Tai-Pan

BOOK I

Struan came up onto the quarterdeck of the flagship H.M.S. Vengeance

, and strode for the gangway. The 74-gun ship of the line was anchored half a mile off the island. Surrounding her were the rest of the fleet’s warships, the troopships of the expeditionary force, and the merchantmen and opium clippers of the China traders.

It was dawn—a drab, chill Tuesday—January 26th, 1841.

As Struan walked along the main deck, he glanced at the shore and excitement swarmed over him. The war with China had gone as he had planned. Victory was as he had forecast. The prize of victory—the island—was something he had coveted for twenty years. And now he was going ashore to witness the formality of taking possession, to watch a Chinese island become a jewel in the crown of Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria.

The island was Hong Kong. Thirty square miles of mountainous stone on the north lip of the huge Pearl River in South China. A thousand yards off the mainland. Inhospitable. Unfertile. Uninhabited except for a tiny fishing village on the south side. Squarely in the path of the monstrous storms that yearly exploded from the Pacific. Bordered on the east and on the west by dangerous shoals and reefs. Useless to the mandarin—the name given to any official of the Chinese Emperor—in whose province it lay.

But Hong Kong contained the greatest harbor on earth. And it was Struan’s stepping-stone into China.

“Belay there!” the young officer of the watch called to the scarlet-coated marine. “Mr. Struan’s longboat to the midships gangway!”

“Yes, sir!” The marine leaned over the side and echoed the order.

“Won’t be a moment, sir,” the officer said, trying to contain his awe of the merchant prince who was a legend in the China seas.

“Nae hurry, lad.” Struan was a giant of a man, his face weathered by a thousand storms. His blue frock coat was silver-buttoned and his tight white trousers were tucked carelessly into seaboots. He was armed as usual—knife in the crease of his back and another in his right boot. He was forty-three, redheaded, and his eyes were emerald green.

“It’s a bonny day,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

Struan walked down the gangway, got into the prow of his longboat and smiled at his younger half-brother, Robb, who sat amidships.

“We’re late,” Robb said with a grin.

“Aye. His Excellency and the admiral were longwinded.” Struan stared at the island for a moment. Then he motioned at the bosun. “Cast off. Go ashore, Mr. McKay!”

“Aye, aye, sorr!”

“At long last, eh, Tai-Pan?” Robb said. “Tai-pan” was Chinese for “supreme leader.” In a company or army or fleet or nation there is only one such man—he who wields the real power.

“Aye,” Struan said.

He was Tai-Pan of The Noble House.