Tai-Pan

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

By Midsummer Day Happy Valley was in complete despair. The malaria had continued to spread but there was no pattern to the epidemic. Not everyone in the same house was infected. Not every house in the same area was touched.

Coolies would not come into Happy Valley until the sun was high, and they returned to Tai Ping Shan before dark. Struan and Brock and all the traders were at their wits’ end. There was nothing they could do—except move, and moving meant disaster. Staying could mean worse disaster. And though there were many who insisted it could not be the poisoned soil and polluted night air that brought malaria, only those who slept in the valley were afflicted. The God-fearing believed as Culum had believed, that the fever was the will of God, and they redoubled their petitions to the Almighty to protect them; the godless shrugged, though equally frightened, and said, “Joss.” The trickle of families back to the ships developed into a flood, and Queen’s Town became a ghost town.

But this despair did not grip Longstaff. He had returned from Canton last night in the flagship, flushed with success, and as he lived aboard her and had no intention of residing in Happy Valley, he knew he was out of reach of the poisonous night gases.

He had gained everything he had set out to get—and more.

The day after the investing of Canton had been launched the six million taels of ransom he had demanded were paid in full, and he had called off the attack. But he had ordered immediate preparations for full-scale war to the north. And this time there would be no stopping—not until the treaty was ratified. Within a few weeks the promised reinforcements from India would arrive. And then the armada would sail north once more to the Pei Ho—to Peking—and the Orient would be opened up once and for all.

“Yes, absolutely,” Longstaff chuckled. He was alone in his quarters in H.M.S.

Vengeance, admiring himself in a mirror. “You’re really quite clever, my dear fellow,” he told himself aloud. “Yes indeed. Much more clever than the Tai-Pan and he’s the personification of cleverness.” He put down the mirror and rubbed cologne on his face, then glanced at his fob watch. Struan was due in a few minutes. “Even so, no need to let your right hand know what your left’s doing, eh?” he chortled.

Longstaff could hardly believe that he had arranged the acquisition of the tea seeds so easily. At least, he reminded himself contentedly,

Horatio had arranged it. I wonder why the man’s so distraught over his sister’s wanting to marry Glessing. I would have thought that it was an excellent match. After all, she

is rather drab and mousy—though she did look stunning at the ball. But a damned good piece of luck he hates Glessing, what? And damned good piece of luck that he’s always hated the opium trade. And damned clever the way I put the idea into his mind—the hook baited with Glessing’s removal.

“ ’Pon me word, Horatio,” he had said a week ago at Canton, “damnable business all this opium trade, what? And all because we have to pay bullion for tea. Pity British India doesn’t

grow it, what? Then there’d be no need for opium. We’d simply outlaw it, save the heathen for better things, what?

Plant seeds of goodness among them instead of that damnable drug. Then the fleet could go home and we’d live in peace and quiet forevermore.”

Within two days Horatio had drawn him aside and had excitedly expounded the idea of getting tea seeds from the Chinese and sending them to India. He had been suitably astonished, but he had allowed Horatio to convince him of the idea’s potential.

“But, good Lord, Horatio,” he had said, “how on earth could you get the tea seeds?”

“This was my plan: I’ll speak privately to Viceroy Ching-so, Your Excellency. I’ll say that you’re a keen gardener, that you have the idea of turning Hong Kong into a garden. I’ll ask for fifty pounds each of mulberry seeds, cotton seeds, spring rice, camelias and other flowers as well as assorted teas. That will throw him off tea specifically.”

“But, Horatio, he’s a very clever man. He must know that few, if any, of these plants will grow in Hong Kong.”

“Of course. He’ll just put it down to barbarian stupidity.”

Horatio had been beside himself with excitement.

“But how would you get him to keep this secret? Ching-so would tell the mandarins—or the Co-hong—and they would surely tell the traders. You know how those damned pirates would move heaven and earth to prevent what you propose. They would surely see through your purpose. What about the Tai-Pan? Surely you see what you propose would put him out of business.”

“He’s rich enough now, Your Excellency. We have to stamp out the opium evil. It’s our duty.”

“Yes. But both Chinese and Europeans would be implacably against the plan. And when Ching-so realizes what you really have in mind, as he must—well, you’d never get the seeds then.”

Horatio had thought a moment. Then he had said, “Yes. But if I were to say that in return for the favor to me—for I just want you, my employer, to be happy with a surprise gift—I, who have to count the chests of silver and sign for them, well, I might not miss one chest—then he would be sure to keep it secret from everyone.”

“What’s the value of a chest?”

“Forty thousand taels of silver.”

“But the bullion belongs to Her Majesty’s Government, Horatio.”

“Of course. In your negotiations you could ‘privately’ insure that there is one extra chest which could not be official so the Crown would not lose. The seeds would be your gift to Her Majesty’s Government, sir. I would be honored if you would say that it was your idea. I’m sure it was. Something you said triggered it in my mind. And rightfully you should have the credit. After all, you are the plenipotentiary.”

“But if your plan succeeds, then you’re not only destroying the China traders, you’re destroying yourself. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Opium is a terrible vice, sir. Any risk we’d take is justified. But my job depends on your success, not on opium.”

“If this succeeds then too, you’re undermining the very foundations of Hong Kong.”

“But it will take many years for tea to thrive elsewhere. Hong Kong is safe in your time, sir. Hong Kong will still be the emporium of Asian trade. Who knows what will happen over the years?”

“Then I take it you want me to investigate the tea-growing possibilities with the Viceroy of India?”

“Who but you, Your Excellency, could bring the idea—your idea—to a perfect conclusion?”

He had reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded and had cautioned Horatio about the need for extreme secrecy.

The very next day Horatio had reported happily, “Ching-so agreed! He said that within six weeks to two months the chests of seeds would be delivered to Hong Kong, Your Excellency. Now all that remains to make everything perfect, for me, is for Glessing to be sent home immediately. I believe Mary’s just infatuated. Pity she can’t be given a year or so to make absolutely sure she knows what she’s doing, out of reach of his everyday influence . . .”

Longstaff chuckled again at youth’s transparent attempt at subtlety. He brushed his hair and opened the cabin door and went into the chart room. He searched through the papers in his safe and found the letter that Horatio had translated for him weeks ago. “No more need for this,” he said aloud. He tore up the paper, leaned out of a porthole, threw the pieces into the sea, and watched them float away.

Perhaps Glessing should be sent home. The girl is under age and Horatio’s in a very difficult position. Well, I’ll think about it. After the seeds are en route to India.

He saw Struan’s longboat approaching. Struan was sitting disconsolately amidships. The Tai-Pan’s gravity reminded Longstaff about the malaria. What the devil are we going to do about that, eh? Ruins the whole strategy of Hong Kong, what?

Struan was staring out the stern windows waiting patiently for Longstaff to finish.

“ ’Pon me word, Dirk, it was almost as though Ching-so knew we were going to demand six million taels. The ransom was instantly ready. To the penny. He was most apologetic for the raping of the Settlement. He said it was those damned anarchists—the Triads. He’s ordered a thorough investigation and hopes to be able to crush them once and for all. It seems that one of their leaders has fallen into his hands. If he can’t get anything out of the man, no one can. He promised to tell me at once the names of the Triads here.”

Struan turned from the windows and sat in a deep leather chair. “That’s very good, Will. I’d say you’ve done a remarkable job. Remarkable.”

Longstaff felt very pleased. “I must say things went according to plan. Oh, by the way. The information you sent about the pirate Wu Kwok. I would have preferred you to lead the flotilla, but the admiral was adamant. He went himself.”

“That’s his privilege. Let’s hope he does a good job tonight. I’ll rest a lot easier if that devil’s sunk.”

“Quite right.”

“Now all you have to do is to save Hong Kong, Will. Only you can do it,” Struan said, praying that once more he would make Longstaff put into effect the plan he had eventually devised as the only way to save the necks of all of them. “I think it advisable for you to order an immediate abandonment of Happy Valley.”

“Bless my soul, Dirk,” Longstaff cried, “if I do that, well—that’s tantamount to abandoning Hong Kong!”

“Queen’s Town’s malarial. At least Happy Valley is. So it has to be abandoned.”

Longstaff shakily took some snuff. “I can’t order the abandonment. That’d make me responsible for all losses.”

“Aye. You’ve decided to use the six million taels to reimburse everyone.”

“Good God. I can’t do that!” Longstaff burst out. “The bullion belongs to the Crown. The Crown—only the Crown—can decide what to do with it!”

“You’ve decided that Hong Kong’s too valuable to risk. You know you’ve got to move quickly. It’s a gesture worthy of a governor.”

“I absolutely can’t, Dirk! Not at all. Impossible!”

Struan went over to the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry. “Your entire future depends on it.”

“Eh? It does? How?”

Struan gave him a glass. “Your reputation at court is tied to Hong Kong. Your whole Asian policy—and that means the Crown’s Asian policy—is focused on Hong Kong. Rightly. Without Hong Kong safe the governor, on Her Majesty’s behalf, will na be able to dominate Asia as he should. Without a town built there’s nae safety for you or for the Crown. Happy Valley’s dead. So a new town must be built and quickly.” Struan drank the sherry and savored it. “If you immediately reimburse those who’ve built, you’ll restore confidence at once. All the traders will rally to your support—which you’ll need in the future. Dinna forget, Will, many have considerable influence at court. It’s a grand gesture, one worthy of you. Besides, the reimbursement is really being paid for by the Chinese anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Within three months you’ll be at the gates of Peking, commander-in-chief of an invincible force. The cost of the expedition will be, say, four million. Add six million for the damage to the Settlement. Ten million. But you ask fourteen million, which would be fair indemnity. The extra four million will be the basis of your Hong Kong government treasury—and thus one of the richest colonial treasuries in the Empire. Actually, instead of fourteen you will demand twenty million: The extra six repays the six you—in your shrewdness—‘invested’ in Hong Kong on the Crown’s behalf. Dinna forget, without a safe base you

canna dare make the attack north. Without Hong Kong safe, England’s dead in Asia. Without Hong Kong safe you’re dead. You’re thinking of the whole future of England, Will. It’s that simple!”

Struan could sense Longstaff’s mind churning the possibilities. This was the only possible solution. The only way everyone could save face and save the island. And the instant he saw Longstaff open his mouth to speak he said, “A last thing, Will. You get the money back at once, most of it.”

“Eh?”

“You hold a land sale immediately. The bidding will be furious for the new lots. Where does the money go? Back into your government treasury. You gain all ways. The land you’re selling costs you nothing. You know how desperately you need money for all the problems of government—salaries, police, the governor’s palace, roads, law courts, harbor vessels and a thousand other things, and you certainly canna use the ransom money as such. I’d say that it would be a statesmanlike masterstroke. You

have to make the decision now because it’s impossible for you to wait six months for a dispatch to go to England and the obvious approval to arrive back here. You save Hong Kong at no cost. But most of all you show Zergeyev very bluntly that England plans to stay in Asia permanently. I’d say, Will, your astuteness would impress the entire Cabinet. And certainly Her Majesty the Queen. And permanent honors go with such approval.”

Eight bells sounded. Longstaff took out his fob watch. It was slow, and he turned the hands to noon as his mind tried to find a flaw in Struan’s reasoning. There was none, he told himself. He felt queasy at the realization that but for the Tai-Pan he would have done nothing about the fever. Except stay out of the valley, hoping that a cure would turn up. He, too, had been perturbed by the epidemic, but, well, it was more important to win the Canton war first.

Yes. There’s no flaw. Damn it, you almost jeopardized a brilliant future. Certainly it’s exceeding instructions, but then governors and plenipotentiaries have unwritten powers and therefore it’s only an expedient extension of necessity. We can’t wait till next year to implant Her Majesty’s will on the heathen. Absolutely not. And the scheme about the tea seeds fits neatly into the design and shows foresight on a scale that even surpasses the Tai-Pan’s.

Longstaff had an overpowering impulse to tell Struan about the seeds. But he controlled himself. “I think you’re right. I’ll make the announcement right away.”

“Why do you na call a meeting of the Tai-Pans tomorrow? Give them two days to present construction and land bills to your treasurer. Set the new land sale for a week hence. That’ll give you time to get the lots surveyed. I suppose you’ll want the new townsite to be near Glessing’s Point.”

“Yes. My thought entirely. That will be the best spot. After all, it was one we considered a long time back.” Longstaff got up and poured more sherry, then tugged the bellpull. “As always, I’m pleased to have your counsel, Dirk. You’ll lunch, of course.”

“I’d better be getting along. Sarah’s leaving for home with the tide tomorrow, aboard

Calcutta Maharajah, and there’s a great deal to do.”

“Very bad luck. About Robb and your niece.”

The door opened. “Yes, sorr?” the master-at-arms asked.

“Ask the general if he’ll join me for lunch.”

“Yes, sorr. Beggin’ yor pardon, sorr, but Mrs. Quance is waiting to see you. And Mr. Quance. Then there’s all these”—he gave Longstaff a long list of names—“wot’ve come by to ask for appointments. Shall I say yo’re busy to Mrs. Quance?”

“No. I’d better see her now. Please don’t go yet, Dirk. I’m afraid I may need moral support.”

Maureen Quance strode in. Aristotle Quance followed her. There were dark rings under his lifeless eyes. Now he was simply a drab little man. Even his clothes were untidy and colorless.

“Morning, Mrs. Quance,” Longstaff said.

“The saints preserve Yor Excellency on this foin day.”

“Morning, Your Excellency,” Aristotle said, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the deck of the cabin.

“Good day to you, Tai-Pan,” Maureen said. “There’ll be a settlin’ of yor bill with the grace of St. Patrick himself, in a few days.”

“There’s nae hurry. Morning, Aristotle.”

Aristotle Quance slowly looked up at Struan. His eyes filled with tears as he read the warmth on Struan’s face. “She broke all my brushes, Dirk,” he choked out. “This morning. All of them. And my—she threw my paints in the sea.”

“It’s about that we’re acoming to see you, Yor Excellency,” Maureen said thickly. “Mr. Quance’s decided to give up all that painting folderol at long last. He wants to settle down to a nice steady job. And it’s about a job we’ve come to see Yor Excellency.” She looked back at her husband and her face wearied. “Anything at all. So long as it’s steady and pays a fair wage.” She turned back to Longstaff. “A nice clerking job, perhaps. Poor Mr. Quance hasn’t much experience.”

“Is, er, that what you want, Aristotle?”

“She broke my brushes,” Quance said hopelessly. “That’s all I had. My paints and brushes.”

“We agreed, me foin boy, didn’t we now? By all that’s holy? Eh? No more painting. A nice steady job and stand up to yor responsibilities to yor family, and no more galavanting.”

“Yes,” Aristotle said numbly.

“I’d be glad to offer a post, Mrs. Quance,” Struan broke in. “I need a clerk. Pay’s fifteen shillings a week. I’ll throw in your lodgings on the hulk for one year. After that you’re on your own.”

“May the saints preserve you, Tai-Pan. Done. Now thank the Tai-Pan,” Maureen said.

“Thank you, Tai-Pan.”

“Be at the office at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Aristotle. Sharp, now.”

“He’ll be there, Tai-Pan, don’t you be after worrying. May the blessings of St. Peter be on you in these troubled times for looking after a poor wife and her starving children. Good day to you both.”

They left. Longstaff poured himself a stiff drink. “Good God. I’d never’ve believed it. Poor, poor Aristotle. You’re really going to make Aristotle Quance a clerk?”

“Aye. Better me than some other. I’m shorthanded.” Struan put on his hat, very satisfied with himself. “I’m na one to interfere twixt husband and wife. But anyone who’d do that to old Aristotle’s nae right to the title ‘wife,’ by God!”

Longstaff smiled suddenly. “I’ll detach a capital ship if it’ll help. The total resources of Her Majesty’s Government are at your disposal.”

Struan hurried ashore. He hailed a closed sedan chair and directed the coolies.

“Wait-ah, savvy?” he said as it arrived at its destination.

“Savvy, Mass’er.”

He walked past the surprised doorman into the parlor of the house. The room was carpeted—large sofas, chintz curtains, mirrors and bric-a-brac. There was a rustle from the back and then approaching footsteps. A small old lady came through the bead curtains. She was neat and starched and gray-haired, with big eyes and spectacles.

“Hello, Mrs. Fortheringill,” Struan said politely.

“Well, Tai-Pan, how nice to see you,” she said. “We haven’t had the pleasure of your company in many a long year. It’s a little early for callers, but the young ladies are making themselves presentable.” She smiled and revealed her yellowed false teeth.

“Well, you see, Mrs. Fortheringill—”

“I quite understand, Tai-Pan,” she said knowingly. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he—”

“It’s about a friend of mine.”

“Don’t you worry, Tai-Pan, mum’s the word in this establishment. No need to worry. We’ll have you fixed in a jiffy.” She got up hastily. “Girls!” she called out.

“Sit down and listen to me! It’s about Aristotle!”

“Oh! That poor bleeder’s got himself in a proper mess.”

Struan told her what he wanted, and the girls were sad for him to leave.

As soon as he got home, May-may said, “Wat for you go whorehouse, heya?”

He sighed, and told her.

“You think I believe that, heya?” Her eyes were spiteful.

“Aye. You’d better.”

“I believe you, Tai-Pan.”

“Then stop looking like a dragon!” He went into his room.

“Good,” May-may said as she closed the door behind them. “Now we see if you telled truth. We make love at once. I’m madly desiring you, Tai-Pan.”

“Thank you, but I’m busy,” he said, finding it difficult to keep from laughing.

“Ayee yah on your busy,” she said, beginning to unbutton her honeycolored pajamas. “We make love immediate. I soon see if some mealymouthed whore’s took your strength, by God. And then your old mother’ll deal with you, by God.”

“You’re busy too,” Struan said.

“I’m very busy.” She stepped out of her silk trousers. Her earrings jingled like bells. “And you better have busy plenty very quick.”

He studied her and allowed none of his happiness to show. Her stomach was curved nicely with the child four months in her womb. He took her quickly in his arms and kissed her violently and lay on the bed and let his weight crush her a little.

“Be careful, Tai-Pan,” she said breathlessly, “I’m na one of your busom-boned barbarian giants! Kissing does na prove nothing. Off with clotheses, then we see for truth!”

He kissed her again. Then she said in a different voice, “Take off clotheses.”

He leaned on his elbows and looked down at her, then rubbed his nose against hers, no longer teasing. “There’s nae time now. I’ve got to go to an engagement party and you’ve got to pack.”

“Wat for pack?” she asked startled.

“You’re moving to

Resting Cloud.”

“Why?”

“Our feng shui’s bad here, lassie.”

“Oh good, oh very terrifical good!” She flung her arms around him. “Truly go from here? For always?”

“Aye.”

She kissed him and quickly slid from under his arms and began to dress.

“I thought you wanted to make love,” he said.

“Huh! Wat for is that proof? I know you too much. Even if you had whore one hour past you’re bull enough to pretend and pull cotton over eyes of your poor old mother.” She laughed and flung her arms around him again. “Oh, good to leave bad feng shui. I pack hurriedly.”

She ran for the door, and shrieked, “Ah Sam-ahhhh!” Ah Sam hurried up anxiously, followed by Lim Din, and after a tumult of shouting and jabbering Ah Sam and Lim Din scurried away, beseeching the gods in vast, noisy excitement. May-may came back and sat on the bed and fanned herself. “I’m packing,” she said cheerfully. “Now I help you dress.”

“Thank you, but I’m capable of doing that.”

“Then I will watch. And scrub your back. The bath is waiting. I am very gracious glad you decided to leave.” She chattered on exuberantly as he changed. He bathed and she shrieked for hot towels, and when they were brought, she dried his back. And all the time she was wondering if he had had a whore after he had arranged about the funny little artist who had painted her portrait so beautifully. Not that I mind, she told herself, rubbing him vigorously. It’s just that he shouldn’t go into one of those places. Absolutely not. Very bad for his face. And very bad for my face. Very bad. Soon those dirty dogmeat servants will begin spreading rumors that I can’t take care of my man. Oh gods, protect me from dirty gossips, and him from dirty doxies of all kinds.

It was dusk before she and Ah Sam and Lim Din were ready, and they were all exhausted with the drama and excitement of leaving. Coolies took the luggage away. Others waited patiently beside the closed sedan chaii that would carry her to the cutter.

May-may was heavily veiled. She stood momentarily at the gateway of the garden with Struan and looked back at her first house on Hong Kong. But for the bad feng shui—and the fever that was part of the feng shui—she would have been loath to depart.

The twilight was pleasant. A few mosquitoes whined about them. One settled on her ankle but she did not notice it.

The mosquito drank its fill, then flew away.

Struan went into the great cabin of the

White Witch. The Brocks were all waiting for him, except Lillibet who had already gone to bed. Culum was beside Tess.

“Evening,” Struan said. “Sarah sends her apologies. She’s na feeling well.”

“Welcome aboard,” Brock said, his voice rough and charged with worry, his face brooding.

“Well,” Struan said with a laugh, “this is nae way to start a happy occasion.”

“Baint the occasion, by God, as thee well knowed. We all be bankrupted—at least hurt terrible by godrotting malaria.”

“Aye,” Struan said. He smiled at Culum and Tess and, noting their disquiet, decided to tell them all the good news now. “I hear Longstaff’s ordering an abandonment of Queen’s Town,” he said nonchalantly.

“By blood of Christ!” Gorth exploded. “We can’t abandon. We be putting too much brass into land and buildings. We can’t abandon. Weren’t for thy godrotting picking of that cursed valley, we wouldn’t—”

“Hold thy tongue,” Brock said. He turned to Struan. “Thee stands to lose more’n us’n, by God, yet there thee be with smile on thy face. Why?”

“Father,” Tess said, terrified that anger would spoil their evening and the unbelievable acceptance of Culum, “can we have a drink? The champagne’s chilled and ready.”

“Yus, of course, Tess luv,” Brock said. “But dost thee understand wot Dirk’s sayed? We stand to lose a turr’ble sum of brass. If we’ve to abandon, then our future be black as pitch. And his too, by God.”

“The future of The Noble House’s white as the cliffs of Dover,” Struan said evenly. “Na only ours but yours too. Longstaff’s going to reimburse all of us for the money we laid out in Happy Valley. Every penny. In cash.”

“That baint possible!” Brock exclaimed.

“That’s a lie, by God!” Gorth said.

Struan turned on him. “A piece of advice, Gorth. Dinna call me a liar more than once.” Then he told them what Longstaff intended to do.

Culum was awed by the beauty of the arrangement. He saw clearly that though his father had never implied that he had influenced Longstaff’s decision, he must have been instrumental in arranging it so delicately. He remembered his first meeting with Longstaff and how his father had manipulated the man like a puppet. Culum’s faith in himself was shaken. He realized that what Gorth had said was not completely true, that he could never dominate Longstaff as his father had done—to save them again.

“That’s almost like a miracle,” he said, and held Tess’s hand.

“By all that be holy, Tai-Pan,” Gorth said, “I takes back wot I sayed. Apologies—it were sayed in shock. Yus, I’ve to hand it to you.”

“Dirk,” Brock began with grim good humor, “I be glad—right glad—to have thee as relation. Thee saved our’n necks and that be God’s truth.”

“I’ve done nae such thing. It was Longstaff’s idea.”

“Quite right,” Brock said sardonically. “More power to him. Liza, drinks, by God. Dirk, thee’s given us’n powerful reason to celebrate this evening. Thee’s made the whole night, by God. So let’s drink and make merry.” He took a glass of champagne, and when they all had their glasses, he raised his in a toast. “To Tess and Culum, and may they be always having a calm sea an’ a safe harbor all their days.”

They all drank. Then Brock shook hands with Culum, and Struan hugged Tess, and there was friendship among them all.

But only temporarily. They all knew it. But tonight they were prepared to forget. Only Tess and Culum felt safe.

They all sat down to dinner. Tess was wearing a gown that showed her ripening figure to advantage, and Culum was almost helpless with adoration. More wine was poured, and there was more laughter and more toasts. In a lull Struan took out a stiff envelope and handed it to Culum. “A small gift for the two of you.”

“What is it?” Culum asked. He opened the envelope. Tess craned to look too. The envelope contained a sheaf of papers, one heavy with Chinese characters.

“It’s a deed to some land just above Glessing’s Point.”

“But there never beed land for sale there,” Brock said suspiciously.

“His Excellency approved certain deeds of the village Chinese who owned land before we took over Hong Kong. This is one of them. Culum, you and Tess now own an acre jointly. The view’s fine. Oh yes, and along with the deed there’s enough building material for a house with seven bedrooms, a garden and a summer house.”

“Oh, Tai-Pan,” Tess said, her smile glorious, “Thank you! Thank you!”

“Our own land? And our own house? You really mean it?” Culum asked, dazed by his father’s magnanimity.

“Aye, lad. I thought you’d like to begin building immediately. I’ve made an appointment for both of you with our architect tomorrow at noon. To start the plans.”

“We all be leaving tomorrow for Macao,” Gorth said sharply.

“But, Gorth, you won’t mind delaying for a day or two, will you?” Culum said. “After all, this is very important—”

“Oh yes,” Tess said.

“—and with the solution to Queen’s Town and the land sale—” Culum stopped and turned excitedly to his fiancee. “Sousa’s the best architect in the East.”

“Our man Remedies be better, I be thinking,” Brock said, furious with himself that he had not thought of letting them build themselves a house. He had planned to give them one of the company houses in Macao as a wedding present, well away from Struan’s influence.

“Oh yes, he’s very good, Mr. Brock,” Culum said quickly, sensing the jealousy. “If we’re not satisfied with Sousa, then perhaps we could talk to him.” Then to Tess, “You agree?” and then to Struan, “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nae thanks, Culum. Young people should have a good start in life and a place of their own.” Struan was delighted with the way he had aroused Gorth and Brock.

“Yes,” Liza said complacently. “By gum, a right proper truth.”

Brock picked up the deed and studied it. “Thee be sure the deed be proper?” he asked. “It baint regilar.”

“Aye. Longstaff confirmed it. Officially. His chop’s on the last page.”

Brock frowned at Gorth, his tufted brows a black bar on his weathered face. “I be thinking that mayhaps we better be alooking into these native deeds.”

“Yes,” Gorth said. He looked directly at Struan. “Mayhaps there baint any left for sale, Da’.”

“I imagine there’re others, Gorth,” Struan said easily, “if you’re prepared to track them down. By the way, Tyler, as soon as the new land lots are surveyed, perhaps we’d better discuss our position.”

“My thort too,” Brock said. “As before, Dirk. But thee pick first this time.” He passed the deed back to Tess, who caressed it.

“Culum, be thee still deputy colonial secretary?”

“I think so.” Culum laughed. “Though my duties have never been specified. Why?”

“Nothing.”

Struan finished his wine and decided that it was time. “Now that Happy Valley’s abandoned and solved, and the new town’s to go up at the Crown’s cost, Hong Kong’s future’s assured.”

“Yus,” Brock said expansively, some of his humor returning, “now that the Crown be risking along o’ us’n.”

“So I think there’s nae need to delay the marriage. I propose Tess and Culum marry next month.”

There was a shocked silence.

Time seemed to be standing still for all of them. Culum wondered what was behind the smile that Gorth wore so badly, and why the Tai-Pan chose next month, and—oh God, let it be next month.

Gorth knew that next month would obliterate his hold over Culum and that, by God, this must not come to pass. Whatever Da’ says, he swore, no marriage soon.

Next year perhaps. Yes, perhaps. Wot’s in that devil’s mind?

Brock too was trying to divine Struan’s purpose—for Struan must have a purpose and it boded no good for him or for Gorth. His instinct immediately told him to delay the marriage. But he had sworn before God to give them safe harbor—as Struan had—and he knew that such an oath would bind Struan as it would bind him. “We could have the first banns read next Sunday,” Struan said, deliberately breaking the tension. “I think next Sunday would be fine.” He smiled at Tess, “Eh, lass?”

“Oh yes. Yes,” she said, and held Culum’s hand.

“No,” Brock said.

“It’s too fast,” Gorth snapped.

“Why?” Culum asked.

“I was just thinking of you, Culum,” Gorth said placatingly, “and your uncle’s sad loss. It’d be unseemly haste, very unseemly.”

“Liza, luv,” Brock said throatily, “you an’ Tess be excused. We be joining thee after port.”

Tess threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “Oh please, Da’,” and the four men were left alone.

Brock got up heavily and found the bottle of port. He poured four glasses and handed them around.

Struan sipped the wine appreciatively. “Very good port, Tyler.”

“It be the year of ’31.”

“A great year for port.”

Another silence fell.

“Will it be convenient to postpone your leaving for a few days, Mr. Brock?” Culum said uncomfortably. “I mean if it’s not possible—but I’d certainly like Tess to see the land and the architect.”

“With abandonment and land sale and all, we baint leaving now. Least,” Brock said, “Gorth and me baint. Liza and Tess and Lillibet should, soon as possible. Macao be healthful this time of year. And cooler. Baint it, Dirk?”

“Aye. Macao’s fine now,” Struan said, lighting a cheroot. “I hear the inquiry into the archduke’s accident will be next week.” He looked searchingly at Gorth.

“That were bad joss,” Brock said.

“Yes,” Gorth echoed. “Guns be going off all over.”

“Aye,” Struan said. “Just after he was hit, someone shot the leader of the mob.”

“I did that,” Brock said.

“Thank you, Tyler,” Struan said. “Were you fighting too, Gorth?”

“I was for’ard getting afloat.”

“Yus,” Brock said. He tried to remember if he had seen anyone firing. He recalled only sending Gorth forward. “Bad joss. Mobs be terrible, and at a time like that who knowed wot might happen.”

“Aye,” Struan said. He knew that if the bullet had been aimed, Gorth was the culprit. Not Brock. “Just one of those things.”

The oil lamps that hung from the rafter swung gently to the heel of the ship as the wind backed slightly. The seamen, Gorth, Brock and Struan, were suddenly alert. Brock opened a porthole and sniffed the breeze. Gorth was peering out the stern windows at the sea, and Struan listened to the spirit of the ship.

“Baint nothing,” Brock said. “Wind’s backed a few degrees, that be all.”

Struan went out into the passageway where a barometer was hanging. It read 29.8, steady. The air pressure had varied but a fraction in weeks. “It’s bonny steady,” he said.

“Yus,” Brock replied. “But soon it baint steady and then we be battening down. I see thee’s set storm buoys off thy wharf in deep water.”

“Aye.” Struan poured more port and offered the bottle to Gorth. “You want some more?”

“Thankee,” Gorth said. “Dost smell storm soon, Dirk?”

“Nay, Tyler. But I like to have the buoys ready just in case. Glessing’s ordered them set out for the fleet, though.”

“Thy suggestion?”

“Aye.”

“I hear rumors he be marrying young Sinclair’s sister.”

“Seems that marrying’s in the air.”

“I think they’ll be very happy,” Culum said. “George idolizes her.”

“Be right hard on Horatio,” Gorth said, “her leaving him abrupt-like. She be all the kin he has. An’ she’s young, under age.”

“How old is she?” Culum asked.

“Nineteen,” Struan said.

The tension increased in the cabin.

“Tess is very young,” Culum said, his voice anguished. “I wouldn’t want her hurt in any way. Even though—well, can we . . . what do you think, Mr. Brock? About the marriage? Next month? Whatever’s best for Tess is right for me.”

“She be very young, lad,” Brock said, fogged with the wine, “but I be glad that you be asaying what you be saying.”

Gorth kept his voice kind and steady. “A few months baint troubling you two, eh, Culum? Next year’s hardly half a year away.”

“January’s seven months away, Gorth,” Culum said impatiently.

“It baint up to me. Wot’s good for the two of you is good for me, says I.” Gorth drained his glass and poured some more. “Wot say you, Da’?” he said, deliberately putting Brock on the spot.

“I be thinking about that,” Brock said, examining his glass carefully. “She be very young. Haste be unseemly. You knowed each other bare three month and—”

“But I love her, Mr. Brock,” Culum persisted. “Three months or three years won’t make any difference.”

“I knowed, lad,” Brock said, not unkindly. He remembered the joy that had bloomed in Tess when he told her that he would accept Culum. “I just be thinking for thy good, for her good. I needs time to think.” To figure what’s in thy mind, Dirk, he said to himself.

“I think it would be very good for them and for us.” Struan could feel the warmth that radiated from Culum. “Tess is young, yes. But Liza was young too, and so was Culum’s mother. Marrying young’s the fashion. They’ve money to spare. And a rich future. With joss. So I say that it would be good.”

Brock rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “I be thinking. Then I’ll tell thee, Culum. It be a sudden idea, that be why I needs time.”

Culum smiled, touched by the sincerity in Brock’s voice.

For the first time he liked and trusted him. “Of course,” he said.

“How much time do you think you’ll need, Tyler?” Struan asked bluntly. He saw that Culum was softening in the face of their false amiability, and he felt that pressure would make them show their true colors. “We should na keep the youngsters like hooked fish, and there’ll be a lot to plan. We have to make this the greatest wedding Asia has ever seen.”

“As I recalls it,” Brock said curtly, “it be bride’s Da’ wot gives wedding. An’ I be quite compitent in knowing wot be right and wot be not.” He knew that Struan had him hooked and was playing him. “So any plan for wedding be our’n.”

“Of course,” Struan said. “When will you let Culum know?”

“Soon.” Brock got up. “We be joining the ladies.”

“How soon, Tyler?”

“Now, you heared Da’,” Gorth said hotly. “Why rile him, eh?”

But Struan ignored him, and continued to stare at Tyler.

Culum feared that there would be a fight, and that this would change Brock’s mind about their marrying at all. At the same time he wanted to know how long he would have to wait and was glad that Struan was pressing Brock. “Please,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Brock won’t—will consider the idea carefully. Let’s leave it for the present.”

“What you want to do is your own affair, Culum!” Struan said with pretended rage. “But

I want to know now. I want to know if you’re being used or if they’re cat-and-mousing you, by God.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Culum said.

“Aye. But I’ve finished with you for the moment, so hold your tongue.” Struan whirled back on Brock, knowing that his rebuking Culum had pleased both Brock and Gorth. “How much time, Tyler?”

“A week. A week, no more, no less.” Brock looked at Culum and again his voice was kind. “No harm in asking for time, lad, and no harm in asking for answer man to man. That be proper. A week, Dirk. Do that satisfy thy godrotting bad manners?”

“Aye. Thank you, Tyler.” Struan walked to the door and opened it wide. “After thee, Dirk.”

Safe in the privacy of his quarters aboard

Resting Cloud, Struan told May-may all that had happened.

She listened attentively and delightedly. “Oh good, Tai-Pan. Oh very good.”

He took off his coat and she hung it in the wardrobe for him. A scroll fell out of the sleeve of her tunic gown. He picked it up and glanced at it.

The scroll was a delicate Chinese water-color painting with many characters. It was a fine sea-landscape and there was a tiny man bowing before a tiny woman below vast misted mountains. A sampan floated off the rocky shore.

“Where’d this come from?”

“Ah Sam got it in Tai Ping Shan,” she said.

“It’s pretty,” he said.

“Yes,” May-may said calmly, awed again by the marvelous subtlety of her grandfather. He had sent the scroll to one of his minions in Tai Ping Shan, from whom May-may bought jade from time to time. Ah Sam had accepted it unsuspectingly as a casual gift for her mistress. And though May-may was sure that Ah Sam and Lim Din had examined the picture and the characters very carefully, she knew that they would never know that it contained a secret message. It was too well concealed. Even her grandfather’s private family chop was cleverly overlaid with another. And the verse—“Six nests smile at the eagles, Greenfire is part of the sunrise, And the arrow harbingers nestlings of hope”—was so simple and beautiful. Now, who but she could know that he was thanking her for the information of the six million taels; that “greenfire” meant the Tai-Pan; and that he would be sending her a messenger, bearing some form of arrow as identification to help her in any way possible.

“What do the characters mean?” Struan was asking.

“Difficult to transtalk, Tai-Pan. I dinna know all the words, but it says, ‘Six bird houses smile at great birds, green fire is in the sunup, arrow brings’ ”—she frowned, seeking the English word—“ ‘brings little hope birds.’ ”

“That’s gibberish, by God.” Struan laughed.

She sighed happily. “I adore you, Tai-Pan.”

“I adore you, May-may.”

“This next time we build our house, first a feng-shui gentlemans, please?”