Tai-Pan (90 page)

“I know. But you soon will be. I’m going home in a few months,” Struan said. “I’ll bring 
Lotus Cloud
 back next year and deal with Wu Kwok. But everything else will be your problem.”

Culum thought about being Tai-Pan, about being on his own. But he knew that now he was not on his own. Now he had Tess.

“I think I can make peace with Brock—if you don’t try to do it for me,” he said. “Did you plan all this? Can I have a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” He waited, desperately wanting a “no.”

“Aye,” Struan said deliberately. “I used certain facts to achieve a calculated end.”

“When I’m Tai-Pan I’m joining Struan and Company with Brock and Sons,” Culum said. “Brock’ll be the first Tai-Pan and I’ll be after him!”

Struan was on his feet. “That bastard’ll na be Tai-Pan of The Noble House. He’ll na run my ships!”

“They’re not 
your
 ships. They’re the company’s. Isn’t Brock just another pawn to be used or abused at whim?”

“I swear to God, Culum, I dinna understand you. Your whole life’s put into your hands and now you’ll do the one thing to destroy it.”

Culum suddenly saw his father clearly—as a man. He saw the size and strength and the hard, weathered face, the red-gold hair and the startling green of the eyes. And he knew that he would always be this man’s tool. He knew he could never battle with him, or persuade him that the only way he could survive alone as Tai-Pan would be to join with Brock and gamble that Brock would leave him and Tess in peace. “I can never be 
the
 Tai-Pan of 
the
 Noble House. I’m not like you,” he said with calm finality. “I don’t want to be, and I never will.”

There was a knock.

“Aye?” Struan grated.

Lo Chum opened the door. “So’dger Mass’er see, can?”

“I will na be a minute.”

Culum got up. “I think I’ll go and—”

“Just a minute, Culum.” Struan turned back to Lo Chum. “See now, savvy?”

Lo Chum huffed irritably and opened the door wider.

The young Portuguese officer entered. “Good afternoon, senhor.”

“Please sit down, Captain Machado. Do you know my son Culum?”

They shook hands and the officer sat down.

“As leader of the English nationals, my superiors have asked me to tell you officially the result of our investigation into the murder of Senhor Brock,” he began.

“Have you caught the others?” Struan interrupted. The officer smiled and shook his head. “No, senhor. I doubt if we ever will. We passed the assassin over to the Chinese authorities as we are bound to do. They investigated him in their inimitable way. He admitted he was a member of a secret society. The Hung Mun. Triads, I believe you call them. It seems he came here from Hong Kong a few days ago. According to him, there is a thriving lodge in Tai Ping Shan.” The officer smiled again. “It seems, too, that you have many enemies, Senhor Struan. That 
Cabrdo
 claimed your—your natural son, Gordon Chen, was the leader.”

“That’s the best joke I’ve heard in years,” Struan said, outwardly amused. But he was considering very carefully the possibility that it was true. And if it is? he asked himself. I dinna ken. But you’d better find out fast, one way or another.

“The mandarins were amused too, so they said,” Machado told him. “In any event, unfortunately the heathen devil died before they could get the real leader’s name.” He added disdainfully, “He claimed he had been sent here to assassinate Senhor Brock on the leader’s orders. Of course he gave names of his associates but these are as meaningless as the rest of his story. It was a simple robbery. These damned Triads are nothing but highwaymen. Or perhaps,” he said pointedly, “a matter of vengeance.”

“Eh?”

“Well, senhor. The young Senhor Brock was—how shall I put it—not exactly admired in certain quarters of ill repute. It seems that he frequented a house near where he was found. He brutally attacked a prostitute a week or so ago. She died the day before yesterday. We have just received a complaint against him from the mandarins. Who knows? Perhaps the mandarins decided a tooth for a tooth, and this is all a diversion. You know how devious they are. Perhaps it’s just as well he is dead, for we would have to have taken action and that would have embarrassed everyone.” He got up. “My superiors will, of course, send an official report to His Excellency, as one of your nationals is involved.”

Struan offered his hand. “Will you thank them for me? And I wonder if this could be hushed up? The part about the prostitute. My son’s married to his sister, and I’d like to guard the Brock name. Tyler Brock is an old associate.”

“So I understand,” the officer said, faintly ironic. He glanced at Culum. “My congratulations, senhor.”

“Thank you.”

“I will mention your suggestion to my superiors, Senhor Struan. I’m sure they would appreciate the delicacy of the position.”

“Thank you,” Struan said. “If you catch the others, the reward still stands.”

The officer saluted and left.

“Thank you for suggesting that,” Culum said. “What would have happened to Gorth?”

“He would have hanged. There are good English laws about murder.”

“It would be ironic if that story were true.”

“Eh?”

“Gordon Chen and the secret society. If in actual fact you hadn’t planned Gorth’s challenge because you’d already secretly arranged for him to be assassinated.”

“That’s a terrible accusation. Terrible.”

“I’m not accusing you,” Culum said. “I merely said it would be ironic. I know that you’re what you are; any killing you do would have to be in the open, man to man. That’s the way 
the
 Tai-Pan’s mind would have to work. But mine won’t. It never will. I’m tired of trapping people and using them. I’m not you and I never will be. You have to put up with me the best you can. And if your Noble House dies in my hands—well, to use your own words, that’s joss. Your face is safe. You’ll leave as 
the
 Tai-Pan, whatever happens afterward. I’ll never understand you and know you’ll never understand me, but we can be friends even so.”

“Of course we’re friends,” Struan said. “One thing—promise you’ll never join with Brock.”

“When I’m Tai-Pan I have to do what 
I
 think is best. It’s no longer your decision. That’s the law you set up, the law I swore to obey.”

There were the sounds from the 
pra
ça.
 Somewhere in the distance church bells began chiming.

“Will you have dinner with us tonight? At the Club?”

“Aye.”

Culum departed. Struan remained at his desk. How can I put fire into Culum? he asked himself.

He could not think of an answer. He sent for his secretary and arranged for all company business to be completed before he returned to Hong Kong. He left the office, and on the way to May-may’s house he thought about Brock. Will he come storming into the Club tonight, like Gorth did?

Struan stopped for a moment and gazed out to sea. The 
White Witch
 and 
China Cloud
 looked beautiful in the afternoon sun. His eyes strayed over Macao and he saw the cathedral. Why did that devil bishop na put a fair price on the bark? Be fair yoursel’, Dirk. He’s nae devil. Aye, but he trapped you. Now you’ll never forget him for the rest of your life—and you’ll be doing all sorts of favors for the Church. And for the devil Catholics. Are they devils though? The truth, now.

Nay.

The only devil you know is Gorth, and Gorth’s dead—finished. Thank God!

Aye. Gorth’s dead. But na forgotten.

China Cloud
 slipped her moorings at dawn. The sea was calm and the wind east and firm. But two hours out to sea the breeze freshened, and Struan left May-may in the great cabin and went on deck.

Orlov was scanning the sky. It was clear to the horizon, but far off a few cumulus clouds were gathering. “No danger there,” he said.

“Nothing amiss there either,” Struan said, gesturing toward the sea. He strolled along the deck and then swung into the foremast shrouds. He climbed easily, the wind tugging him pleasantly, and he did not stop until he was braced on the topgallant halyards at the pinnacle of the foremast.

He searched the sea and the sky, meticulously seeking the squall or storm that might be lurking, or the hidden reef or uncharted shoal. But there were no danger signs as far as the horizon.

For a moment he let himself enjoy the speed and the wind and the limitlessness, blessing his joss for life and for May-may, She was much better—still quite weak, but strong compared to yesterday.

He examined all the rigging in sight, checking for damage or weakness, then climbed down and went back to the quarterdeck. An hour later the wind freshened again and the clipper heeled over more, spray digging into the lower sails.

“I’ll be glad to be in harbor tonight,” Orlov said uneasily.

“Aye. You feel it too?”

“I feel nothing. Only that I’ll be happy to be in harbor tonight.” Orlov spat to leeward and shifted his tobacco quid. “Sea’s fair, wind’s fair, sky’s clean—even so, there’s devilment abrewing.”

“It’s always brewing in these waters.”

“With your permission we’ll reef down and I’ll get the leadsman acalling the fathoms. Mayhaps it’s just a shoal or stinking, belly-gutting rock out there somewhere.” Orlov shivered and pulled his sea jacket closer, even though the day was warm and the wind safe.

“Aye.”

So the leadsman was sent forward, and he tolled the fathoms. And the crew shinned aloft and 
China Cloud’s
 press of canvas was eased off.

Late that afternoon she was safe in the neck of the west channel. Hong Kong Island was to port, the mainland to starboard. It had been a perfect voyage with no mishap.

“Perhaps we’re just getting old,” Struan said with a short laugh.

“The older you get, the more the sea wants to suck you down,” Orlov said without rancor, looking at the ocean aft. “Weren’t for my beautiful ship I’d sign off today.”

Struan walked to the wheel. “I’ll spell you a turn, helmsman. Go for’ard.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The seaman left them alone on the quarterdeck.

“Why?” Struan asked Orlov.

“I can feel the sea watching me. She’s always watching a seaman, testing him. But there comes a time when she watches differently—jealous, aye, jealous like the woman she is. And as dangerous.” Orlov spat the tobacco quid overboard and rinsed his mouth with the cold tea that was in the canvas bag near the binnacle. “I’ve never acted a priest and married anyone before. That was mortal strange—strange, Green Eyes, looking at those two, so young and eager and confident. And listening to the echo of you, puffed like a peacock, ‘By God, Orlov, you’ll marry us, by God. I’m master of 
China Cloud,
 by God. You know the Tai-Pan’s law, by God.’ And there’s me, aranting and araving and terrible reluctant so as to give him 
face,
 knowing all the time old Green Eyes is the puppeteer.” Orlov chuckled and peered up at Struan. “But I acted very well and let him command me—as you wanted me to be commanded. It was like, well, like my marriage present to the lad. Did he tell you our deal?”

“Nay.”

“ ‘Marry us and you’ll keep your ship, by God. Don’t, and I’ll hound you out of seas, by God.’ ” Orlov grinned. “I’d’ve married them anyway.”

“I was thinking of taking away your ship mysel’.”

Orlov’s grin vanished. “Eh?”

“I’m thinking of reorganizing the company—putting the fleet under one man. Would you like the job?”

“Ashore?”

“Of course ashore. Can you run a fleet from the quarterdeck of one clipper?”

Orlov bunched his fist and shook it toward Struan’s face.

“You’re a devil from hell! You tempt me with power beyond my dreams, to take the only thing I love on earth. On a quarterdeck I forget what I am—by God, you know that. Ashore what am I, eh? Stride Orlov the hunchback!”

“You could be Stride Orlov, tai-pan of the noblest fleet on earth. I’d say that’s a man’s job.” Struan’s eyes did not waver from the dwarf’s face.

Orlov spun around and went to the windward gunnel and began a paroxysm of Norwegian and Russian obscenities that went on for minutes.

He stamped back. “When would this be?”

“The end of this year. Maybe later.”

“And my trip north? For furs? Have you forgotten that?”

“You’d want to cancel it, eh?”

“What gives you the right to puppetize the world? Eh?”

“Helmsman! Come aft!” Struan gave the wheel back to the seaman as 
China Cloud
 broke out of the channel into the calm waters of the harbor. Ahead a mile was the jutting Kowloon Peninsula. The land on either side of the ship was barren and parched and fell away rapidly. To port, a mile or so ahead, was the rocky island promontory that had been called North Point. Beyond North Point, unseen from this position, were Happy Valley and Glessing’s Point and the small part of the harbor that was being used.

“Nor’ by nor’west,” Struan ordered.

“Nor’ by nor’west, sorr,” the helmsman echoed.

“Steady as she goes.” He looked over his shoulder at Orlov. “Well?”

“I’ve no option. I know when your mind’s set. You’d beach me without a second thought. But there’re are conditions.”

“Well?”

“First I want 
China Cloud.
 For six months. I want to go home. A last time.” Either your wife and sons will come back with you or they’ll stay, Orlov told himself. They’ll stay, and they’ll spit in your face and damn you to hell and you waste six months of a ship’s life.

“Agreed. As soon as I’ve another clipper here, 
China Cloud’s
 yours. You’ll bring back a cargo of furs. Next?”

“Next, Green Eyes, your law: that when you’re aboard, you’re captain. That for me.”

“Agreed. Next?”

“There’s no ‘next.’ ”

“We have na discussed money.”

“The pox on money! I’ll be tai-pan of the fleet of The Noble House. What more could a man desire?”

Struan knew the answer. 
May-may.
 But he said nothing. They shook hands on the deal, and when the ship was a quarter mile off Kowloon, Struan ordered 
China Cloud
 on to a southwest-by-south tack and headed into the harbor proper.