Tai-Pan

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You wanted to see me, Father?” Culum’s face was stark.

Struan was standing on top of the knoll, the binoculars around his neck, knife in his belt, a bunched fighting iron on the ground. He had watched Culum come ashore and walk into the valley and climb the knoll. The wind had broomed the sky clean and the sun on the horizon brought the promise of a fine day.

Struan gestured below. “The view’s good from here, eh?”

Culum said nothing. His knees were jelly under the flame of his father’s eyes.

“Do you na agree?”

“The church will—everyone will be—”

“I know all about the church,” Struan interrupted. “Did you hear about Brock?” The voice was too soft, too calm.

“What about him?”

“He was pirated in the night. Pirates cut his cable and he drifted ashore. Then they boarded him. Did you na hear the shooting?”

“Yes.” Culum was oppressed and spent. Sleepless nights, and then realizing that he alone could save them, then deciding and tricking Longstaff. “But I didn’t know it was that.”

“Aye. Pirated in Hong Kong harbor. Soon as the fog had cleared I went alongside. Brock said he’d lost seven men and the captain.”

“Gorth?”

“Nay. Nagrek Thumb. Poor man died of his wounds. Gorth was cut but not badly.” Struan’s face seemed to harden. “The captain died defending his ship. That’s the way to die.”

Culum bit his lip and looked around the knoll, his heart pounding. “You mean that this is my Calvary?”

“I dinna follow you.”

“Captains dying defending their ships? This is my ship—this knoll—isn’t that what you mean? Are you asking me if I want to die defending this?”

“Do you?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” The words rasped out of Culum’s parched throat. “There are laws against murder. I can’t fight you, and you can kill me, but you’ll hang for it. I’m unarmed.”

“You think I’d kill you?”

“If I got in your way, yes, and I have got in your way, haven’t I?”

“Have you?”

“You used to be God to me. But in the thirty days I’ve been here I’ve come to know you for what you are. Killer. Murderer. Pirate. Opium smuggler. Adulterer. You buy and sell people. You’ve sired bastards and you’re proud of them and your name stinks in the nostrils of decent people.”

“What decent people?”

“You wanted to see me. I’m here. Tell me what you want and let’s have done with it. I’m tired of playing mouse to your cat.”

Struan picked up his haversack and set it on one shoulder. “Come on.”

“Why?”

“I want you in private.”

“We’re alone now.”

Struan motioned with his head at the ships at anchor. “There’re eyes there. I can feel them watching us.” He pointed at the foreshore dotted with Chinese and Europeans. Traders were pacing out their lots. Children were already at play. “We’re being watched everywhere.” He pointed to a hilltop in the west. “That’s where we’re going.”

The hill was almost a mountain. It rose to thirteen hundred feet, rocky and sparse and brooding.

“No.”

“It is too far for you?” Struan saw the hatred in Culum’s face and waited for an answer. There was none. “I thought you were na afraid.”

He turned away and walked down the knoll and onto the rising shoulder of the mountain. Culum hesitated, fear consuming him. Then he began to follow, dominated by Struan’s will.

As Struan climbed, he knew that he was playing another dangerous game. He did not stop or look back until he had gained the crest of the mountain. It was windswept and gaunt. He looked back and saw Culum struggling far below.

He turned his back on his son.

The panorama was vast. Awesomely beautiful. The sun high in the blue sky and the Pacific sea a blue-green carpet. Brown-green mountains of the islands were jutting from the sea carpet, Pokliu Chau to the southwest; Lan Tao, the huge island, bigger than Hong Kong, fifteen miles westward; and the hundreds of small, barren islands and bleak rocks that surrounded the Hong Kong archipelago. The ships in harbor were clear in his binoculars, and north was mainland China. He could see fleets of junks and sampans tacking up the Lan Tai channel heading for Hong Kong’s western approaches. More were sailing back into the Pearl River estuary. North and south and east and west there was sea traffic: frigates on patrol, fishing junks, sampans, but no merchantmen. Well, he thought, a few weeks and the end of the second war and then the merchantmen will dominate the sea.

Culum was fighting his way up the track made by Struan. He was almost exhausted and only his dogged will kept his feet moving. His clothes were torn and his face scratched from the clawing weeds. But still he climbed.

At length he came to the crest, his chest heaving, the wind tugging at him.

Struan was sitting on the ground a few feet below in the lee of the wind. A tablecloth was spread and there was food and a bottle of wine.

“Here, lad,” Struan said, and offered a half glass of wine.

Still panting, Culum took the wine and tried to drink but most of it dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off and gulped for air.

“Sit down,” Struan said.

To Culum’s astonishment, Struan was smiling benignly.

“Come on, laddie. Sit down. Please sit down.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“The view’s better from here, isn’t it?”

“One moment you’re the Devil,” Culum said, his lungs burning from the exertion, “and now—now—I just don’t understand . . .”

“I brought chicken and bread,” Struan said. “And another bottle of wine. Does that suit you?”

Culum sank down, spent. “Chicken?”

“Well, you did na have breakfast, did you? You must be starving.”

“About the knoll. I—”

“Catch your breath, rest, then eat. Please. You’ll na have slept these two nights. It’s nae good to talk on an empty stomach. Eat sparingly, or you’ll be sick. It was a strong climb up here. I’m tired mysel’.”

Culum lay back against a rock and closed his eyes and gathered his strength, his body crying out for rest. He forced his eyes open, expecting this to be a dream. But there was his father, studying the south sea through binoculars.

“About the knoll. I was—”

“Eat,” Struan interrupted, and offered him some chicken.

Culum took a drumstick. “I can’t eat. Not before I’ve said it. I had to do it.

I had to. You’d never have agreed and it was the only way. Brock would have destroyed you. He would have stopped bidding. I know he would. If he didn’t hate you so much and you him, then you’d have the knoll.

You forced the issue. You did. It’s your fault. The knoll’s the Church’s and that’s right. You forced it.”

“Aye,” Struan said. “Of course. I’m very proud of you. It took great courage. Robb would never have done it, or even if he’d thought of it he’d never have been able to carry it through.”

Culum was dumfounded. “You—you wanted me to do that?”

“Of course, laddie. It was the only solution to an impossible situation.”

“You—you planned me to do that?”

“I’d gambled that you’d do it, aye. I hinted that you should do it. When you were so nervous about seeing Longstaff—and when you avoided me at Happy Valley—I thought you’d arranged it. Then I was put off by your reaction to Gordon. But Longstaff later said, ‘Your

other gesture, marvelous!’ and then I knew you’d worked out the only possible solution. I’m very proud of you, lad. Brock would certainly have slaughtered us. I could do nothing to prevent it. The knoll was a matter of face.”

“You—you pushed me—pushed me for two days and two nights into hell—knowing there was a simple answer?”

“Was it so simple?”

“For you it was!” Culum shouted. He jumped to his feet.

“Aye,” Struan said, suddenly harsh. “For me. But na for you. But you made the decision and you’re better for it. Now you’re a man. If I’d suggested the ‘House of God’ to you, you’d na have been able to carry it through. Never. You’d’ve given yoursel’ awa’. You had to believe in what you were doing. If Brock had thought for an instant that I planned it with you, he’d’ve made us the laughingstock of Asia. We’d’ve lost face forever.”

“You’d sacrifice me for face?” Culum screamed. “Your godrotting face?”

“Ours, Culum,” Struan said. “And it’s good to hear you swear at long last. It improves you, lad!”

“Then all the anger, your anger—it was pretense?”

“Of course, lad,” Struan said. “That was for the benefit of Brock. And the others.”

“Even Robb?”

“Robb more than any. Eat some food.”

“The pox on food! You’re the Devil! You’ll pull us all into hell with you. By the Lord God, I swear I’ll—”

Struan bounded up and grabbed Culum by the shoulders. “Before you say something you may regret, you’ll listen. I gambled you had the guts to decide, and you did. By yoursel’. Wi’out help from me. And I blessed you. Now you’re Culum Struan, the man that dared to cross the Tai-Pan. The man that took his cherished knoll away. You’re unique. You’ve gained more face in one day than you could acquire in twenty years. How in God’s name do you think you control men and lead them by the nose? By the strength of your arm only? No. But by your brain. And by magic.” He let go of Culum.

“Magic?” Culum choked out. “But that’s black magic!”

Laughing softly, Struan sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. “Those with brains will see how wise you are. ‘That Culum’s clever. He gives the knoll to the Church. And thus stops that devil Struan from destroying The Noble House by placing their wealth on a worthless knoll. But Culum’s saved the Tai-Pan’s face at the same time— that devil canna kill Culum Struan for giving the land to the Church.’ ” Struan sipped the wine. “Even Brock’s got to be impressed, whether he thinks it’s a secret deal or na—because you carried it off. The religious will bless you for giving the ‘best’ to the Church. The fools like Longstaff will fear you and ask your counsel. The cynics will be awed by the smartness of your solution and loathe you and say, ‘Culum’s got the devil of his father in him. Best watch out.’ I’d say you’ve gained stature, lad.”

“But—but if I’ve—then you, you’ve lost face?”

“Aye. But I’ve enough and to spare. For you and for Robb. And na much time to cement you into place. You watch, laddie. They’ll all be thinking, ‘Culum got away with it once, but will he try it again?’ And they’ll hope we’ll hate each other so much that we’ll destroy each other. And that’s exactly what we’re going to try to do. Openly. In public.”

“What?”

“Certainly. Cold hostility whenever we meet. And before long, Brock’ll try to seduce you to his side. Cooper will—and Tillman. They’ll feed you lies—or twisted truths—hoping you’ll become so full of hatred that you’ll ruin me and yoursel’ in the bargain. And The Noble House. For all the traders want that prize. But now, now they’ll never get it. You’ve proved yoursel’, by God.”

“I’ll have nothing to do with this,” Culum said quietly.

“You’ll have everything to do with it. For five months and five years. You made a holy oath.”

“You’d hold me to that? Now?”

“You’ll hold yoursel’ to it. Your salary’s trebled.”

“You think money’s important in a thing like this?”

“It’s small payment for two days of hell.”

“I don’t want any money. And I won’t do it. I can’t.”

Struan selected a drumstick reflectively. “I considered you very carefully. I was tempted na to tell you at all. To let you act a role unknowingly. But then I weighed you. I decided you could do it, knowing. It’ll be more enjoyable for both of us now that you know.”

“You’d let me live my life and end my life hating you? Just to further The Noble House?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“You’re unholy.”

“I agree. In some ways,” he said, munching the chicken, “I’m all the things you said, and more. I break many of the Commandments but na all. I know what I do and I’m ready to answer for what I do. But I’m the only man on earth you can completely trust—providing you dinna, with calculation, go against the house. I’m

the Tai-Pan. With suffering and devilment you’ll be the

same.”

“It’s not worth the hypocrisy. Or the evil.”

“Ah, lad, you do my heart good,” Struan said, throwing away the chicken bone. “You’re so young. I envy you your years ahead. Na worth it? To be the best? To rule Brock and the others by the skill of your presence? Longstaff, and through him the Crown? The Emperor of China? And through him three hundred millions of Chinese?” Struan drank some wine. “It’s worth it. Much hatred and a little playacting is a small price to pay.”

Culum leaned back into the cradle of the rock, his mind raging with the relentless words and questions and implacable answers. Is this the will of God? he asked himself. The strongest survive at the expense of the weak? For God made all things and the pattern thereof. But Jesus said, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” Did He mean the earth—or the Kingdom of God?

Meekness would not have obtained the bullion, or protected it. Meekness would not have saved The Noble House this time over the knoll. Meekness will never make progress, never overcome the cruel and the greedy. If I’m Tai-Pan, the Charter will go forward. Wealth with a purpose—an immortal purpose,

he said. Very well.

Culum Struan’s hatred of his father vanished. And with the hatred, his love. All that remained was respect.

“Why did you come up here?” Culum asked.

Struan knew that he had lost his son. He was saddened as a father, but not as a man. He had brought his enemy to battle on his own terms and in his own time. So he had done his duty as a father.

“To tire you so I could talk and make you understand,” he said. “And to show you that though the view from the knoll is fine, from here it is grand.”

Culum saw the view for the first time. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Then he leaned forward and chose a piece of chicken and began to eat.

Struan kept the pain off his face. The lad’s smile will come back, he told himself. Give the lad time. It’s raw growing up so fast. Give the lad time.

He felt very tired. He leaned against a rock and turned his binoculars south, seeking

China Cloud. But it was nowhere in sight. Idly he scanned the horizon. Then his eyes fixed.

“Look, lad. There’s

Blue Cloud!”

Culum took the binoculars and saw the clipper. She was a sister to

Thunder Cloud, 18 guns, as fleet, as beautiful. As beautiful even to Culum, who loathed ships and the sea.

“She’ll have a hundred thousand guineas’ worth of opium aboard her,” Struan said. “Now what should you do? We’ve three ships here and sixteen more due within the month.”

“Send them north? To sell their cargoes?”

“Aye.” A shadow crossed Struan’s face. “That reminds me. You remember Isaac Perry?”

“Yes. It seems a century ago.”

“I beached him, remember? Because he failed McKay, and because he was afraid of me and I didn’t know why. I gave McKay fifteen days to find out the answer to that riddle, but he never came back to Canton. Last night I saw McKay. He’s got a shore berth now—a deputy magistrate and peeler.” He lit a cheroot, cupping his hand against the wind, and passed it over to Culum and lit another. “Well, it seems that Perry has a berth with Cooper-Tillman now. On their Virginia-Africa run. Slaving.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Wilf Tillman told me. Last night. He shrugged and said that Perry had na wanted the China run any more. So he had offered Perry a blackbirder. Perry took it. He left a week ago. Just before Perry left, McKay tricked him. They got drunk together. McKay said he’d been sacked by me—as he had—and cursed me, asked for a berth on Perry’s new ship, swearing to revenge himself on me. Drink makes any tongue wag and Perry’s wagged. He told McKay that he’d sold a copy of our secret trading places up the coast—latitudes and longitudes—and names of our opium dealers to Morgan Brock. The last time he was in London.”

“Then Brock knows all the secret places?”

“The ones Perry’s used. Ten years of trading. That covers most.”

“What can we do?”

“Find new places and new men to trust. So you see, lad, you canna put too much faith in anyone.”

“That’s terrible.”

“That’s a law of survival. Rest for an hour, then we’ll be off.”

“Where to?”

“Aberdeen. We’re going to have a look quietly. Against the picking of Wu Kwok’s men.” He opened the haversack and passed over a pistol. “Can you use one of these?”

“Not very well.”

“It might be as well for you to practice.”

“All right.” Culum examined it. He had used dueling pistols once in a foolish university squabble, and both he and his adversary had been so terrified that the bullets had missed by yards.

“We can go now,” Culum said. “I’m not tired any more.”

Struan shook his head. “I want to wait until

China Cloud heaves over the horizon.”

“Where’s she been?”

“Macao.”

“Why?”

“I sent her there.” Struan brushed crumbs off his jacket. “A reward’s just been put on the head of my mistress. And my son and daughter by her, if they’re captured alive. I sent Mauss and

China Cloud to bring them both here. They’ll be safe aboard.”

“But Gordon’s already here. I saw him yesterday.”

“This lass is not his mother.”

Culum found it curious that now he was not hurt by the knowledge that his father had two—no, three—families. Three, counting himself and Winifred. “Kidnaping’s a terrible thing. Terrible,” he said.

“There’s a reward on your head now. Ten thousand dollars.”

“Am I worth that? I wonder.”

“If a Chinese offers ten, you can bet that you’re worth a hundred.” Struan again focused the binoculars on

Blue Cloud. “I think a hundred thousand would be more correct. For you.”

Culum shaded his eyes from the sun and understood his father’s compliment. But he let it pass unacknowledged. He was thinking about the other mistress and wondered what she was like and what Gordon’s mother was like. His mind was working coldly, dispassionately, without rancor, but with contempt for the weakness and promiscuousness of his father. Culum found it strange that his mind was so very calm.

“What’s Brock going to do about the bullion? He’ll be pirated and pirated so long as he has it.”

“He’ll have to ask us to take some back. For paper. We’ll do this immediately. And then at less than the usual interest. Tell Robb to arrange it.”

“Then we’ll be pirated.”

“Perhaps.” Struan was watching

Blue Cloud slowly beating up against the wind in the passage between Lan Tao and Hong Kong. “As soon as

China Cloud returns, I’m leaving. I’ll go with the expeditionary force and I’ll na be back to Hong Kong until the day before the ball.”

“Why?”

“To give you time to get used to our ‘enmity.’ You’ll need practice. You and Robb are to start the buildings. The plans are already settled. Except for the Great House. I’ll decide about that later. Begin to build a church on the knoll. Get Aristotle to design it. Pay him a tenth of what he asks in his first breath. You and Robb are to do everything.”

“Yes, Tai-Pan,” Culum said. Tai-Pan. Not Father. Both men heard its finality. And accepted it.

“Build my cottage on suburban lot seventeen. Robb has the plan. It’s to be up in three weeks, the garden planted, and a ten-foot wall around it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Whatever it costs. Put a hundred, two hundred men abuilding it if necessary. Furnished, landscaped as the plan says. And I want all our buildings finished in three months.”

“There’s at least ten months of building there. A year or more.”

“Aye. So we use more men. More money. Then we’ll finish earlier.”

“Why hurry?”

“Why na?”

Culum looked out to sea. “What about the ball?”

“You arrange everything. With Robb and Chen Sheng, our compradore.”

“And Robb? He’s not to know that our enmity is a masquerade?”

“I’ll let you decide that. You can tell him the night of the ball. If you want.”

China Cloud crested the horizon.

“We can go now,” Struan said.

“Good.”

Struan put the glasses and the remains of the food back into the haversack. “Send some men up here secretly to keep a permanent watch during daylight.”

“What for?”

“Ships. From here we’d have four or five hours’ advance notice of arrivals. Especially the mail packets. Then we send a fast cutter and intercept her and get our mail before the others.”

“And then?”

“We’ve the jump on everyone. In four hours you can do a lot of buying and selling. Knowing four hours ahead of others could be the difference between life and death.”

Culum’s respect increased. Very clever, he thought. He was staring idly westward at the big island of Lan Tai. “Look!” he cried suddenly, pointing just south of it. “There’s smoke. A ship’s on fire!”

“You’ve sharp eyes, lad,” Struan said, swinging the binoculars over. “God’s death, it’s a steamer!”

The ship was black and lean and ugly and sharp-nosed. Smoke poured from her squat funnel. She was two-masted and rigged for sails, but she wore no sails now and steamed malevolently into wind, the red ensign fluttering aft.

“Look at that belly-gutted, stinking fornication of a Royal Navy ship!”

Culum was rocked by the vehemence. “What’s the matter?”

“That bloody iron-festering whore—that’s what’s the matter! Look at her steam!”

Culum stared through the glasses. The ship looked harmless to him. He had seen a few paddle ships like her before. The Irish mail packets had been steamers for ten years. He could see the two giant paddle wheels, amidships port and starboard, and the billowing smoke and the frothing wake. There were cannon aboard. Many.

“I can’t see anything wrong with her.”

“Look at her wake! And her heading! Into wind, by God! She’s steering due east. Into wind. Look at her! She’s overhauling our ship as though

Blue Cloud’s a pig-rotten brig in the hands of godrotting apes—instead of one of the best crews on earth!”

“But what’s wrong with that?”

“Everything. Now a steamer’s in the Orient. She’s done the impossible. That rusty, iron-hulked, machine-powered, Stephenson-invented pus-ridden harlot has sailed from England to here, against all the sea’s disgust and the wind’s contempt. If one does it, a thousand can. There’s progress. And the beginning of a new era!” Struan picked up the empty wine bottle and hurled it against a rock. “That’s what we’ll have to use in twenty or thirty years. Those bitch-fornicating abortions of a ship, by God!”

“It is ugly, when you compare it to a sail ship. To

Blue Cloud. But being able to sail into wind—to forget the wind—means that it’ll be faster and more economic and—”

“Never! Na faster, na with the wind abaft the beam, and na as seaworthy. And na in a storm. Those smellpots’ll turn turtle and sink like a stone. And na as economic. They have to have wood for the boilers, or coal. And they’ll be nae good for the tea trade. Tea’s sensitive and it’ll spoil in that stink. Sail’ll have to carry tea, thank God.”

Culum was amused but didn’t show it. “Yes. But in time they’ll improve, certainly. And if one can sail out here, as you say, a thousand others can. I think we should buy steamers.”

“

You can, and you’ll be right. But damned if I’ll buy one of those stenchfilled monstrosities. Damned if the Lion and Dragon’ll fly one of them while I’m alive!”

“Do all seamen feel as you do?” Culum asked the question carelessly, warmed inside.

“That’s a right stupid question! What’s on your mind, Culum?” Struan said tartly.

“Just thinking about progress, Tai-Pan.” Culum looked back at the ship. “I wonder what her name is.”

Struan was studying Culum suspiciously, knowing that the man’s mind was working but unaware of what it was planning. That’s odd, he told himself. That’s the first time you’ve thought of Culum as a man and na as your son and na as “Culum” or “lad” or “laddie.” “Thank God I won’t live to see the death of sail. But that whore heralds the death of the China clipper. The most beautiful ships that have ever sailed the seas.”

He led the way down the mountain toward Aberdeen. Later the steamer passed close enough for them to read her name. It was

Nemesis. H.M.S.

Nemesis.