Tai-Pan

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Like potting sitting ducks,” the admiral said disgustedly.

“Aye,” Struan said. “But their losses are slight and ours negligible.”

“A decisive victory, that’s the ticket,” Longstaff said. “That’s what we want. Horatio, remind me to ask Aristotle to record today’s storming of the Bogue.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

They were on the quarterdeck of the flagship H.M.S.

Vengeance, a mile aft of the path-blazing frigates. Astern was the main body of the expeditionary force,

China Cloud in the van—May-may and the children secretly aboard.

“We’re falling behind, Admiral,” Longstaff said. “Can’t you catch up with the frigates, what?”

The admiral controlled his temper, hard put to be polite to Longstaff. Months of being held in check, months of orders and counterorders and a contemptible war had sickened him. “We’re making way nicely, sir.”

“We’re not. We’re tacking back and forth, back and forth. Complete waste of time. Send a signal to

Nemesis. She can tow us upstream.”

“Tow my flagship?” the admiral bellowed, his face and neck purple. “That sowgutted sausagemaker? Tow my 74-gun ship of the line? Tow it, did you say?”

“Yes, tow it, my dear fellow,” Longstaff said, “and we’ll be in Canton all the sooner!”

“Never, by God!”

“Then I’ll transfer my headquarters to her! Put a cutter alongside. Ridiculous, all this jealousy. A ship is a ship, sail or steam, and there’s a war to be won. You can come aboard at your convenience. I’d be glad if you’d accompany me, Dirk. Come along, Horatio.” Longstaff stamped off, exasperated by the admiral and his insane attitudes, by the feuding between the army and navy: feuding over who was in command, whose counsel was the most worthy, who had first choice of careening or barrack space on Hong Kong, and whether the war was a sea war or a land war and who had preference over whom. And he was still privately angry at that cunning little devil Culum for tricking him into signing away the Tai-Pan’s knoll—into believing that the Tai-Pan had already approved the idea—and for jeopardizing the nice relationship he had built so carefully with the dangerous Tai-Pan over so many years, molding him to his purposes.

And Longstaff was sick of trying to set up a colony, and sick of being pleaded with and railed at, trapped in the squalid competition between traders. And he was furious with the Chinese for daring to repudiate the wonderful treaty that he and he alone had magnanimously given them. Goddamme, he thought, here am I, carrying the weight of all Asia on my shoulders, making all the decisions, keeping them all from each other’s throats, fighting a war for the glory of England, saving her trade, by God, and what thanks do I get? I should have been knighted years ago! Then his wrath abated, for he knew that soon Asia would be stabilized and from the safety of the Colony of Hong Kong the threads of British power would spin out. At the dominating whim of the governor. Governors are knighted. Sir William Longstaff—now, that had a nice ring to it. And as colonial governors were commanders-in-chief of all colonial forces, lawmakers officially and by law—and the direct representatives of the queen—-then he could deal with popinjay admirals and generals arbitrarily and at leisure. The pox on every one of them, he thought, and he felt happier.

So Longstaff went aboard

Nemesis.

Struan joined him. Steamship or not, he would be first in Canton.

In five days the fleet was at anchor at Whampoa, the river behind them subdued and safe. A deputation of the Co-hong merchants, sent by the new viceroy, Ching-so, arrived immediately to negotiate. But at Struan’s suggestion the deputation was sent away unseen, and the next day the Settlement was reoccupied.

When the traders came ashore at the Settlement, all their old servants were waiting beside the front doors of their factories. It was as though the Settlement had never been left. Nothing had been touched in their absence. Nothing was missing.

The square was given over to the tents of a detachment of the military, and Longstaff made his headquarters in the factory of The Noble House. Another deputation of Co-hong merchants arrived and was again sent away as before, and laborious and elaborate preparations were openly begun to invest Canton.

By day and by night Hog Street and Thirteen Factory Street were a booming, seething mass of buying and selling and fighting and thieving. The brothels and the gin shops thrived. Many men died of drink and some had their throats cut and others simply vanished. Shopkeepers fought for space and prices rose or fell but were always as much as the market would bear.

Again a deputation sought audience with Longstaff, and again Struan dominated Longstaff and had them sent away. The ships of the line settled themselves athwart the Pearl River and the

Nemesis steamed calmly back and forth, leaving horror in her wake. But the junks and the sampans continued to ply their trade, upstream and downstream. The teas and silks of the season came down from the hinterland and overflowed the Co-hong warehouses that lined the banks of the river.

Then Jin-qua arrived, by night. In secret.

“Hola, Tai-Pan,” he said as he entered Struan’s private dining room, leaning on the arms of his personal slaves. “Good you see my. Wat for you no come see my, heya?” The slaves helped him sit, bowed and then left. The old man seemed older than ever, his skin more lined. But his eyes were young and very wise. He was wearing a long, silk gown of pale blue, and blue silk trousers and soft slippers on his tiny feet. A light silk jacket of green, padded with down, protected him from the damp and chills of the spring night. And on his head was a hat of many colors.

“Hola, Jin-qua. Mandarin Longstaff plenty mad hav got. No want this piece Tai-Pan see frien’. Ayee yah! Tea?” Struan had deliberately received him hi his shirt-sleeves, for he wanted Jin-qua to know at once that he was very angry because of Wu Fang Choi’s coin. Tea was poured and servants appeared carrying trays of delicacies that Struan had especially ordered.

Struan helped Jin-qua and himself to some dim sum.

“Chow plenty werry good,” Jin-qua said, sitting very straight in his chair.

“Chow werry bad,” Struan said apologetically, knowing it was the best in Canton. A servant came in with coal and put it on the fire, adding a few sticks of fragrant wood. The delectable perfume of the wood filled the small room.

Jin-qua ate the dim sum fastidiously and sipped the Chinese wine, which was heated—as were all Chinese wines—to just the correct temperature. He was warmed by the wine and even more by the knowledge that his protégé Struan was behaving perfectly, as a subtle Chinese adversary would. By serving dim sum at night, when tradition dictated that it be eaten only in the early afternoon, Struan was not only further indicating his displeasure, but was testing him to see how much he knew about Struan’s encounter with Wu Kwok.

And though Jin-qua was delighted that his training—or rather the training performed by his granddaughter, T’chung May-may—was bearing such delicate fruit, he was beset with vague misgivings. That’s the infinite risk you take, he told himself, when you train a barbarian into civilized ways. The student may learn too well, and before you know it, the student will rule the teacher. Be cautious.

So Jin-qua did not do what he had intended to do: select the smallest of the shrimp-filled steamed doughs and offer it in midair, repeating what Struan had done on the ship of Wu Kwok, which would have indicated with exquisite sublety that he knew all that had happened in Wu Kwok’s cabin. Instead, he picked one of the deep-fried doughs and put it on his own plate and ate it placidly. He knew that it was much wiser, for the present, to hide the knowledge. Later, if he wished, he could help the Tai-Pan avoid the danger he was in and show him how he could extricate himself from disaster.

And as he munched the dim sum he reflected on the utter stupidity of the mandarins and the Manchus. Fools! Contemptible, dung-eating, motherless fools! May their penises shrivel and their bowels fill with worms!

Everything had been planned and executed so ingeniously, he thought. We maneuvered the barbarians into a war—at a time and place of our own choosing—which solved their economic problems, but in defeat we conceded nothing of importance. Trade continued as before, through Canton only, and thus the Middle Kingdom was still protected from the encroaching European barbarians. And we yielded only a flyblown malodorous island which, with the first coolie to set foot on shore, we had already begun to retrieve.

And Jin-qua considered the perfection of the scheme which had exploited the emperor’s greed and his fear that Ti-sen was a threat to the throne, and had made the emperor himself destroy his own kinsman. A divine jest! Ti-sen had been so beautifully trapped, and so cleverly selected so far in advance. The ideal tool to save the emperor’s and China’s face. But after years of planning and patience and a complete victory over the enemies of the Middle Kingdom, that greed-infected, harlot-sniffing lump of dogmeat—the emperor—had had the fantastic and incredible stupidity to repudiate the perfect treaty!

Now the barbarian British are angry, rightly so. They have lost face before their devil queen and her besotted intimates. And now we’ll have to begin all over again, and the ancient purpose of the Middle Kingdom—to civilize the barbarian earth, to bring it out of the Darkness into the Light, one world under one government and one emperor—is delayed.

Jin-qua did not mind beginning again, for he knew that time was centuries. He was only a little irritated that the time had been put back unnecessarily, and a superb opportunity wasted.

First Canton, he told himself. First our beloved Canton must be ransomed. How little can I settle for? How little? . . .

Struan was seething. He had expected Jin-qua to pick one of the shrimp-filled doughs and offer it to him in midair. Does that mean he does na yet know that Wu Kwok passed the first coin? Surely he realizes the significance of the dim sum? Watch your step, laddie.

“Plenty boom-boom ship, heya?” Jin-qua said at length.

“Plenty more Longstaff hav, never mind. Werry bad when mandarin mad hav.”

“Ayee yah,” Jin-qua said. “Mandarin Ching-so werry mad hav. Emperor say all same Ti-sen.” He drew his finger across his throat and laughed, “

Phftt! Wen L’ngst’ff no go way, hav war—no hav trade.”

“Hav war, take trade. Longstaff plenty mad hav.”

“How muchee tael help plenty mad, heya?” Jin-qua put his hands into the sleeves of his green silk coat, leaned back and waited patiently.

“Doan knowa. Maybe hundred lac.”

Jin-qua knew that a hundred could be settled amicably at fifty. And fifty lacs for Canton was not unreasonable when she was helpless. Even so he feigned horror. Then he heard Struan say, “Add hundred lac. Tax.”

“Add hundred wat?” he said, his horror real.

“Tax my,” Struan said bluntly. “No like tax on head cow chillo slave my, chillo little my. Mandarin Ching-so werry plenty bad.”

“Tax on head chillo? Ayee yah! Plenty werry bad god-rottee mandarin, werry!” Jin-qua said, pretending astonishment. He thanked his joss that he had heard about the reward and had already settled that matter quickly and adroitly, and had sent word through an intermediary to the English whore—and thus to Struan—just in case someone had attempted to collect the reward for May-may and the children before they were in safety.

“Jin-qua fix! Doan worry, heya? Jin-qua fix for frien’ in few days. Werry godrottee mandarin Ching-so. Bad, bad, bad.”

“Plenty bad,” Struan said. “Hard fix maybe, cost many lac. So no add one hundred lac. Add two hundred!”

“Jin-qua fix for frien’,” Jin-qua said soothingly. “No add one, no add two! Fix plenty quick-quick.” He smiled happily at the perfect solution he had already instigated. “Werry easy. Put other name on Ching-so list. One-Eye Mass’er cow chillo, and two cow chillo little.”

“What?” Struan exploded.

“Wat bad, heya?” What in the world is the matter? Jin-qua wondered. He had arranged a simple exchange—a worthless barbarian woman and two worthless girl children belonging to the man committed to Struan’s destruction in return for the safety of his own family. What’s wrong with that? How is it possible to understand the barbarian mind?

In God’s name, Struan was thinking, how can you understand these heathen devils? “No like list,” he said. “Na chillo my na chillo One-Eye Devil, na chillo any. Werry godrottee bad.”

Kidnaping certainly is very, very terrible, Jin-qua thought in agreement, for he was in constant fear that he or his children or his children’s children would be kidnaped and held for ransom. But some names have to go on the list in replacement. Whose? “Jin-qua not put cow chillo on list, never mind. I fix. No worry, heya?”

Struan said, “Add two hundred tax my, never mind.”

Jin-qua sipped his tea. “Tomollow Co-hong talkee L’ngs’ff, can?”

“Ching-so can.”

“Ching-so add Co-hong, heya?”

“Tomollow Ching-so can. Next day Co-hong can. Talkee how muchee tael. While talkee, we buy sell tea all same.”

“Finish talkee, trade can.”

“Talkee trade all same.”

Jin-qua argued and begged and tore his hair and eventually conceded. He had already obtained Ching-so’s agreement to begin trade immediately and had handed over half the agreed amount of squeeze—the other half to be due in six months. And he had already suggested the face-saving device that Ching-so would use to protect himself from the wrath of the emperor for disobeying orders: that the negotiations were to be protracted until the last ship was filled with tea and the last tael of bullion paid, at which time Ching-so would fall on the Settlement and burn and loot it and send fire ships against the barbarian merchantmen and drive them out of the Pearl River. Trading would lull the barbarians into a false sense of security and give time for the obviously necessary Chinese reinforcements to arrive. Thus the barbarians would be defenseless and Ching-so would win a great victory.

Jin-qua marveled at the beauty of the plan. For he knew that the barbarians would not be helpless. And that looting and burning the Settlement would infuriate them. And that they would instantly sail north from Canton and stab at the Pei Ho gate to Peking again. And that the instant the fleet appeared at the Pei Ho, the emperor would again sue for peace and the treaty would be in force again. The perfect treaty. It would be so because the Tai-Pan wanted the “perfect” treaty and “Obvious Penis” was only the Tai-Pan’s dog.

And thus I avoid having to ransom our beloved Canton now, and avoid paying the other half of the squeeze, for of course Ching-so and his family are finessed into coffins underground where they belong—may that odious Fukienese usurer be impotent for the last few months that remain to him on earth! The “ransom” that will have to be found to placate the emperor now and the barbarians later will come from the profit on this season’s tea and silk and opium. And leave plenty of profit besides. How glorious and exciting life is!

“No worry chillo, heya? Jin-qua fix.”

Struan got up. “Add two hundred, tax my.” And he added sweetly, “Jin-qua say Ching-so: ‘Touch one hair cow chillo my, Tai-Pan bring fire-breathing sea dragon my. Eat Canton, never mind! ’ ”

Jin-qua smiled but shivered at the threat. He cursed all the way home. Now I’ll have to employ more spies and guards and spend more money to protect Struan’s children, not only against obvious duck-fornicating kidnapers but also against any jail offal who stupidly thinks he can make an easy dollar. Woe, woe, woe!

And once in the safety of his home, he kicked his favorite concubine and had thumbscrews put on two female slaves and then he felt much better. Later he slipped put of his house and went to a secret meeting place where he put on the scarlet ceremonial robes of his office. He was the Tai Shan Chu—the Supreme Leader of the Hung Mun Tong in South China. With lesser long leaders, he heard the first report from the newly formed Hong Kong lodge. And confirmed Gordon Chen as its leader.

So, to the ecstatic delight and relief of the Chinese merchants and the traders, trade began. All the soldiers, except a token force of fifty men, were sent back to Hong Kong. The fleet returned to home harbor in Hong Kong. But H.M.S.

Nemesis continued to patrol the river, surveying the approaches to Canton and charting all the waterways it found.

And the Settlement and the sea roads at Whampoa exploded with frantic competition day and night. The merchantmen had to be prepared for the delicate teas: the holds repainted and the bilges cleaned and made wholesome. Stores for the homeward voyage had to be found. Allocation of cargo space had to be settled.

The traders who owned no ships of their own—and there were many—descended on the shipowners and fought for choice cargo space on the best ships. Exorbitant freight rates were charged and gladly paid.

The Noble House and Brock and Sons had always bought teas and silks and spices on their own account. But being canny, the Struans and Brocks also carried cargo for others and acted not only as shippers but as brokers and bankers and commission agents, both inbound to England and outbound. Outbound they would carry cargo for others—cotton goods, cotton yarn and spirits, mostly, but anything and everything that the industrial might of England produced, and anything that a trader thought would be marketable. Sometimes ships from other England companies would be consigned to them and they would accept the responsibility for selling the cargo, whatever it was, in Asia on commission, and finding an inbound cargo on commission. Outward bound the only cargo the Struans and Brocks bought was opium, cannon, gunpowder, and shot.

Bullion began to change hands, and Struan and Brock made small fortunes by providing the cash for other traders and taking bank paper on London. But the cash was to be delivered only when a ship and its cargo had passed the Bogue safely and was a day out into open sea.

This year Struan overrode Robb and kept all the cargo space of

Blue Cloud for The Noble House alone, and all the teas and the silks for the house alone. Four hundred and fifty-nine thousand pounds of tea, gently crated in fifty-pound cedar-lined boxes, and five and a half thousand bales of silks began to fill the holds of

Blue Cloud, around the clock: six hundred thousand pounds sterling if delivered safely in London Town, if she was first; one hundred and sixty thousand pounds of profit, if she was first.

And this year Brock kept the whole cargo of

Gray Witch. She was to carry half a million pounds of tea and four thousand bales of silk. Like Struan, Brock knew that he would not sleep easily until the mail packet, six months ahead, brought the news of her safe arrival—and safe sale.

Longstaff was flushed with pride that he, and he alone, had reopened trade so easily and brought the Viceroy Ching-so personally to the bargaining table. “But, my dear Admiral, why else did I send away the three deputations, what? Matter of face. Got to understand face and the heathen mentality. Negotiations and trade almost without firing a shot! And trade, my dear sir, trade is the lifeblood of England.”

He canceled the investing of Canton, which further infuriated the army and the navy. And he repeated what Struan reminded him: that he, Longstaff, had said in the past; “We must be magnanimous, gentlemen, to the defeated. And protect the meek. The trade of England can’t swim on the blood of the helpless, what? Negotiations will be concluded in a few days and Asia stabilized once and for all.”

But the negotiations were not concluded. Struan knew that there could be no conclusion at Canton. Only at Peking, or at the gate of Peking. And he wanted no conclusion yet. Only trade. The vital thing was to get the season’s teas and silks and dispose of the season’s opium. With the profit of the year’s trading all the merchant houses would recoup their loses. Profit would encourage them to hold on for another year and to expand. The only place to expand was Hong Kong. Profit and trade would buy vital time. Time to build warehouses and wharves and homes in their island haven. Time until the summer winds made the stab north again possible. Time to weather any storm until the next trading season next year. Time and the money to make Hong Kong safe—and the stepping-stone into Asia.

So Struan soothed away Longstaff’s impatience and kept the negotiations simmering and slammed into competition with Brock for the best of the teas and the silks, and the best of the shipping business. Eighteen clippers had to be filled and dispatched. Eighteen crews and captains had to be dealt with.

Brock got the

Gray Witch away first and she tore downstream, her holds bulging. The final hatch of

Blue Cloud was battened down half a day later and she charged in pursuit. The race was on.

Gorth ranted and raved because his ship had gone with a new captain, but Brock was inflexible. “It be no good with thy wound and thee be needed here.” So Gorth planned against the time that he would be Tai-Pan.

The Tai-Pan, by God. He went back aboard

Nemesis. Since the ship had steamed into harbor he had spent every spare moment in her, learning how to sail her, how to fight her, what she would do and what she would not do. For he knew, and his father knew, that

Nemesis meant the death of sail—and, with joss, the death of The Noble House. Both knew of Struan’s abhorrence of steamers, and though they realized that the transition from sail to steam would be hazardous, they decided to gamble heavily on the future. The same wind and the same tide that

Nemesis had beaten coming into Hong Kong harbor later carried the mail packet back to England. In the ship was a letter from Brock to his son Morgan. The letter canceled two of the clippers he had ordered and substituted the first two keels of Brock and Sons’ new steamship line. The Orient Queen Line.

“Tai-Pan,” May-may said in the darkness of their bedroom and in the comfort of their bed, “can I go back to Macao? For a few days? I take the children with me.”

“Are you tired of the Settlement?”

“No. But difficult here without all clotheses and children’s toys. Just for few days, heya?”

“I’ve already told you about the rewards, and I—”

She stopped his words with a kiss and moved closer into his warmth. “You smell so nice.”

“And you.”

“That Ma-ree Sin-clair. I liked her.”

“She’s—she’s got a lot of courage.”

“It was strange you sent woman. Na like you.”

“There was nae time to send anyone else.”

“Her Cantonese and Mandarin is fantastical good.”

“That’s a secret. You must na tell anyone.”

“Of course, Tai-Pan.”

The darkness thickened for both of them and they were lost in their own thoughts.

“Have you always slept without clotheses?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“How for do you na get chills?”

“I dinna ken. The Highlands are colder than here. As a bairn I was very poor.”

“What’s a bairn?”

“Child.”

She smiled. “I like to think of you as child. But you’re na poor now. And two of the three things are done. Aren’t they?”

“What things?” he asked, conscious of the perfume of her, and the touch of the silk that enclosed her.

“The first was to get the bullion, remember? The second to get Hong Kong safe. What was third?”

She turned onto her side and moved one of her legs over his and he lay motionless. But he felt the touch of her leg through the silk and waited, his throat parched. “Hong Kong’s na safe yet,” he said.

Her hand began to move over him. “With trade this year it is isn’t it? So the second will soon be done.”

“With joss.”

His hand loosened her sleeping gown without haste and his hand began to move over her. He helped her out of her sleeping gown and lit the candle and moved the silk sheets aside. He looked at her, filled with the wonder of her—the smooth lucency of her, like molten porcelain.

“It’s exciting—you looking at me, knowing I please you,” she said.

And then they loved, without haste.

Later she said, “When do you return to Hong Kong?”

“In ten days.” Ten days, he thought. Then the picking of Wu Kwok’s men at Aberdeen, and the next night the ball.

“Shall I go with you?”

“Aye.”

“Will the new house be ready then?”

“Aye. You’ll be safe there.” His arm was resting across her loins and he ran the tip of his tongue over her cheek and onto her throat.

“It will be good to live on Hong Kong. Then I will be able to see more of my teacher. It’s months since I had good talk with Gordon. Perhaps we could have weekly lessons again? I need to learn more and better words. How is he?”

“Fine. I saw him just before I left.”

After a pause she said gently. “It’s na good to have fight with your number-one son.”

“I know.”

“I burn three candles that your anger flies to Java and you forgive him. When you forgive him I would like to meet him.”

“You will. In time.”

“Can I go to Macao before Hong Kong? Please. I would be very careful. I would leave the children here. They would be safe here.”

“Why’s Macao so important?”

“I need things and—it’s secret, a nice one, a surprise secret. Only few days? Please. You could send Mauss and some of the men if you wish.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Na dangerous now,” May-may said, knowing that their names were off the list, and filled with astonishment again that Struan had not clapped his hands with delight—as she had—when he had told her of Jin-qua’s solution to the list. Ayeee yah, she thought, Europeans are very strange. Very. “Nae danger now. Even so I would be very careful.”

“What’s so important? What secret?”

“Surprise secret. I tell you very soon. But secret now.”

“I’ll think about it. Now sleep.”

May-may relaxed contentedly, knowing that in a few days she would be going to Macao, knowing that there are many ways for a woman to get her way with her man—good or bad, clever or stupid, strong or weak. My ball gown will be the bestest, the very bestest, she told herself excitedly. My Tai-Pan will be proud of me. So very proud. Proud enough to marry me and make me his Supreme Lady.

And her last thought before sweet sleep took her was of the child that was budding in her womb. Only a few weeks agrowing. My child will be a son, she promised herself. A son for him to be proud of. Two wonderful surprise secrets for him to be proud of.

“I dinna ken, Vargas,” Struan said peevishly. “You’d better take this up with Robb. He knows the figures better than I.”

They were in Struan’s private office, poring over the ledger. The windows of the office were open to the hum of Canton, and the flies were swarming. It was a warm spring day and already the stench had grown appreciably from its winter low.

“Jin-qua is very anxious to have our final order, senhor, and—”

“I know that. But until he gives us his final order of opium we canna do that accurately. We’re offering the best price on tea and the best on opium, so what’s the delay?”

“I don’t know, senhor,” Vargas said. He did not ask, as he would have liked to, why The Noble House was paying ten percent more for Jin-qua’s teas than other traders, and selling the best Indian Padwa opium to Jin-qua at ten percent under the current market price.

“Devil take it!” Struan said, and poured some tea. He wished he hadn’t allowed May-may to go to Macao. He had sent Ah Sam with her, and Mauss and some of his men to watch over them. She had been due to return yesterday but was still not back. Of course that was not unusual—the passage from Macao to the Canton Settlement could never be judged exactly. No sea voyage could. Na when you have to depend on the wind, he thought sardonically. If she was in a stinkpot steamer, that would be different. Steamers can hit schedules and forget winds and forget tides, godrot them.

“Aye?” he snapped harshly at a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Struan,” Horatio said, opening the door. “His Excellency would like you to wait on him.”

“What’s amiss?”

“Perhaps His Excellency should tell you, sir. He’s in his quarters.”

Struan closed the ledger. “We’ll take this up with Robb as soon as we get back, Vargas. You’re coming to the ball?”

“I’d get no peace for the next ten years, senhor, if my lady, my son and my eldest daughter weren’t there.”

“Are you fetching them from Macao?”

“No, senhor. They’re being escorted to Hong Kong by friends. I’ll go direct from here.”

“As soon as Mauss returns, send me word.” Struan walked out and Horatio fell into step.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Struan, for Mary’s gift.”

“What?”

“The ball gown, sir.”

“Oh. Have you seen what she’s had made?”

“Oh no, sir. She left for Macao the day after the land sale. I got a letter from her yesterday. She sends her best to you.” Horatio knew that the gift of the gown gave Mary a very good chance to win the prize. Except for Shevaun. If only Shevaun would get sick! Nothing serious, just enough to eliminate her on

the day. Then Mary would win the thousand guineas. With that they could do marvelous things! Go home for the season. Live in splendor. Oh God, let her win the prize! I’m glad she’s away from Hong Kong while I’m here, he told himself. Then she’s out of Glessing’s reach. Damned man. I wonder if he’ll really ask for her hand. What cheek! He and Culum . . . ah, Culum . . . poor Culum.

Horatio was a step behind Struan as they climbed the stairs so he did not have to hide his disquiet. Poor, brave Culum. He remembered how strange Culum had been the day after the land sale. He and Mary had sought Culum out and had found him aboard

Resting Cloud. Culum had asked them to stay to dinner, and every time they tried to bring the conversation around to the Tai-Pan, hoping to make peace between them, Culum had changed the subject. Then finally Culum had said, “Let’s forget my father, shall we? I have.”

“You mustn’t, Culum,” Mary had said. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“We’re enemies now, Mary, like it or not. I don’t think he’ll change, and until he does, I won’t.”

Poor, brave Culum, Horatio thought. I know what it’s like to hate a father.

“Tai-Pan,” he said as they reached the landing, “Mary and I were terribly sorry about what happened over the knoll. But even sorrier about what’s happened between you and Culum. Culum’s, well, become quite a friend, and—”

“Thank you for the thought, Horatio, but I’d be glad if you’d na mention it again.”

Horatio and Struan crossed the landing in silence and went into Longstaff’s anteroom. It was large and rich. A huge candelabrum dominated the ornate ceiling and the gleaming conference table underneath it. Longstaff sat at the head of the table, the admiral and General Lord Rutledge-Cornhill flanking him.

“Day, gentlemen.”

“Good of you to join us, Dirk,” Longstaff said. “Take a seat, my dear fellow. I thought your advice would be valuable.”

“What’s amiss, Your Excellency?”

“Well, er, I asked Mr. Brock to join us too. It can wait till he comes, then I don’t have to repeat myself, what? Sherry?”

“Thank you.”

The door opened and Brock strode in. His caution increased when he saw Struan and the resplendent officers.

“You be wanting me, Yor Excellency?”

“Yes. Please take a seat.”

Brock nodded at Struan. “Day, Dirk. Day, gents,” he added, knowing it would infuriate the general. He was grimly amused by the cold nods he received in return.

“I asked you two to join us,” Longstaff began, “well, apart from the fact that you’re the leaders of the traders, what?—well, your counsel would be valuable. It seems that a group of anarchists has settled on Hong Kong.”

“What?” the general erupted.

“ ’S truth!” Brock said, equally surprised.

“Contemptible anarchists, can you imagine that? Seems that even the heathen are infected by those devils. Yes, if we don’t watch out, Hong Kong will become a hotbed. Blasted nuisance, what?”

“What sort of anarchists?” Struan asked. Anarchists meant trouble. Trouble interfered with trade.

“This, er, what was the word, Horatio? ‘Tang’? ‘Tung’?”

“ ‘Tong,’ sir.”

“Well, this long’s already operating under our very noses. Dreadful.”

“Operating in what way?” Struan asked impatiently.

“Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning, sir,” the admiral said.

“Good idea. At the meeting today the Viceroy Ching-so was most upset. He said the Chinese authorities had just learned that these anarchists, a secret society, have set up their headquarters in that festering eyesore, Tai Ping Shan. The anarchists have many, many names and they’re—well, you’d better tell them, Horatio.”

“Ching-so said that this was a group of revolutionary fanatics who are committed to overthrow the emperor,” Horatio began. “He gave His Excellency half a hundred names that the society went under—Red Party, Red Brotherhood, Heaven and Earth Society, and so on—it’s almost impossible to translate some of the names into English. Some call it just the ‘Hung Mun’ or ‘Hung Tong’ —‘tong’ meaning a ‘secret brotherhood.’ ” He collected his thoughts. “In any event, these men are anarchists of the worst order. Thieves, pirates, revolutionaries. For centuries the authorities have tried to stamp them out, without success. There are supposed to be a million members in South China. They’re organized in lodges and their initiation ceremonies are barbaric. They foster rebellion under any pretext and feed on the fear of their brothers. They demand ‘protection money.’ Every prostitute, merchant, peasant, landowner, coolie—everyone is subject to paying them squeeze. If no squeeze is forthcoming, then death or mutilation follows quickly. Every member pays dues—rather like a trade union. Wherever there’s discontent, the tong whips the discontented into rebellion. They’re fanatics. They rape, torture and spread like a plague.”

“Have you ever heard of Chinese secret societies?” Struan asked. “Before Ching-so mentioned it?”

“No, sir.”

“Anarchists be devils, right enough,” Brock said worriedly. “That be the sort of devilment the Chinee’d go for.”

Longstaff pushed a small, red triangular banner across the table. There were two Chinese characters on it. “The viceroy said that the triangle is always their symbol. The characters on this flag mean ‘Hong Kong.’ In any event we’ve trouble on our hands, that’s certain. Ching-so wants to send bannermen and mandarins into Tai Ping Shan and go through it with a sword.”

“You did na agree?” Struan said.

“Good God, no. We’re having no interference on our island, by Jove. I told him we’d have no truck with anarchists under our flag and we’d deal with them promptly, in our own way. Now, what should we do?”

“Throw every man jack Oriental off Hong Kong and be done with it,” the admiral said.

“That’s impossible, sir.” Struan said. “And na to our advantage.”

“Yus,” Brock said. “We’ve to have laborers and coolies and servants. We needs ’em right enough.”

“There’s a simple answer,” the general said, taking a pinch of snuff. He was a red-faced, gray-haired bull of a man with a well-used face. “Issue an order that anyone belonging to this—what did you call it, tong?—will be hanged.” He sneezed. “I’ll see the order’s carried out.”

“You canna hang a Chinese, M’Lord, just for wanting to throw out a foreign dynasty. That’s against English law,” Struan said.

“Foreign dynasty or not,” the admiral said, “fostering insurrection against the emperor of a ‘friendly power’—and he’ll be friendly soon enough, by God, if we’re allowed to fulfill the function we were ordered here by the Government for—is against international law. And English law. Look at those scalawag Chartists, by God.”

“We dinna hang them for being Chartists. Only when they’re caught rebelling or breaking the law, and that’s right!” Struan glowered at the admiral. “English law says man has a right to free speech. And free political association.”

“But not associations that promote rebellion!” the general said. “You approve of rebelling against legal authority?”

“That’s so ridiculous I’ll na give it the courtesy of an answer!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Longstaff said. “Of course we can’t hang anyone who is a—whatever it is. But equally we can’t have Hong Kong festering with anarchists, what? Or poxy trade-unionist ideas.”

“It could be a ploy of Ching-so’s to throw us off guard.” Struan looked across at Brock. “Have you ever heard of the tongs?”

“No. But I be thinking that if the Triangs squeeze all, then they be squeezing trade an’ soon they be squeezing us’n.”

The general petulantly flicked some nonexistent dust off his immaculate scarlet uniform tunic. “This obviously comes under the province of the military, Your Excellency. Why not issue a proclamation outlawing them? And we’ll do the rest. Namely, apply the rules we’ve learned in India. Offer a reward for information. Natives are always ready to sell out rival factions at the toss of a guinea. We make an example of the first dozen and then you have no more trouble.”

“You canna apply Indian rules here,” Struan said.

“You’ve no experience in administration, my dear sir, so you can hardly express an opinion. Natives are natives and that’s the end to it.” The general glanced at Longstaff. “This is a simple matter for the military, sir. As Hong Kong will soon be stabilized as a military cantonment, it will be in our sphere. Issue a proclamation outlawing them and we’ll see justice done.”

The admiral snorted. “I’ve said a thousand times that Hong Kong should come under the jurisdiction of the senior service. If we don’t command the sea-lanes, Hong Kong’s dead. Therefore the navy’s position is paramount. This would come under our jurisdiction.”

“Armies settle wars, Admiral—as I’ve mentioned repeatedly. Land battles finish wars. Certainly the navy slaughtered Bonaparte’s fleets and starved France. But we still had to finish the conflict once and lor all. As we did at Waterloo.”

“Without Trafalgar there’d have been no Waterloo.”

“A moot point, my dear Admiral. But take Asia. Soon we’ll have the French and Dutch and Spanish and Russians on our necks encroaching our rightful leadership of this area. Yes, you can dominate the sea-lanes, and thank God you do, but unless Hong Kong is militarily impregnable, then England has no base either to protect her fleets or to jump off from against the enemy.”

“The prime function of Hong Kong, M’Lord, is a trade emporium for Asia,” Struan said.

“Oh, I understand the importance of trade, my good man,” the general said testily. “This is an argument about strategy and hardly concerns you.”

“Weren’t for trade,” Brock said, his face reddening, “there’d be no reason for armies and fleets.”

“Poppycock, my good man. I’ll have you know—”

“Strategy or no,” Struan said loudly, “Hong Kong is a colony and comes under the Foreign Secretary, and this will be decided by the Crown. His Excellency has acted wisely in this matter and I’m sure he feels that both the Royal Navy and the queen’s armies have a vital place in Hong Kong’s future. As a Royal Naval dockyard and military base and trade emporium”—he kicked Brock surreptitiously under the table—“and as a free port its future is assured.”

Brock covered a wince and added quickly, “Oh yus indeed! A free port’ll mean huge brass for the Crown, that it will. An’ revenue for the best dockyards and barracks in the world. His Excellency’s got all thy interests at heart, gents. The army be very important and the Royal Navy. An open port’ll work to all thy advantage. Most of all the queen’s, God bless her.”

“Quite right, Mr. Brock,” Longstaff said. “Of course we need both the navy and the army. Trade’s the lifeblood of England and free trade the coming thing. It’s to all our interests to have Hong Kong prosperous.”

“His Excellency wants to open up Asia to all civilized nations without favor,” Struan said, choosing the words carefully. “How better than from a free port? Guarded by the elite forces of the Crown.”

“I disapprove of letting foreigners grow fat off our backs,” the admiral said curtly, and Struan smiled to himself as the bait was taken. “We fight the wars and win them and have to fight more because the peace is always fouled in civilian conference. The pox on foreigners, I say.”

“A noteworthy sentiment, Admiral,” Longstaff said as curtly, “but not a very practical one. And as to ‘civilian conference,’ it’s more than a little fortunate that diplomats take the long-term point of view. War, after all, is only the long arm of diplomacy. When all else fails.”

“And ‘diplomacy’ has failed here,” the general said, “so the sooner we land in force in China and implant English law and order throughout the land, the better.”

“Diplomacy has not failed, my dear General. Negotiations proceed cautiously and well. Oh, by the way, there are three hundred millions of Chinese in China.”

“One English bayonet, sir, is worth a thousand native spears. Goddamme, we control India with a handful of men and we can do the same here—and look what a benefit our rule in India has brought those savages, eh? Show the flag in strength, that’s what should be done. At once.”

“China is one nation, M’Lord,” Struan said. “Not dozens like you have in India. The same rules canna apply.”

“Without safe sea-lanes the army couldn’t hold India for a week,” the admiral said.

“Ridiculous! Why, we could—”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Longstaff said wearily, “we’re discussing the anarchists. What’s your counsel, Admiral?”

“Throw every Oriental off the island. If you want workers, then select a thousand, or two thousand—however many you need on the island—and exclude all others.”

“M’Lord?”

“I’ve already given my opinion, sir.”

“Oh yes. Mr. Brock?”

“I thinks with thee, Excellency, that Hong Kong be a free port and we needs the Chinee an’ should deal with Triangs ourselves. I thinks with the general: Hang any of these Triangs wot be caught inciting rebellion. An’ with the admiral: that we doan want any anti-emperor secret treason on the island. Outlaw ’em, yus. An’ I thinks with thee, Dirk, that it baint lawful to hang ’em if they be acting peaceable. But any wot bats an eyeball and be caught as a Triang—lash ’em, brand ’em and toss ’em out forever.”

“Dirk?” Longstaff asked.

“I agree with Mr. Brock. But no lashing and no branding. Those belong in the Dark Ages.”

“From what I’ve seen of these heathens,” the general said distastefully, “they’re still in the Dark Ages. Of course they have to be punished if they belong to an outlawed group. The lash is an ordinary punishment. Set it at fifty lashes. And branding on the cheek is correct English legal punishment for certain felonies. Brand them too. But better hang the first dozen we catch and they’ll evaporate like dervishes.”

“Mark them permanently,” Struan flared, “and you never give them a chance to become good citizens again.”

“Good citizens don’t band into secret anarchistic societies, my good sir,” the general said. “But then, only a gentleman would appreciate the value of that advice.”

Struan felt the blood soar to his face. “The next time you make a remark like that, M’Lord, I’ll send some seconds to call on you and you’ll find a bullet between your eyes.”

There was an aghast silence. White with shock, Longstaff rapped the table. “I forbid either of you to proceed with this line of talk. It is forbidden.” He took out his lace kerchief and wiped away the sudden sweat on his forehead. His mouth tasted dry and sour.

“I quite agree, Your Excellency,” the general said. “And I suggest further that this problem is solely one for the

authorities to decide: you, in conjunction with the admiral and myself, should decide this sort of matter. It’s not in the—in the domain of tradespeople.”

“Thee’s so full of wind, M’Lord General,” Brock said, “that if thee farted here in Canton, it’d blow the gate off’n Tower of London!”

“Mr. Brock!” Longstaff began. “You will not—”

The general slammed to his feet. “I’ll thank you, my good sir, to keep that sort of remark to yourself.”

“I baint yor good sir. I be a China trader, by God, and the sooner thee knows it the better. The time be gone forever when the like of me’s to suck thy arse ’cause of a poxy title which like as not were gifted first to a king’s whore, a king’s bastard, or buyed by knife in a king’s back.”

“By God, I demand satisfaction. My seconds will call on you today!”

“They will do no such thing, M’Lord,” Longstaff said, crashing the flat of his hand onto the table. “If there is any trouble between either of you I’ll send you both home under guard and impeach you before the Privy Council. I’m Her Majesty’s plenipotentiary in Asia and I am the law. Goddamme, it’s most unseemly. You will each apologize to the other! I order you to. Immediately.”

The admiral hid his grim amusement. Horatio looked from face to face with disbelief. Brock was aware that Longstaff had the power to hurt him and he wanted no duel with the general. And, too, he was furious for allowing himself to be drawn into open hostility. “I apologize, M’Lord. For calling thee a bagful of fart.”

“And I apologize because I’m ordered to do so.”

“I think we’ll close this meeting for the present,” Longstaff said, greatly relieved. “Yes. Thank you for your advice, gentlemen. We’ll postpone a decision. Give us all time to think, what?”

The general put on his bearskin helmet, saluted, and made for the door, spurs and sword clinking.

“Oh, General, by the way,” Struan said casually, “I heat that the navy’s challenged the army to a prizefight.”

The general stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob, and bristled as he remembered the remarks the admiral purportedly had been making about his soldiers. “Yes. I’m afraid it won’t be much of a match though.”

“Why, General?” the admiral said irately, remembering the remarks that the general purportedly had been making about his jolly jack-tars.

“Because I’d say our man’ll win, M’Lord. Without too much of an effort.”

“Why na have the match the day of the ball?” Struan suggested. “We would deem it an honor and we’d be glad to put up a purse. Say fifty guineas.”

“That’s very generous, Struan, but I don’t think the army’ll be ready by then.”

“The day of the ball, by God,” the general said, purple. “A hundred guineas on our man!”

“Done,” said the admiral and Brock simultaneously.

“A hundred to both of you!” The general turned on his heel and stalked out.

Longstaff poured himself some sherry. “Admiral?”

“No, thank you, sir. I think I’ll get back to my ship.” The admiral picked up his sword, nodded to Struan and Brock, saluted and left.

“Sherry, gentlemen? Horatio, perhaps you’d do the honors?”

“Certainly, Your Excellency,” Horatio said, glad to have something to do.

“Thankee.” Brock emptied the glass and held it out to be refilled. “That be tasting good. You’ve a excellent palate, Your Excellency. Eh, Dirk lad?”

“I really must remonstrate with you, Mr. Brock. Unforgivable to say such things. Lord—”

“Yus, sir,” Brock said, acting the penitent. “You was right. I were in the wrong. We be lucky to have thee in charge. When be thee issuing the proclamation about the free port?”

“Well, er, there’s no hurry. These damned anarchists have to be dealt with.”

“Why not deal with them both together?” Struan said. “As soon as you get back to Hong Kong. Why not give our Chinese British subjects the benefit of the doubt? Deport them, but no flogging and no branding to begin with. That’s fair, eh, Tyler?”

“If thee says so and His Excellency agrees,” Brock replied expansively. Trade had been huge.

Gray Witch was well away and in the lead. Buildings were going up at Happy Valley. There was open hostility between Struan and Culum. And now Hong Kong was to be a free port. Aye, Dirk, lad, he told himself ecstatically, you be having yor uses still. You be smart as a whip. Free port be making up for all thy devilment. An’ in two year our steamships be driving thee into bankruptcy. “Yus,” he added, “if thee both agrees. But soon you’ll be having to flog and brand.”

“I certainly hope not,” Longstaff said. “Disgusting business. Still, the law must be enforced and felons dealt with. An excellent solution, gentlemen, to the—what did you call them, Mr. Brock? Ah yes, Triads. We’ll call them Triads in future. Horatio, make a list in characters of the tong names His Excellency Ching-so gave us and we’ll post it with the proclamation. Take this down while I think of it: ‘All the above tongs are outlawed and will be known in future under the general name of “Triads.” The penalty for being a Triad is instant deportation and handing over to the Chinese authorities. The penalty for inciting overt rebellion against Her Britannic Majesty’s Government—or against His Highness, the Emperor of the Chinese—is hanging.’ ”