemed to change color. “You’d best remember. Now you’re the most eligible man in Asia.”

“What?”

Her laugh was half mocking. “Best choose a wife while you’ve the time. There’ll be many a doxy shaking her drawers at you and many a mother primping her daughters into your bed.”

“Will you na say such things!”

“Don’t say you weren’t warned, my lad. A thousand guineas? I think I’d like to win that prize.” Abruptly her mood changed. “I’ve the money to buy such a dress, as you well know—but if I did, it would, well, it would spoil the Mary Sinclair people know. Everyone knows we’re as poor as coolies.”

“But nothing says I canna give you a dress. At least, there’s nothing that says I canna make the offer through Horatio. Is there?”

“God’s blood, Tai-Pan, would you really? I’ll give you back the money.”

“If you’ll stop God’s-blooding, aye. But a gift is a gift.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought of your Great-aunt Wilhelmina?”

“Who?”

“Your mother’s second cousin once removed. In Holland.”

“Who?”

“The heiress—the one who could leave you a lot of money.”

“I’ve no relations in Holland.”

“Perhaps your mother forgot to tell you. Perhaps a solicitor in Amsterdam could write that you’ve come into an inheritance.” He lit a cheroot. “As an heiress you could spend money openly. Could you na?”

“But—but . . .” Her voice became brittle. “What about Horatio?”

“Aunt Wilhelmina could leave him two thousand guineas. The bulk to you. She only really liked female offspring. Your mother was her favorite—strange no one told you or Horatio about her. Poor Aunt Wilhelmina. She died yesterday.”

Mary’s eyes were huge with excitement. “Could you, Tai-Pan? Would you?”

“It will take three months for a letter to get to London. A month to make the arrangements in Holland. Three months back. In seven months you’re an heiress. But you’d better act the part of a church mouse for that time. And be surprised when it happens.”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m . . . I’m overwhelmed by . . . Don’t worry. Don’t worry. If I go a little mad and break into tears or scream—I worship you, Tai-Pan.”

His smile faded. “Will you na say such a thing!”

“I’ve never said it before, and perhaps I’ll never say it again. But to me you’re God.” She turned and walked inland alone.

Struan watched her for a moment, then headed for Gordon Chen. He looks more Chinese every day, Struan thought. Out to sea, the longboat with Orlov and Mauss aboard was still well away from

China Cloud. Hurry it up, by God!

Skinner intercepted him anxiously. “Afternoon, Mr. Struan.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Skinner.”

“Great day in the Orient, isn’t it?”

“Aye. If you’ll excuse me, I have to—”

“Won’t keep you a moment, Mr. Struan. I tried to see you last night.” Skinner dropped his voice. He was sweating more than usual and smelling foul as always. “The notes of The Noble House’re due today, I seem to recall.”

“Do you, now?”

“Are they going to be met?”

“Had you ever any doubt, Mr. Skinner?”

“There are rumors. About bullion.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I hope they’re true. I wouldn’t like a change in the ownership of the

Oriental Times.”

“Nor would I. This evening I’ll give you an item of interest. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Skinner watched Struan approach Gordon Chen and wished he could be privy to that conversation. Then he noticed Brock and his family chatting with Nagrek Thumb. This

is a great day, he thought gleefully, as he lumbered toward them. Who’ll get the knoll?

“I was so sorry to hear about your loss, sir,” Gordon Chen was saying. “I tried to see you but failed in my duty. I offered a prayer.”

“Thank you.”

“My mother asked me to tell you she would observe the usual hundred days of mourning.”

“Please tell her that’s na necessary,” Struan said, knowing that she would do so anyway. “Now, what’s been going on with you since I last saw you?”

“Nothing very much. I tried to help Chen Sheng find the house some credit, sir. But I’m afraid we were not successful.” The wind tugged at his queue, shaking it.

“Credit is very hard to come by,” Struan said.

“Yes, it is indeed. I’m sorry.” Gordon Chen thought about the vast quantity of bullion in

China Cloud’s hold and was filled with admiration for his father. He had heard the rumors this morning, and they had confirmed others that had filtered into Tai Ping Shan: that the Tai-Pan had smuggled the bullion out of Canton from under the noses of the hated Manchus. But he said nothing about the rebirth of The Noble House, for that would be impolite.

“Perhaps it’s time that you had a little credit. I might be able to arrange it. Say, one lac of silver.”

Gordon Chen’s eyes flickered, and he gasped, “That is a huge amount of credit, sir.”

“You take one-fourth of the profit, I take three.”

“That would be very fair, sir,” Gordon Chen said, collecting his shattered wits quickly. “Generous. In such hard times as these, most fair. But if I were to have two-thirds and you one-third, that would assist me to increase your profit considerably. Very considerably.”

“I expect the profit to be considerable.” Struan threw his cheroot away. “We’ll be partners. You take one half, I one half. This is a private arrangement between us. To be secret. You will keep books and account monthly. Agreed?”

“Agreed. You are more than a little generous, sir. Thank you.”

“See me this evening and I’ll give you the necessary paper. I’ll be aboard

Resting Cloud.”

Gorden Chen was so happy that he wanted to jump and shout with joy. He could not fathom why his father was so generous. But he knew that the one lac was very safe and that it would increase a thousandfold. With joss, he added quickly. Then he remembered the Hung Mun Tong and wondered if loyalty to the long would conflict with loyalty to his father. And if it did, which would dominate. “I can’t thank you enough, sir. Can this agreement begin at once?”

“Aye. I suppose you’ll want to bid on some land.”

“I had thought—” Gordon Chen stopped.

Culum was approaching them, his face set.

“Hello, Culum,” Struan said.

“Hello, Father.”

“This is Gordon Chen. My son, Culum,” Struan said, conscious of the stares and the silence of the crowd on the beach.

Gordon Chen bowed. “I’m honored to meet you, sir.”

“Gordon’s your half brother, Culum,” Struan said.

“I know.” Culum stuck out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Still dumfounded from hearing Struan acknowledge him as son, Gordon weakly shook his hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“How old are you, Gordon?” Culum asked.

“Twenty, sir.”

“Half brothers should call each other by their Christian names, shouldn’t they?”

“If it pleases you.”

“We must get to know each other.” Culum turned to Struan, who was rocked by his son’s acknowledgment of Gordon. “Sorry to disturb you, Father. I just wanted to meet Gordon,” he said, and left.

Struan felt the silence break as the still-life beach came alive again. And he was astonished to see tears streaming down Gordon’s face.

“I’m sorry—I’m—I’ve waited all my life, Mr. Struan. Thank you. Thank you,” Gordon said brokenly.

“Most people call me ‘Tai-Pan,’ lad. We’ll forget the ‘Mr. Struan.’ ”

“Yes, Tai-Pan.” Gordon Chen bowed and walked away.

As Struan started to go after Culum, he saw Longstaff’s cutter beach. The admiral and a group of naval officers were with him. Horatio as well.

Good, Struan thought. Now Brock.

He waved to Robb and motioned at Brock. Robb nodded and left Sarah and overtook Culum. Together they joined Struan.

“Do you have the papers, Robb?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, then. Let’s get our notes back.” Struan glanced at Culum. “Nothing to be nervous about, lad.”

“Yes.”

They walked a way and Struan said, “I’m glad you met Gordon, Culum. Thank you.”

“I—I wanted to meet him today. With you. Well—publicly.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that giving you the face you say is so important?”

“Who told you about Gordon?”

“I heard rumors when I came back from Canton. People are ever ready to spread bad news.” He remembered the sardonic amusement of most of the traders and their wives whom he had met. “So sorry, lad, you came at such a bad time. Pity the house is dead. Won’t be the same without The Noble House,” they would say in various ways. But Culum knew they were all gloating, glad to see the house humbled. Aunt Sarah had been the one to really open his eyes to his naivete. They had been walking along Queen’s Road and had passed some Eurasians, the first he had seen, a boy and girl, and he had asked her what nationality they were, and where they came from.

“Here,” she had said. “They’re half-castes, half-English half-heathen. Many of the traders have bastards from heathen mistresses. It’s all very secret, of course, but everyone knows. Your Uncle Robb has one.”

“What?”

“I sent her and her whelp packing years ago. It wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose, if the woman had been Christian and pretty. I could have understood that. But her—no.”

“Has—has Father—other children?”

“Children I don’t know, Culum. He has a son who works for his compradore, called Gordon Chen. Your father has a curious sense of humor, giving him a clan Christian name. I hear he’s been baptized a Christian. I suppose that’s something. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you, Culum. But someone has to, and perhaps it’s better for you to learn the truth from your kin and not overhear it snickered behind your back. Oh, yes. You’ve at least one half brother in Asia.”

That night he had been unable to sleep. The next day he had gone ashore despairingly. Some naval officers, Glessing among them, were playing cricket, and he had been asked to make up the team. When it was his turn to bat, he took all of his anger out on the ball, smashing it, wanting to kill it, and with it, his shame. He had played brilliantly but had got no pleasure from the game. Later Glessing had drawn him aside and asked him what was the matter. He had blurted it out.

“I don’t approve of your father—as you no doubt know,” Glessing had said. “But that has nothing to do with his private life. Have the same problem as you, myself. At least, I know my father’s got a mistress in Maida Vale. Two sons and a daughter. He’s never mentioned it to me, though I expect he knows I know. Damned difficult, but what’s a man to do? Probably when I’m that old I’ll do the same. Have to wait and see. Course, I agree it’s damned uncomfortable knowing you’ve a half-caste brother.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him. Never talked to him, though I hear he’s a good chap. Take some advice—don’t let what your father does in his private life get under your skin. He’s the only father you’ll have.”

“You disapprove of him, yet you’re taking his side. Why?”

Glessing had shrugged. “Perhaps because I’ve learned that the ‘sins’ of the father are the father’s problem, not the son’s. Perhaps because the Tai-Pan’s a better seaman than I’ll ever be and runs the best fleet of the most beautiful ships on earth—treats his seamen like they should be treated, good food, pay and quarters—when we’ve to work with what the damned Parliament gives us: no cursed money, and pressed men and gallows bait as crew. Perhaps because of Glessing’s Point—or because he’s

the Tai-Pan. Perhaps because the Sinclairs admire him. I don’t know. I don’t mind telling you that if I ever get an order to go after him, I’ll do it to the limit of the law. Even so, I hope to God he manages to outsmart that uncouth bugger Brock again. Couldn’t stand that sod as

the Tai-Pan.”

From that day Culum had seen a lot of Glessing. Between them a friendship had ripened . . .

“Today,” Culum continued to Struan, very uncomfortably, “well, when I saw you and Gordon Chen together, I asked George Glessing. He was honest enough to tell me.”

Struan stopped. “You mean it was dishonest of me na to tell you?”

“No. You don’t have to justify anything you do. To me. A father doesn’t have to justify anything to a son, does he?”

“Gordon’s a nice lad,” Robb said uneasily.

“Why did you want to know how old he was?” Struan asked.

“He’s the same age as me, isn’t he?”

“So?”

“It’s not important, Father.”

“It is. To you. Why?”

“I’d rather not—”

“Why?”

“A matter of ethics, I suppose. If we’re the same age, his mother was—isn’t the word ‘concurrent’?—with mine.”

“Aye. Concurrent would be the right word.”

“ ‘Adultery’ would be another right word, wouldn’t it?”

“One of the truths of man is that adultery’s as inevitable as death and sunrise.”

“Not according to the Commandments of God.” Culum avoided his father’s eyes. “The sale should start—now that Longstaff’s here,” he said.

“Is that why you’re so nervous? Meeting Gordon and applying Commandments to me?”

“You don’t need me, do you, Father, with Brock? I think I’ll—if you don’t mind, I’ll see everything’s ready.”

“Please yoursel’, lad. I think you should be with us. This is a rare occasion. But please yoursel’.” Struan resumed his course along the road. Culum hesitated, then caught up with him.

Queen’s Road ran due west from the valley along the shore. A mile away it passed the tents of the marines who guarded the growing number of naval stores. Beyond them a mile were the tented rows of the soldiers near Glessing’s Point, the terminus of Queen’s Road.

And above Glessing’s Point was Tai Ping Shan, connected to the shore by a quivering, never-ending line of Chinese, bowed by the weight of their possessions. The line was perpetually moving and constantly replenished from the incessant arrival of junks and sampans.

“Good day, Your Excellency,” Struan said, raising his hat as they met Longstaff and his party.

“Oh, afternoon, Dirk. Day, Robb.” Longstaff did not stop. “Aren’t you ready to begin, Culum?”

“In just a moment, Excellency.”

“Well, hurry it up. I’ve got to get on board, what?” And he added to Struan, as an insulting afterthought, “Good to have you back, Dirk.” He continued his stroll, greeting others.

“He’ll change in about three minutes,” Struan said.

“Stupid, contemptible, pox-ridden fool.” Culum’s voice was raw and soft. “Thank God this is the last day I serve him.”

Struan shook his head. “If I were you, I’d use ‘Deputy Colonial Secretary’ to my advantage.”

“How?”

“We have our power back. But it’s still his hand that signs paper into law. And his hand still has to be guided, eh?”

“I suppose—I suppose so,” Culum replied.

As the Struans approached the Brocks, a silence fell over the beach and excitement quickened.

Gorth and Nagrek Thumb were ranged alongside Brock and Liza and the girls.

Skinner began whistling tonelessly and moved closer.

Aristotle Quance hesitated in the middle of a brush stroke.

Only the very young did not feel the excitement, and were not watching and listening.

“Afternoon, ladies, gentlemen,” Struan said, doffing his hat.

“Day, Mr. Struan,” Liza Brock said blandly. “Thee knowed Tess and Lillibet, doan thee?”

“Of course. Day, ladies,” Struan said as the girls curtsied, noticing that Tess had grown considerably since he had last seen her. “Can we settle our business?” he said to Brock.

“Now’s as good a time as may be. Liza, you’n the girls, back to the ship. And, Lillibet, you be akeeping thy hands outa the sea or thee’ll catch thy death. And doan fall overboard. And thee, Tess luv, thee watch thyself and Lillibet. Run along now, and be adoing wot yor ma tells thee.”

They curtsied hastily and ran ahead of their mother, glad to be dismissed.

“Children an’ shipboard just doan mix, do they?” Brock said. “Never watch where they be agoin’. Enough to drive you barmy.”

“Aye.” Struan handed the banker’s draft to Gorth. “We’re even now, Gorth.”

“Thank you,” Gorth said. He examined it deliberately.

“Perhaps you’d like to double it.”

“How?”

“A further twenty thousand says one of our ships will beat you home.”

“Thankee. But they sayed a fool’n his money is soon split. I baint fool—or a betting man.” He looked at the draft. “This’ll come in right handy. Maybe I can buy a bitty of the knoll from me da’.”

The color of Struan’s eyes deepened. “Let’s go over to the tent,” he said, and began to lead the way.

Robb and Culum followed, and Robb was very glad that his brother was Tai-Pan of The Noble House. His old fear returned. How am I going to deal with Brock? How?

Struan stopped outside the tent and nodded to Cudahy.

“Come on, lads,” Cudahy said to the small group of waiting seamen. “On the double.”

To everyone’s astonishment the men collapsed the tent.

“Our sight drafts, if you please, Tyler.”

Brock warily took the notes out of his pocket. “Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand nicker.”

Struan gave the notes to Robb, who checked them carefully against the duplicates.

“Thank you,” Struan said. “Would you sign this?”

“Wot be this?”

“A receipt.”

“An’ where’s thy banker’s draft?” Brock said suspiciously.

“We decided to pay cash,” Struan said.

The seamen dragged the collapsed tent away. Almost concealing the bulk of empty barrels were neat walls of silver bricks. Hundreds upon hundreds of silver bricks, glinting under the bleak sun. Brock stared at them transfixed, and there was a monstrous silence over Hong Kong.

“The Noble House decided to pay cash,” Struan said offhandedly. He lit a match and put it to the roll of sight drafts. He took out three cheroots, offered one to Robb and to Culum, and lit them with the burning paper. “It’s all been weighed. But there’s a scale if you wish to check the amount.”

The blood rushed to Brock’s face. “God rot you to hell!”

Struan dropped the charred paper and ground it into the sand. “Thank you, Mr. Cudahy. Take the men aboard

Thunder Cloud.”

“Aye, aye, sorr.” Cudahy and the men took a last, sweating look at the bullion and dashed to their boats.

“Well, that’s finished,” Struan said to Robb and Culum. “Now we can deal with the land.”

“A rare occasion indeed, Dirk,” Robb said. “That was a masterly idea.”

Culum scanned the beach. He saw the greed and envy, and the eyes that watched them covertly. Thank you, oh God, he said silently, for letting me be part of The Noble House. Thank you for letting me be Thy instrument.

Brock came out of his shock. “Gorth, get thy bullyboys ashore and on the double.”

“What?”

“On godrotting double,” he said, his voice low and violent. “Armed. We be having every heathen pirate in Asia on our necks inside minutes.”

Gorth took to his heels.

Brock pulled out his pistols and gave them to Nagrek. “If any comes within five yards, blow their heads off.” He stamped over to Longstaff. “Can I borrow them sodjers, Yor Excellency? Else we be havin’ a passel of trouble on our hands.”

“Eh? Soldiers? Soldiers?” Longstaff blinked at the bullion. “Goddamme, is that all real silver? All of it? Goddamme, eight hundred thousand pounds’ worth, did you say?”

“A little more,” Brock said impatiently. “Them sodjers. Marines, sailors. Any wot is armed. To guard it, by God!”

“Oh, armed! Of course. Admiral, would you arrange it, please?”

“Belay, there!” the admiral shouted, whipped into fury by the avarice on every face, including officers of the Royal Navy. Marines and soldiers and sailors came on the double. “Form a circle fifty paces from this treasure. No one’s allowed near. Understand?” He glared at Brock. “I’ll be responsible for its safety for one hour. Then I leave it where it is.”

“Thankee kindly, Admiral,” Brock said, repressing an oath. He glanced seaward. Gorth’s cutter was pulling strongly for the

White Witch. An hour be enough, he thought, cursing Struan and the bullion. How in the name of God can I unload so much bullion? Whose paper dare I takes? With war acoming and maybe no trade, eh? If there be trade, then it’d pay for all the season’s tea. But unless trade be guaranteed, why, all the companies’ paper be worthless. Except the godrotting Noble House.

No bank an’ no vault and no safety until it be off’n yor hands. Yor life’s on rack. You should’ve thort, by God. You should’ve thort this were wot that belly-fornicating-bugger’d do. He trap you right proper.

Brock tore his mind off the bullion and looked at Struan. He saw the mocking smile, and rage rose in him. “The day’s not over yet, by God.”

“Quite right, Tyler,” Struan answered. “One more thing to settle.”

“Yus, by God.” Brock shoved through the silent crowd toward the dais.

Abruptly Culum’s anxiety returned, more excruciating than before. “Listen, Father,” he said in a rush, his voice held down, “Uncle Robb’s right. Brock’ll leave you when the bidding’s reached—”

“Na again, laddie, for the love of God. The knoll belongs to The Noble House.”

Culum stared at his father helplessly. Then he walked away.

“What the devil’s the matter with him?” Struan asked Robb.

“I don’t know. He’s been as nervous as a bitch in heat all day.”

Then Struan noticed Sarah standing on the edge of the crowd—Karen beside her—white-faced, statuelike. He took Robb’s arm and began to guide him toward them. “You’ve na told Sarah yet, have you, Robb? About staying?”

“No.”

“Now’s a good time. Now that you’re rich again.”

They came up to Sarah but she did not notice them.

“Hello, Uncle Dirk.” Karen said. “Can I play with your pretty bricks?”

“Are they truly real, Dirk?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, Sarah,” Robb answered.

“God only knows how you did it, Dirk, but thank you.” She winced as the child kicked in her womb, and took out her smelling salts. “This means—this means we’re saved, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” Struan said.

“Can I play with one of those, Mummy?” Karen said shrilly.

“No, dear. Run along and play,” Sarah said. She went up to Struan and kissed him, her tears streaming. “Thank you.”

“Dinna thank me, Sarah. The price of so much metal comes high.” Struan touched his hat and left them.

“What did he mean, Robb?”

Robb told her.

“I’m still leaving,” she said. “As soon as I can. Soon as the baby’s born.”

“Yes. It’s best.”

“I pray you never find

her.”

“Oh, don’t start that again, Sarah. Please. It’s a beautiful day. We’re rich again. You can have everything in the world you want.”

“Perhaps I just want a man for a husband.” Sarah walked heavily toward the longboat, and when Robb began to follow, she snapped, “Thank you, but I can get aboard myself. Come along, Karen dear.”

“Just as you wish,” Robb said, and he stalked up the beach again. He couldn’t see Struan among the crowd for a while. Then, as he neared the dais, he noticed him chatting with Aristotle Quance. He joined them.

“Hello, Robb, my dear fellow,” Quance said expansively. “Marvelous gesture, I was just saying to the Tai-Pan. Marvelous. Worthy of the The Noble House.” Then to Struan, his ugly face dancing with joy, “By the way, you owe me fifty guineas.”

“I dinna such thing!”

“The portrait of Culum. It’s ready for delivery. Surely you didn’t forget?”

“It was thirty guineas, and I gave you ten in advance, by God!”

“You did? I’ll be damned! Are you sure?”

“Where’s Shevaun?”

“She has the flux, so I hear, poor lady.” Quance took some snuff. “Princely, that’s what you are, my lad. Can I have a loan? It’s in a good cause.”

“What sort of flux?”

Quance looked around and dropped his voice, “Lovesick.”

“Who?”

Quance hesitated. “You, lad.”

“Oh, go to hell, Aristotle!” Struan said sourly.

“Believe it or believe it not. I can tell. She’s asked after you several times.”

“During sittings?”

“What sittings?” Quance said innocently.

“You know what sittings.”

“Lovesick, my lad.” The little man laughed. “And now that you’re rich again, except to be swept off your feet and into the hay! Immortal testicles of Jove! She’d surely be magnificent. Only fifty guineas, and I won’t bother you for a month.”

“What’s the ‘good cause’?”

“Me, dear boy. I need a cure. I’ve been poorly.”

“Aye, and I know what your problem is. You’re feeling your oats. Disgusting for a man your age!”

“You should be so lucky, dear lad. Must admit I’m marvelous. Fifty’s not much for an impoverished immortal.”

“You’ll get your twenty guineas when I get the painting.” Struan bent down and whispered significantly, “Aristotle, do you want a commission? Say a hundred pounds? Gold?”

Immediately Quance stuck out his hand. “I’m your man. My hand on it. Who do I have to kill?”

Struan laughed and told him about the ball and the judgeship.

“Great balls of fire, never, by God!” Quance exploded. “Am I a bloody fool? Do you want me detesticled? In an early grave? Hounded by every doxy in Asia? Ostracized? Never!”

“Only a man of your knowledge, your stature, your—”

“Never, by God! You, my erstwhile friend—for a miserable hundred pounds you put me in mortal danger. Yes, by God! Mortal danger! To be deviled, hated, ruined, dead before my time . . . make it two hundred?”

“Done!” Struan said.

Quance threw his hat in the air and danced a jig and hugged his stomach. Then he adjusted his purple silk waistcoat and picked up his hat and set it rakishly on his head. “Tai-Pan, you’re a prince. Who but I, Aristotle Quance, would dare to do such a thing? Who but I would be the perfect choice? Perfect! Oh, marvelous Quance! Prince of painters! Two hundred. In advance.”

“After the judging.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No. You might leave. Or have the vapors.”

“I’d get off my deathbed to judge this contest. In fact, I’d have volunteered. Yes, by the blood of Rembrandt, I’d willingly pay—I’d pay a hundred guineas, if I had to crawl to Brock to borrow it, to have that privilege.”

“What?”

Quance threw his hat into the air again. “Oh happy, happy day! Oh, perfect Quance, immortal Quance. You’ve got your place in history. Immortal, perfect Quance.”

“I don’t understand you at all, Aristotle,” Robb said. “You really want the job?”

Quance picked up his hat and brushed the sand off it, his eyes dancing. “Have you considered the advantages such a position gives me? Eh? Why, every doxy in Asia will be—how shall I put it?—will be ready to sway the judge, eh? In advance.”

“And you’ll be ready to be swayed!” Struan said.

“Of course. But it will be an honest choice. The perfect choice. I know the winner now.”

“Who?”

“Another hundred pounds? Today?”

“What do you do with all the money, eh? Between Robb, Cooper and myself we give you a fortune!”

“Give? Huh! Give? It’s your privilege to support immortality. Privilege, by Lucifer’s hind tit! By the way, is there any brandy in those barrels? I’ve an immortal thirst.”

“There’s none. None at all.”

“How uncivilized! Disgusting.” Quance took some more snuff, and saw Longstaff bearing down. “Well, I’ll be off. Good day, lads.” He walked off whistling, and as he passed Longstaff he raised his hat gravely.

“Oh, Dirk,” Longstaff said, a broad smile on his face. “Why is Aristotle in such a good humor?”

“He’s just glad, like you, that we’re still The Noble House.”

“And quite right, too, what?” Longstaff was jovial and full of respect. “I didn’t know there was that much bullion in Asia. Magnificent to pay like that. By the way, would you have dinner this evening? There are some matters I’d like your opinion on.”

“Afraid I’m busy this evening, Will. Tomorrow? Why not come aboard our headquarters,

Resting Cloud? At noon.”

“Noon would be perfect. Perfect. I’m so glad—”

“Oh, by the way, Will. Why do you na cancel the fleet’s order sending them north?”

Longstaff frowned. “But those devils have repudiated our treaty, what?”

“The Manchu emperor has, yes. But this is typhoon weather. Better to keep the fleet in one piece. And under your thumb.”

Longstaff took a pinch of snuff, and dusted the ruffles of his resplendent waistcoat. “The admiral’s not concerned about weather. But if you say so.” He sneezed. “If we don’t go north, what do we do, eh?”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, shall we?”

“Very wise. Sleep on it. That’s the ticket, what? I’ll be glad to have your counsel again. Well, looks like we’re ready to begin. Delighted, by the way, with your other gesture.” Longstaff departed happily.

“What did he mean by that?” Robb asked.

“I dinna ken. The bullion, I suppose. Listen, Robb, tomorrow you welcome him,” Struan said. “Tell him what to do.”

“What’s that?” Robb’s face crinkled into a smile.

“Take the Bogue forts. Then stab at Canton. At once. Ransom Canton. Six million taels of silver. Then when the wind’s right, north. Just as before.”

“But he wants to talk to you.”

“You can twist him around your finger now. He’s seen the bullion.”

“He won’t trust me like he trusts you.”

“In five-odd months he’ll have to. How did Sarah take it?”

“As you expected. She’ll leave anyway.” Robb looked at the dais as there was a rustle of excitement. Longstaff was mounting the steps. “You’re so nice to his face, Dirk, even after he was so insulting. Yet I know you’ll put your mark on him now. Won’t you?”

“He’s the first governor of Hong Kong. Governors last for four years. There’s time and to spare for Longstaff.”

“What about the knoll?”

“That’s already been decided on.”

“You’re going to leave Brock holding it?”

“Nay.”

“Gentlemen,” Longstaff said to the assembled traders, “before we begin, I wish to confirm the principles of land ownership and disposal that have been recommended by me to Her Majesty’s Government.” He began reading from an official document. “All land is vested in Her Majesty. Allotments are to be made at a public auction to the highest bidder of an annual ground rent—the annual rent to be the subject of the bidding. Nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine-year leases. A building of a minimum value of one thousand dollars is to be erected within one year, the rate being fixed at four shillings and fourpence to the dollar. Otherwise the allotment is forfeit. A deposit of half the amount bid is to be paid in specie at once.” He looked up. “Originally we planned to offer one hundred lots today, but it has not been possible to survey them all. Approximately fifty are offered and the rest as soon as practicable. I have also recommended that purchasers be allowed to buy their lots in freehold, subject to Her Majesty’s pleasure. Oh yes, and purchasers of ‘marine lots’ may also choose ‘suburban’ or ‘country’ lots. Marine lots are fixed at one hundred feet wide, fronting on Queen’s Road and stretching to the sea.” He looked up and smiled pleasantly. “With the offering of land for sale, today we can presume the foundations of the town to be laid. Land has been set aside for the Courthouse, government offices, governor’s mansion, jail, a cricket ground, market square, and for the Orientals. I formally have called our town-to-be Queen’s Town!”

There were cheers.

“This is the first opportunity I’ve had for many a day of addressing you all. I would say that we have hard times ahead. But let us not falter. We must all pull together. We must put our backs to the plow and then, with God’s good help, we’ll conquer the heathen to the glory of Her Britannic Majesty and the glory of the Colony of Hong Kong.”

There were three cheers for the queen and three cheers for the colony and three cheers for Longstaff. And the Chinese onlookers chattered and watched and laughed.

“Now, if Mr. Brock will kindly take his mind off the loose change of The Noble House, I will declare the auction open!”

Brock and Gorth smoldered as the laughter swooped over them.

Longstaff stepped off the platform and Glessing moved closer.

“I must reiterate, Your Excellency,” Glessing said, “that due to the lack of time not all the lots have been accurately surveyed.”

“Details. Details, my dear fellow. What does a few feet matter? There’s land enough for all. Please carry on, Culum, my dear chap. Good day to you.” Longstaff walked off toward his cutter, and as he passed Struan he smiled and raised his hat. “Tomorrow at noon, Dirk.”

Culum wiped the sweat off his face and glanced at the little man beside him. “Mr. Hibbs?”

Henry Hardy Hibbs drew himself up to his full five and a half feet and mounted the platform. “Day, gents,” he said with an unctuous smile. “ ’Enry ’Ardy ’Ibbs. Of London Town, late o’ the firm of ’Ibbs, ’Ibbs and ’Ibbs, Auctioneers and Estate Agents, official auctioneer to ’Is Hexellence, the Right ’Onorable Longstaff. At yor service.” He was an untidy, verminous gnome with a bald head and fawning manner. “Lot Number One. Now, wot’m I bid?”

“Where the devil did you find him, Culum?” Struan asked.

“Off one of the merchantmen,” Culum heard himself say, wishing the day over. “He’d worked his passage from Singapore. He had had his pocket picked there and all his money stolen.”

Struan listened as Hibbs efficiently and dexterously wheedled the price upward and upward. He scrutinized the crowd, and frowned.

“What’s the matter, Dirk?” Robb asked.

“I was looking for Gordon. Have you seen him?”

“Last I saw of him he was walking toward Glessing’s Point. Why?”

“Nae matter,” Struan said, thinking it very strange Gordon was not here. I would have thought he’d be bidding for land himself. What better investment could there be?

The bidding for the lots was brisk. All the traders knew that a colony meant permanence. Permanence meant land values would skyrocket. Especially in an island colony where level building land was in short supply. Land meant safety; land could never be lost. Fortunes would be made.

As the sale continued, Struan felt his excitement rising. Across the press of men Brock was waiting, equally on edge. Gorth was near him, his eyes darting from Struan to his men who were surrounding the bullion. Struan and Brock bought the lots they had agreed on. But the prices were higher than they had expected, for the bidding was hotly competitive. They bid against each other for some minor lots. A few Struan bought—on some he withdrew. The tension among the traders grew.

The last of the marine lots was offered and bought. Then the surburban and country lots were offered and they too were bought expensively. Only the knoll remained. It was the largest piece of land, and the best.

“Well, gents, that’s it,” Hibbs said, his voice hoarse from auctioneering. “Them wot has bought has to pay ’arf the nicker now. Receipts from the deputy colonial secretary. If you please!”

An astonished hush fell over the crowd.

“The sale’s not complete yet.” Struan’s voice split the air.

“Yus, by God!” Brock said.

“Eh, gents?” Hibbs said cautiously, sensing trouble.

“What about the knoll?”

“Wot knoll, Yor ’Onors?”

Struan pointed a blunt finger. “That knoll!”

“It, er, ain’t on the list, Guv. Nuffink to do wiv me, Guv,” Hibbs said hastily, and prepared to run. He glanced at Culum who was standing stock-still. “Is it, Yor ’Onor?”

“No.” Culum forced himself to look at his father, the silence choking him.

“Why is it na on the list, by God?”

“Because—because, well, it’s already been purchased.” The hairs on the nape of Culum’s neck crawled as he saw —as though in a dream—his father walk over to him, and all the carefully worked-out words vanished from his head. The reasons. How he had said to Longstaff this morning, in desperation, that it was his father’s thought to put a church there. For the benefit of all Hong Kong. It was the only way, Culum wanted to shout. Don’t you see? You’d’ve destroyed us all. If I’d told you, you’d never have listened. Don’t you see?

“Purchased by whom?”

“By me. For the Church,” Culum stuttered. “One pound a year. The knoll belongs to the Church.”

“

You took my knoll?” The words were soft-spoken but barbed, and Culum felt their cruelty.

“For the Church. Yes,” he croaked. “The . . . deed . . . the deed was signed this morning. I . . . His Excellency signed the deed. In perpetuity.”

“You knew I wanted that land?”

“Yes.” All Culum saw was the blinding light that seemed to stream from his father’s eyes, consuming him, taking his soul. “Yes. Yes. But I decided it was for the Church. I did. The knoll belongs to the House of God.”

“Then you’ve dared to cross me?”

There was a frantic silence. Even Brock was appalled by the power that seemed to pour out of Struan and surround them all.

Culum waited for the blow that he knew was coming— that they all knew was coming.

But Struan’s fists unlocked and he whirled around and walked out of the valley.

Brock’s bellow of laughter shattered the sickening quietness, and everyone flinched involuntarily.

“Shut up, Brock,” Quance said. “Shut up.”

“That I will, Aristotle,” Brock said. “That I will.”

The traders splintered into whispering pockets and Hibbs called out tremulously, “If them wot has bought will kindly step this way. If you please, gents.”

Brock was studying Culum, almost compassionately. “I’d say thy days were numbered, lad,” he said. “Thee doan knowed that devil like I knowed him. Watch thy back.” He went up to Hibbs to pay for his land.

Culum was trembling. He could feel people watching him. He could feel their awe. Or was it horror?

“For the love of God, why didn’t you ask him?” Robb said, hardly over his shock. “Eh? Before you did it?”

“He wouldn’t have agreed, would he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. He might have. Or he might have left Brock holding—” He stopped weakly. “And don’t pay any attention to what Brock said. He’s just trying to frighten you. There’s no need to worry. None.”

“I think Father

is the Devil.”

An involuntary shudder ran through Robb. “That’s stupid, lad. Stupid. You’re just overwrought. We all are. The bullion and—well, the excitement of the moment. Nothing to worry about. Of course he’ll understand when . . .” Robb’s words trailed off. Then he hurried after his brother.

Culum was finding it very difficult to focus. Sounds seemed to be stronger than before, but voices more distant, colors and people bizarre. His eyes saw Mary Sinclair and her brother in the distance. Suddenly they were talking to him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I just said that it will be a fine place for the church.” Horatio forced a smile. “A perfect place.”

“Yes.”

“Your father’s always wanted that knoll. Ever since he saw Hong Kong,” Mary said.

“Yes. But now it belongs to the House of God.”

“Yes,” she said sadly. “But at what cost?”

Then they no longer were talking to him and he was looking at Hibbs.

“Yes?”

“Beggin” yor pardon, sirr, but it’s the receipts. For them wot has bought land,” Hibbs said uneasily.

“Receipts?”

“Yus. Land receipts. You’ve t’ sign ’em.”

Culum watched himself as he followed Hibbs to the stand. Mechanically he signed his name.

Robb was hurrying along Queen’s Road, careless of the appalled looks that followed him, his chest aching from the exertion of the chase. “Dirk, Dirk,” he called out.

Struan stopped momentarily. “Tell him I’ll see him on

his knoll at dawn.”

“But, Dirk, Culum was only—”

“Tell him to come alone.”

“But, Dirk, listen a moment. Don’t go. Wait. The poor lad was only—”

“Tell him to come alone.”