Tai-Pan

CHAPTER THREE

Struan had slept little. The food on the table was untouched. He stared through the tent door at the ships riding at anchor. The sun was dying and a blurred moon was low on the horizon. Huge masses of cumulus dominated the sky. The wind brought the promise of storm.

Ti-sen, his mind kept repeating to him. Ti-sen. He’s the only one to save you. Aye, but that’s treachery to all you believe in, all you’ve worked for.

McKay came in with a lighted lantern and set it on the table. The tent was spacious and comfortable; there were carpets on the stony soil.

“Brock’s longboat’s coming ashore, sorr.”

“Take the men and move out of hearing, McKay.”

“Yes, sorr.”

“Has word come they’ve found Ramsey yet?”

“No, sorr.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, sorr.”

Struan nodded absently. “Tomorrow put all our spies to work to find out where he is.”

“Beggin’ yor pardon, sorr, I already spread the word, sorr.” McKay tried to cover his anxiety. “If he’s aboard it’s someone’s devilment.” Then he added, “I feel bad about Cap’n Perry, sorr.”

Struan’s eyes were suddenly hard. “I’ll give you fifteen days to prove I was right about Isaac. Fifteen days, or you’re beached with him.”

“Yes, sorr.” McKay felt a barb soar from his testicles into his guts and cursed himself for opening his mouth. Will you never learn, you stupid fool?

Brock’s footsteps were heavy on the beach. He stood at the tent doorway. “Permission to come aboard, Dirk?”

“Aye, Tyler.”

McKay went out. Brock sat at the table, and Struan poured him a large brandy.

“It were bad to lose yor family. I knowed how it feel. I lost two wives in childbirth, the kids too. Bad.”

“Aye.”

“Not much of a berth,” Brock said, taking in the tent.

“Hungry?” Struan indicated the food.

“Thank you kindly.” Brock took a chicken, ripped it in two and tore off half the white meat. He wore a big emerald, set in gold, on his little finger. “Seems that the joss of The Noble House be runned out.”

“ ‘Joss’ is a big word.”

Brock laughed. “Come now, Dirk. A company be havin’ to have bullion to support its credit. Even Noble House.”

“Aye.”

“I spend a lot of time, Dirk, and a lot of brass, checking on thee.” Brock picked the other half of the breast off the chicken and devoured it. “You’ve a good cook. Tell him I’ll give him a job.”

“He likes the one he has.”

“No brass, no job, my fine muckel. No bank, no credit—no ships, no nothin’!” Brock split another chicken. “Be thee keepin’ the champagne? This be special occasion, I’ll be bound.”

Struan opened the bottle neatly and filled clean glasses for Brock and himself.

“Chilled just right, lad. Just right.” Brock smacked his lips. “Twenty-five thousand be no much for a million, be it?”

Struan said nothing. His face was impassive.

“Sixpence on the pound, they sayed. I got a letter in the mail packet yesterday. I lost ten thousand nicker. Bad. Very bad of the bank to gamble with their customers’ money.” Brock chuckled. “I ‘happened’ to run into that bugger Skinner. He thort it were bad too. He be writing a article—headlines, I’ll be bound. An’ quite right.”

He cut a piece of apple pie and ate with gusto. “Oh yes, by the way, I own eight hundred thousand of Struan and Company’s sight drafts. I been buying the last six months against such a time. Leastways my son Morgan an’ our agents in London Town has.”

“A good investment, Tyler. Very good.”

“Yes. Skinner thort so too, Dirk lad. He were mighty shocked at yor bad joss, but I tol’ him I’d keep the names of yor ships. Bad joss to change names. But they’ll improve under my flag.”

“You’ve got to get them first.”

“In thirty days I have them, lad. That’s when the drafts be due. That be common knowledge too. So thee’ll get no credit in the Orient. Thee be finished, lad.”

“Perhaps I’ll wreck my ships before I let you take them.”

“Not you, Dirk. I know thee better. Others would, but not thee. We’s both alike in that. Ships be special. Better’n any doxy.” He finished his champagne. Struan refilled the glass.

Brock belched. “Beg pardon.” Then he sipped again. “Champagne be proper belch water, baint it?”

“Did you start the run on the bank?”

“No. If I’d a thort of it I would’ve, long since. That be a right clever idea. Fancy thee getting caught with thy balls in the noose.”

“If it was deliberate I’ll find out.”

“It were deliberate, lad.”

“Who was it?”

“Morgan,” Brock said. “I’ve to hand it to him—the young nipper be growed up. Yes. My boy be the one, and I’m mortal proud.” He scratched contentedly at the lice that were a way of life. “So thee be broke, Dirk. After all these years. Finished.”

“A lot can happen in thirty days.”

“Yes, it can. I heared yor son’s in charge of the land sale.”

“Aye. But it’ll be fair. The highest bidder gets the land. We dinna cheat, Tyler. Others do. We’ve nae need.”

“Damn yor eyes!” Brock bellowed. “You be saying I cheat?”

“You cheat all the time,” Struan said, flaring. “You cheat your men and cheat your ships and that’s what’ll destroy you. You can’t build forever wi’ the lash.”

“I do no more than others, by God. Just because thee be having weak-gutted newfangled notions doan mean others be wrong. The lash keeps scum in line. Scum!”

“You live by the lash and you’ll die by it.”

“Thee be wantin’ to settle our score now? Lash against lash? Knife to knife? Now, by God! Or be thee still coward?”

“I told you once and I’ll tell you a last time. One day I’ll come after you with a lash—perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day. But, by God, one day I’ll come after you. And I’ll tell you another thing. If by chance you die before I’m ready, I’ll go after Gorth and Morgan and I’ll wreck your company.”

Brock’s knife was out. “Maybe, lad, I cut thy throat now.”

Struan poured more champagne. Now the bottle was empty. “Open another bottle. There’s plenty more.”

Brock laughed. “Ah, Dirk lad, you be a rare ’un. You be busted an’ you still pretends. You be finished, you hear, lad? Yor Noble House be on its uppers. An’ you be coward!”

“Oh, I’m na a coward, Tyler. You know that.”

“You knowed the hillock where yor Great House’s to go?” Brock asked, his eye glittering.

“Aye.”

“It’s mine, lad. I be buyin’ it. Wotever you bid, I bid more.”

Struan felt the blood rush to his head, for he knew that he did not have the bullion to compete with Brock now. Na unless he made the deal with Ti-sen. Na unless he sold Hong Kong out. “God rot you to hell!”

“It be mine, lad. An’ all this stinking rock.” Brock drained his glass and belched again. “After yor company’s broked, I’m hounding you an’ yors outa these seas.” He took out a purse and counted out twenty gold guineas. Then he tossed them on the floor of the tent. “Buy thyself a coffin.”

He swaggered out.

“Beggin’ yor pardon, sorr,” McKay said.

Struan came out of his reverie. “Aye?”

“Mr. Culum’s ashore. He wants to see you.”

Struan was startled to see that the watery moon was high in the sky and the night deep.

“I’ll see him.”

“Others came, sorr. That Chinee, Gordon Chen. Miss Sinclair. A couple I don’t know. Old Quance. I said you’d see ’em tomorrer. Hope I did right not to let Mr. Culum come without asking.” McKay saw the golden guineas on the floor, but said nothing.

“As long as you obey orders you’re never wrong, McKay.”

Culum was at the tent door. “Am I disturbing you, Father?”

“Nay, lad. Sit down.”

Culum saw the sovereigns on the floor and started to pick them up.

“Leave them where they are.”

“Why?”

“Because I want them left there.”

Culum sat down. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m na in a mood to talk, lad.”

“Were you serious about making me a partner?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t want to be a partner. I don’t want to stay in the Orient. I want to go home.”

“I know better than you, Culum. Give it time.”

“Time won’t make any difference.”

“You’re young, lad. There’s plenty of time for you. Be patient with me. And with China. Did Robb tell you how to go about the land sale?”

“Yes.” Damn Uncle Robb, Culum thought. If only he hadn’t exploded with Father and said that he was leaving. Damn, damn, damn. Blast that cursed bank. Ruined everything. Poor Father. “I think I’ll be able to do it.”

“You’ll have nae trouble so long as it’s run fairly. The highest bidder gets the land.”

“Yes, of course.” Culum stared at the guineas. “Why do you want the coins left there?”

“They’re my coffin money.”

“I don’t understand.”

Struan told him what had happened with Brock. “Better you know about him, Culum. Watch your back because he’ll come after you like I’m going after Gorth.”

“The sins of the father are not the fault of the son.”

“Gorth Brock’s a pattern of his father.”

“Doesn’t Christ teach forgiveness?”

“Aye, lad. But I canna forgive them. They’re everything that’s rotten on earth. They’re tyrants and they believe the lash answers all questions. A fact of life, on earth: Money is power—whether you’re king or laird or chieftain or merchant or crofter. Without power you canna protect what you have nor improve the lot of others.”

“Then you’re saying that the teachings of Christ are wrong?”

“Na wrong, lad. I’m saying that some men are saints. Some are happy being meek and humble and unambitious. Some men are born content to be second-best—I canna be. Nor Brock. Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ll be put to the test sometime. Then you’ll know about yoursel’.”

“Then you mean that money is everything?”

“I’m saying that without power you canna be a saint in this day and age. Power for its own sake is a sin. Money for its own sake is a sin.”

“Is it so important to have money and power?”

“Nay, laddie,” Struan said with an ironic grin. “The lack of money’s what’s important.”

“Why do you want power?”

“Why do you, Culum?”

“Perhaps I don’t.”

“Aye. Perhaps. You’d like a drink, lad?”

“I’ll have a little champagne.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you. I don’t know very much about myself yet,” Culum said.

“There’s time, laddie. I’m so glad you’re here. Very glad.”

Culum looked back at the coins. “It really doesn’t matter, does it? About the partnership and everything. The company’s finished. What are you going to do?”

“We’re na finished for twenty-nine days. If joss is against us, this version of The Noble House dies. Then we start again.” Dinna fool yoursel’, he thought, you can never start again.

“A never-ending battle?”

“What do you think life’s supposed to be, lad?”

“Can I resign as a partner if it doesn’t please me, or if I think I’m no good and not worth it? At my whim?”

“Aye. But na if you’re ever Tai-Pan. The Tai-Pan can never resign until he’s sure that the house is in good hands. He

must be sure. That’s his final responsibility.”

“If we’re owed so much by the Chinese merchants, can’t we collect it? Then we’ve the money to pay Brock.”

“They’ve na got it.” Devil take it, Struan told himself, you’re trapped. Make up your mind. It’s Ti-sen or nothing.

“What about His Excellency? Can’t he give us an advance? From the ransom money?”

“It belongs to the Crown. Maybe Parliament’ll honor his paper, maybe it’ll repudiate it. The bullion will na pass hands for almost a year.”

“But we’ll get it. Surely Brock’ll take your surety?”

Struan’s voice harshened. “I’ve already told you the measure of Brock’s charity. I’d na give him twenty guineas if I had him trapped equally. God damn him and his Goddamned whelps.”

Culum shifted uneasily in his chair. His shoe moved one of the guineas and it glittered suddenly. “His Excellency’s not very—well, isn’t he rather simple?”

“He’s out of his depth in Asia—that’s all. Wrong man for the job. I’d be lost in the courts of Europe. But he’s plenipotentiary. That’s all that counts. Aye, he’s simple—but watch him too. Watch everyone.”

“Does he always do what you tell him to do?”

Struan looked out the tent door at the night. “He takes my advice, most times. Provided I’m the last giver.”

Culum moved another guinea. “There must be something—someone to turn to. You must have friends.”

Inexorably Struan’s mind was filled with the name of the only person who could unspring the trap: Ti-sen. Brock’ll take the ships right smartly, he thought, seething with impotent rage. Wi’out the ships you’re lost, laddie. The house, Hong Kong, the plan. Aye, you can start again, but dinna fool yoursel’. You canna build and man such a fleet again. You’ll never catch up with Brock again. Never. You’ll be second-best. You’ll be second-best forever.

Struan felt the veins in his neck throbbing. His throat was parched. I’ll na be the second-best. By the Lord God, I canna. I canna. I canna. To Brock or to anyone. “Tomorrow, when

China Cloud returns, I’m going to Canton. You’ll come with me.”

“What about the land sale? Should I start that?”

“Devil take the land sale! We’ve the house to save first. Go aboard

Resting Cloud, lad. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

“All right.” Culum stood up.

“Good night, laddie.”

The coins caught Culum’s eyes, mesmerizing him. He began to pick them up.

“I told you to leave them alone!”

“I can’t.” There were beads of sweat on Culum’s forehead. The coins seemed to burn his fingers. “I’ve . . . I’ve got to have them.”

“Why, for God’s sake, eh?”

“I don’t know. I—I just want them.” He put the coins in his pocket. “They’re mine now. Good night, Father.”