Tai-Pan (100 page)

“Hello, Horatio. Where’s Monsey?”

Horatio looked at Struan without recognizing him. “I found Ah Tat,” Horatio said, his voice weird.

“I canna hear, lad. You’ll have to shout.”

“Ah Tat. Oh yes, I found her.”

“Eh?”

Horatio began to laugh hideously, as though Struan were not in the room. “Mary’s had an abortion. She’s a filthy whore for stinking heathens and has been for years.”

“Nonsense. That’s nonsense, lad. Dinna believe it,” Struan said.

“I found Ah Tat and lashed the truth out of her. Mary’s a devil whore of Chinese and she carried a half-caste bastard in her. But Ah Tat gave her the poison to murder it.” Again a shriek of laughter. “But I caught Ah Tat and beat her till she told me the truth. She was Mary’s pimp. Mary sold herself to heathens.” His eyes went back to the lantern’s core. “Glessing’ll never marry a whore of Chinese. So she’ll be mine again. All mine. I’ll forgive her if she crawls and begs.”

“Horatio. Horatio!”

“She’ll be all mine. Like when we were young. She’ll be all mine again. I’ll forgive her.”

Another devil gust rocked the building, and another, and a third, and it seemed as though they were in the middle of ten thousand raging maelstroms, and Struan heard windows and shutters blowing apart. He took to his heels and rushed along the corridor to his suite. May-may and Yin-hsi were quailing in the bed, and Ah Sam was moaning, petrified. Struan charged over to the bed and took May-may in his arms. The roaring screaming violence crescendoed.

Abruptly the storm vanished. There was silence.

Light began seeping through the cracks in the shutters, growing in intensity with the seconds.

“Wat’s happened?” May-may asked, her voice sounding unreal in the overpowering hush. Struan put May-may down and walked over to the window. He peered through one of the cracks, then cautiously opened the window and unbolted the shutters. He winced as hot, dry air swarmed into the room.

He stared incredulously into the harbor. 
China Cloud
 was still at her moorings. 
White Witch
 was dismasted, the ends of her halyards drooping over the side. 
Resting Cloud
 was grounded at Glessing’s Point. The lorcha was still tied up at the company wharf. He saw one frigate aground, heeled over, high above the surf. But the rest of the fleet and troopships and merchantmen were still at anchor, untouched.

Above were feathers of clouds and blue sky and sunshine. But in the harbor the sea had gone mad. Pyramidal waves rose out of the surface and clashed into each other, and he saw 
China Cloud
 take water over both gunnels and stern and bow at the same time. Beyond, in the distance, an encircling screen of gigantic thunderclouds grew out of the sea and towered, peerless, to sixty thousand feet.

And over all, but for the slopping of the waves against one another, the unearthly silence.

“We’re in the vortex!”

“Wat?”

“The eye of the storm. This is it. The center!”

May-may and Yin-hsi and Ah Sam hurried over.

“The fleet’s safe, by all that’s holy!” Struan said exultantly. “The ships are safe. They’re safe.” Abruptly his joy vanished and he slammed the shutters and windows and bolted them.

“Come on,” he said urgently, flinging the door open, and they followed, astonished. He ran the length of the corridor across the landing into the opposite wing of the building and opened the door of the northmost suite.

The shutters were partially broken and one window was smashed and glass was everywhere.

“Stay here,” he said.

“Wat’s the matter, Tai-Pan? The storm’s gone.”

“Do as I say.” He hurried out. May-may shrugged and sat on a broken chair.

“What’s the matter with Father?” Yin-hsi asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t understand him sometimes. Thank heaven the noise is finished. Isn’t it quiet? It’s so quiet it almost hurts.”

Yin-hsi went over to a window and opened it. “Oh, look!” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful? I’m so glad the storm’s gone.”

May-may and Ah Sam crowded around her.

Brock was standing on deck, paralyzed. He saw waves coming at him from all directions, but here in the lee of the shore the waves were small. The sun was warm and dry. Water dripped loudly. The encircling thunderclouds were like the walls of a mighty cathedral, five miles wide. But the walls were moving. The eastern quadrant was closing on them.

“What be happening, luv?” Liza said, coming on deck with Lillibet. “Oh, how beautiful!”

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Lillibet said.

“We be in’t eye of storm. In’t vortex!” Brock burst out. Seamen coming on deck turned and looked at him.

“Oh, look!” Lillibet said. She pointed to the island. “Isn’t that funny!”

The trees that dotted the island were white against the brown earth; their limbs had been stripped clean of leaves. New Queen’s Town had almost vanished and Tai Ping Shan was a shambles. Tiny figures were beginning to move over the foreshore.

“Get thee below,” Brock said, his voice grating.

Bewildered, they did as he ordered.

“Cap’n Pennyworth!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Best make peace with thy Maker,” Brock said. “Only He knowed wot be t’other side of them devil clouds. Get thee all below!”

He picked up his telescope and trained it on the residence of The Noble House. He could see Struan standing in the midst of a group outside the front door. There were a few heads peeking out of third-story windows.

He snapped the telescope closed. “Best get thee inside, Dirk,” he said quietly.

He jammed the remnants of the gangway hatch into place and battened it down as best he could and went below.

“I thinks we be sayin’ prayers,” he said breezily.

“Oh good,” Lillibet said. “Can I say mine first? Like at bedtime?”

Culum had his arm around Tess.

“If we get out alive, I’m damned if I’m staying here,” he said. “We’re off home, and to the devil with this place.”

“Yes,” Tess said, sickened by the destruction. She looked in terror at the gradually approaching cloud screen. It swallowed Kowloon Peninsula. “We’d better get inside,” she said.

Culum closed the door after her, and the pain from his burned hands was excruciating. But he bolted the door.

She picked her way over the debris, and knelt beside Glessing. His face was cadaverous but his heart was beating. “Poor George.”

Struan was gauging the distance from the wharf to 
China Cloud
 and to the eastmost thunderclouds. He knew there was no time to get a cutter, so he ran down to the end of the wharf and cupped his hands.

“Orlov!” he roared. “Ahoy, 
China Cloud!”
 His voice echoed eerily over the Happy Valley harbor, and he saw Orlov wave to him and heard him call back faintly, “Aye?”

“Point her south! The winds’ll come from the south now! Head her south!”

“Aye,” he heard Orlov answer, and in a moment he saw seamen scurrying forward, and a cutter was over the side and the men began to pull feverishly and shove the bow around.

Struan hurried back to the group of men at the front door.

“Get inside!”

Some of them moved, but the young lieutenant still stared at his lorcha and at the harbor with disbelief. “Great God on high, she’s still afloat! And look at the fleet—look at the ships! I thought they’d all be blown to hell by now, but only one frigate’s aground, and that clipper’s lost its masts. Incredible, by God! South, did you say? Why?”

“Come on,” Struan said, tugging his arm. “Get inside—and get your men inside.”

“What’s the matter?”

“For God’s sake, we’ll be out of the vortex in a few minutes. And then the gale’ll reverse—I think it’ll reverse and blow from the south. Get your men—”

He was almost bowled over as Horatio rushed past and bolted up Queen’s Road toward the dockyard.

“Come back, you fool, you’ll be killed!” Struan shouted, but Horatio paid no attention. Struan chased after him.

“Horatio! What the devil’s the matter with you?” he said, catching up with him and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“I’ve got to tell Glessing. Finish all this marriage filth,” Horatio screamed. “Get away from me—murderer! You and your filthy murdering whore! I’ll see you both hanged!” He tore himself loose and rushed away.

Struan charged after him again, but rain began spattering and he stopped. The thundercloud wall was already halfway across the harbor, the sea boiling at its feet. He saw the cutter’s crew scramble aboard 
China Cloud
 and vanish below decks. Orlov waved a final time, then he too was gone.

Struan turned and raced for the shelter of the residence. A gust clawed at him and he redoubled his efforts. He gained the threshold in driving downpour and looked back.

Horatio was running out of Happy Valley along the shore. The cloud wall covered the dockyard and Horatio began to disappear into the mist. Struan saw him stop and look up, and then the tiny figure was wafted away like a leaf.

Struan hurled the door open and shoved it closed, but before he could bar it, darkness came and a Supreme Wind burst in and tossed him deep into the foyer. It blew out all the ground-floor windows and killed three seamen. And was gone.

Struan picked himself up, astonished that he was still alive. He rushed the door, and with all his huge strength closed and barred it. The maelstrom passed the windows, sucking debris and papers and lanterns out of the residence—everything that was not nailed down.

As Struan ran for the stairs, he came across the crushed body of the young lieutenant. He stopped, but another gust drove him back and snatched the body away, and then Struan was fighting out of the suction up the stairs to safety.

As the gale hit from the south, the 
White Witch
 pitched drunkenly. She heeled on her beam ends and swung on the fore hawsers, by some miracle righted herself, and, trembling, pointed into the wind. Brock picked up Lillibet and Liza and put them back in the bunk. He shouted encouragement, but they could not hear, and all of them held on desperately for their lives.

Water sluiced down the gangway and began crashing against the barred cabin door, seeping under it. A Devil Wind slammed into the ship. There was a thundercrack and the ship shuddered, and Brock knew that an anchor hawser had parted.

Aboard 
Boston Princess,
 Shevaun was holding her hands over her ears to try to shut out the shrieking of the winds as they assaulted the ship. Cooper felt the last hawser go. He shouted to Shevaun to hold on, but she did not hear him. He reeled over to her and held her against a stanchion with the limit of his strength.

The vessel lurched. Her port gunnel gasped out of the sea and took more water, and she began to drown. The storm gloated over her and flung her into the Russian ship.

In the main cabin of the huge brigantine a glass-fronted cabinet shattered, scattering bottles, crystal and cutlery, and Zergeyev hung on and cursed and said a prayer. As his ship settled back, her nose to wind, he kicked the debris from under his feet, said another prayer and poured another brandy.

A pox on Asia, he thought. I wish I were home. The pox on the devil storm. The pox on the British. The pox on this foul island. The pox on everything. The pox on Prince Tergin for sending me out here. The pox on Alaska—and on emigration. And on the Americas und Americans. But bless Shevaun.

Yes, he told himself as the ship reeled again and shrieked under the tempest’s violence. And bless Mother Russia and her sanctity, and her place in history. Prince Tergin’s plan is marvelous and correct, of course it is, and I’ll help it come to pass. Yes. Curse that damned bullet and the damned pain. No more riding over the limitless plains. That’s finished. Now I’m forced to forget the playing. Face yourself, Alexi! The bullet was luck—what’s the word the Tai-Pan uses?—ah yes, joss. The bullet was joss. Good joss. Now I can turn all my energies to the service of Russia.

What to do? Leave Hong Kong now. It’s finished. The stupid Lord Cunnington has throttled Britain and given us the key to Asia. Good. Make a trade deal with the Tai-Pan or with Brock, and then leave as soon as possible and go on to Alaska. Make arrangements for the tribes. Then go home. No, better—go on to Washington. Look and listen and think, and do what you were born to do—serve Mother Russia to the ends of the earth. Her earth.

Zergeyev felt the pain in his hip and for the first time enjoyed it. Very good joss, he thought. So it’s decided. We leave if we survive.

But what about Shevaun? Ah, there’s a girl worth thinking about, by the cross. Valuable politically, eh? And physically. But not good enough to marry even though her father’s a senator. But perhaps she is. Perhaps that would be a very wise move. Consider it, Alexi. We’re going to need leaders for Russian America. The continent will be split into principalities. Intermarriage has always been a form of conquest, eh? Perhaps you could hurry the day.

By St. Peter, I’d like her for a mistress. How could I arrange that? Would she? Why not? Stupid fool, Cooper. Damned annoying that she’s betrothed. Pity. She said she didn’t love him.

The typhoon was at its height, but the ring of mountains still deflected most of its violence from the harbor.

Boston Princess
 was floundering in mid-harbor, one gunnel awash, taking the seas heavily. Cooper knew that the end was near, and he held Shevaun and snouted that all would be well.

The ship sank deeper in the water and rushed at Kow-loon. Then she beached heavily. The rocks gutted her, and the waves rushed into her holds, and then a Supreme Wind lifted her out of the havoc and thrust her on her side above the surf.

Now that the gale blew from the south, it soared over the mountain range toward the mainland. And in the funnel that Happy Valley formed it increased its impossible force. It bore down on The Noble House, seeking its weak spot.

Struan was cradling May-may in his arms in the relatively safe suite on the north side. A lantern flickered nervously and cast bizarre, dancing shadows. Beyond the shattered windows, in the lee of the shrieking rain-soaked gale, there was only darkness. Ah Sam was kneeling on the floor and Yin-hsi nestled close to Struan for protection.