Tai-Pan (83 page)

“Please sit down, senhor.”

Struan sat down on the chair indicated. It was slightly lower than the bishop’s chair, and he felt the strength of the man’s will reaching out to dominate him.

“You sent for me?”

“I asked you to come to see me, yes. Cinchona. There is none in Macao, but I believe there is some at our mission at Lo Ting.”

“Where’s that?”

“Inland.” The bishop straightened a crease in his magenta robe. “About a hundred and fifty miles northwest.”

Struan got up. “I’ll send someone immediately.”

“I’ve already done that, senhor. Please sit down.” The bishop was solemn. “Our courier left at dawn with orders to make record time. I think he will. He’s Chinese and comes from that area.”

“How long do you think it will take him? Seven days? Six days?”

“That is also a reason for my concern. How many fever attacks has the girl had?”

Struan wanted to ask the bishop how he knew about May-may but held himself in check. He realized that the sources for secret information of the Catholics were legion, and that in any event “girl” would be a simple deduction for so astute a man as the bishop. “One. The sweat broke two days ago, about this time.”

“Then there’ll be another bout tomorrow, certainly within forty-eight hours. It will take at least seven days for the courier to get to Lo Ting and back—if all goes well and there are no unforeseen difficulties.”

“I dinna think she’ll be able to stand two more attacks.”

“I hear she’s young and strong. She should be able to endure for eight days.”

“She’s four months with child.”

‘That’s very bad.”

“Aye. Where’s Lo Ting? Give me a map. Perhaps I can cut the time by a day.”

“In this journey my connections outweigh yours a thousandfold,” the bishop said. “Perhaps it will be seven days. If it is the will of God.”

Aye, Struan thought. A thousandfold. I wish I had the knowledge that the Catholics have collected over the centuries from the constant probes into China. Which Lo Ting? There could be fifty within two hundred miles. “Aye,” he said at length, “if it is the will of God.”

“You’re a strange man, senhor. I am glad that I have had the opportunity of meeting you. Would you care for a glass of Madeira?”

“What’s the price of the bark? If it exists and if it’s back in time and if it cures?”

“Would you care for a glass of Madeira?”

“Thank you.”

The bishop rang the bell and immediately a liveried servant was at the door with an engraved silver tray bearing decanter and glasses.

“To a better understanding of many things, senhor.”

They drank—and measured each other.

“The price, Your Grace?”

“There are too many ifs at present. That answer can wait. But two things cannot.” The bishop savored his wine. “Madeira is such a perfect aperitif.” He collected his thoughts. “I am gravely worried about Senhorita Sinclair.”

“I also,” Struan said.

“Father Sebastian is a miraculous healer. But he leads me to believe that unless the senhorita is helped spiritually she may take her own life.”

“Na Mary! She’s very strong. She’d na do that.”

Falarian Guineppa steepled his fine fingers. A shaft of sun turned the huge ruby ring molten. “If she were to put herself totally in Father Sebastian’s hands—and in the hands of the Church of Christ—we could turn her damnation into a blessing. That would be the best for her. I believe with all my heart that this is the only real solution. But if this is not possible, before she is released I must pass over the responsibility for her to someone who will accept it.”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Very well, but I do not think you are wise, senhor. Even so, your life and soul—and hers—are also in the hands of God. I pray that you and she will be given the gift of understanding. Very well. Before she leaves I will do everything in my power to try to save her soul—but as soon as she is fit enough to leave, I will send word.”

The cathedral clock chimed five o’clock.

“How is Archduke Zergeyev’s wound?”

Struan’s eyebrows knotted. “This is the second thing that cannot wait?”

“For you Britons, perhaps.”

Falarian Guineppa opened a drawer and pulled out a heavily sealed leather briefcase. “I have been asked to give you this prudently. It seems that certain diplomatic authorities are most concerned with the archduke’s presence in Asia.”

“The Church authorities?”

“No, senhor. I am asked to tell you that you can, if you wish, pass on the documents. I understand certain seals prove their validity.” A faint smile passed across his face. “The case too is sealed.”

Struan recognized the seal of the governor-general’s office. “Why should I be given diplomatic secrets? There are diplomatic channels. Mr. Monsey is within half a mile of here and His Excellency is in Hong Kong. Both are very well acquainted with protocol.”

“I’m
 giving you nothing. I’m merely doing what I was asked to do. Don’t forget, senhor, as much as I personally detest what you stand for, you are a power at the Court of St. James, and your trade connections are worldwide. We live in hazardous times and Portugal and Britain are ancient allies. Britain has been a good friend to Portugal and it is wise for friends to help each other, no? Perhaps it is as simple as that.”

Struan took the proffered briefcase.

“I will send word as soon as the Lo Ting courier returns,” Falarian Guineppa said. “At whatever hour that may be. Would you like Father Sebastian to examine the lady?”

“I dinna ken,” Struan said, rising. “Perhaps. I’d like to think about that, Your Grace.”

“At your pleasure, senhor.” The bishop hesitated. “Go with God.”

“Go with God, Your Grace,” Struan said.

“Hello, Tai-Pan,” Culum said, his head pounding and his tongue like dried dung.

“Hello, lad.” Struan put down the still-unopened briefcase which had been burning him all the way home. He went to the sideboard and poured a stiff brandy.

“Food, Mass’er Culum?” Lo Chum said brightly. “Pig? Potats? Gravee? Heya?”

Culum shook his head weakly and Struan dismissed Lo Chum. “Here,” he said, giving Culum the brandy.

“I couldn’t,” Culum said, nauseated.

“Drink it.”

Culum swallowed it. He choked and quickly drank more of the tea that was beside the bed. He lay back, his temples thundering.

“Would you like to talk? Tell me what happened?”

Culum’s face was gray and the whites of his eyes dirty pink. “I can’t remember anything. God, I feel terrible.”

“Start from the beginning.”

“I was playing whist with Gorth and a few of our friends,” Culum said with an effort. “I remember winning about a hundred guineas. We’d been drinking quite a bit. But I remember putting the winnings in my pocket. Then—well, the rest is blank.”

“Do you remember where you went?”

“No. Not exactly.” He drank more tea thirstily and wiped his face with his hands, trying to clean away the ache. “Oh God, I feel like death!”

“Do you remember which whorehouse you went to?”

Culum shook his head.

“Do you have a regular one that you’ve been going to?”

“Good God, no!”

“Nae need to get on your high horse, laddie. You’ve been to one—that’s clear. You’ve been rolled, that’s clear. Your liquor was drugged, that’s clear.”

“I was drugged?”

“It’s the oldest trick in the world. That’s why I told you never to go to a house unrecommended by a man you could trust. Is this the first time you’ve been to a house in Macao?”

“Yes, yes. Good Lord, I was drugged?”

“Now use your head. Think, lad! Do you remember the house?”

“No—nothing. Everything’s blank.”

“Who picked the house for you, eh?”

Culum sat up in the bed. “We were drinking and gaming. I was, well, pretty drunk. Then, well, everyone was talking about—about girls. And houses. And, well”—he looked at Struan, his shame and torment open—“I was just—well, with the liquor and—I felt, well, on fire for a girl. I just decided that I had—had to go to a house.”

“Nae harm in that, lad. Who gave you the address?”

“I think . . . I don’t know—but I think they each gave me one. They wrote addresses—or told me addresses, I can’t remember. I do remember going out of the Club. There was a chair waiting and I got into it. Wait a minute—I remember now! I told him to go to the F and E!”

“They’d never roll you there, laddie. Or put a drug in your drink. Or deliver you back like that. More than their reputation’s worth.”

“No. I’m sure. That’s what I told the man. Yes. I’m absolutely sure!”

“Which way did they take you? Into Chinatown?”

“I don’t know. I seem to remember—I don’t know.”

“You said you felt ‘on fire.’ What sort of fire?”

“Well, it was like . . . I remember being very hot and, well—God’s death, I’m frantic with desire for Tess, and what with the liquor and everything . . . I’ve had no peace, so—so I went to the house . . .” The words trailed off. “Oh God, my head’s bursting. Please leave me alone.”

“Were you carrying protections?”

Culum shook his head.

“This fire. This urge. Was it different last night?”

Again Culum shook his head. “No. It’s been like it for weeks but—well, in a way I suppose it was—well no, not exactly. I was hard as a piece of Iron and my loins were on fire and I just had to have a girl and, oh, I don’t know. Leave me alone! Please—I’m sorry, but please . . .”

Struan went to the door. “Lo Chum-ahhh!”

“Yes, Mass’er?”

“Go-ah house Chen Sheng. Get number-one cow chillo sick doctor quick-quick here-ah! Savvy?”

“Savvy plentee good-ah!” Lo Chum said huffily. “A’ready werry plenty good-ah doctor downstair for head boom-boom sick and all sick-sick. Young Mass’er like Tai-Pan—all same, never mind!”

Downstairs, Struan talked to the doctor through Lo Chum. The doctoi said that he would send the medicines and special foods promptly, and he accepted a generous fee.

Struan went back upstairs.

“Can you remember anything else, lad?”

“No—nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump at you.”

“Listen to me, lad! Come on, Culum, it’s important!”

“Please, Father, don’t talk so loudly,” Culum said, opening his eyes forlornly.

“What?”

“It sounds as though you’ve been slipped an aphrodisiac.”

“What?”

“Aye, aphrodisiac. There’re dozens that could be put into a drink.”

“Impossible. It was just the liquor and my—my need of . . . it’s impossible!”

“There are only two explanations. First, that the coolies took you to a house—and it wasn’t the Macao branch of the F and E—where they’d get more squeeze for a rich customer and a share of the robbery to boot. There the girl or girls drugged you, rolled you and delivered you back. For your sake, that’s what I hope happened. The other possibility is that one of your friends gave you the aphrodisiac at the Club, arranged for the chair to be waiting for you—and for a particular house.”

“That’s nonsense! Why’d someone do that? For a hundred guineas and a ring and watch? One of my friends? That’s madness.”

“But say someone hated you, Culum. Say the plan was to put you with a diseased girl—one who has the pox!”

“What?”

“Aye. That’s what I’m afraid’s happened.”

Culum died for an instant. “You’re just trying to frighten me.”

“By the Lord God, my son, I am na. But it is one very definite possibility. I’d say it’s more likely than the other because you were brought back.”

“Who’d do that to me?”

“You have to answer that one, laddie. But even if that’s what happened, all’s na lost. Yet. I’ve sent for Chinese medicines. You’re to drink them all, wi’out fail.”

“But there’s no cure for the pox!”

“Aye. Once the disease is settled. But the Chinese believe you can kill the pox poison or whatever causes it, if you take precautions at once to purify your blood. Years ago when I first came out here, the same thing happened to me. Aristotle found me in a gutter in the Chinese quarter and got a Chinese doctor and I was all right. That’s how I met him—why he’s been my friend for so long. I canna be sure the house—or the girl—was diseased or na, but I never got the pox.”

“Oh God help me.”

“Aye. We’ll na know for certain for a week. If there’s nae swelling or pain or discharge by then—you’ve escaped this time.” He saw the terror in his son’s eyes, and his compassion went out to him. “A week of hell’s ahead of you, laddie. Waiting to find out. I know what it’ll be like—so dinna fash yoursel’. I’ll help all I can. Same way Aristotle helped me.”

“I’ll kill myself. I’ll kill myself if I . . . oh God, how could I have been so foolish? Tess! Oh God, I’d better tell—”

“You’ll do nae such thing! You tell her you were jumped by robbers on your way home. We’ll report it as such. You’ll tell your friends the same. That you think you must have had too much to drink—after the girl. That you can na remember anything except you’re sure you had a great time and woke up here. And for the week you’ll act as you normally act.”

“But Tess! How can I—”

“That’s what you’ll do, laddie! That’s what you’ll do, by God.”

“I can’t, Father, it’s just imp—”

“And under no circumstances will you tell anyone about the Chinese medicines. Dinna go to a house until we know for certain, and dinna touch Tess until you’re married.”

“I’m so ashamed.”

“Nae need for that, laddie. It’s difficult being young. But in this world it’s up to a man to watch his back. There’re a lot of mad dogs around.”

“You’re saying it was Gorth?”

“I’m saying nothing. Do you think that?”

“No, of course not. But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“Dinna forget, you’ve got to act normally or you’ll lose Tess.”

“Why?”

“You think Liza and Brock’d allow you to marry Tess if they find out you’re so immature and stupid that you’ll go whoring in Macao drunk—and to an unknown whorehouse and get filled with love potions and rolled? If I was Brock I’d say you had na enough sense to be my son-in-law!”

“Sorry.”

“You get some rest, laddie. I’ll be back later.”