Gai-Jin (137 page)

“Can you read any flags? Any codes?” Norbert asked quickly, wondering if he could use Gornt’s knowledge. “Could you read Struan flags, ship to ship or ship to shore?”

“If they used standard international flag codes, but probably, like Brock’s, they have special…Just a moment, message from the flagship: Standard opening: ‘To Captain
of Pearl
from Admiral Ketterer.’ Next standard:
‘Return to your moorings at once.’ Next: ‘When tied up and sea safe, report to the flagship at once,’ adding the letters ‘
W-I-T-H H-I-M
.’ Last standard: ‘Acknowledge.’” Gornt glanced back quickly. “‘With him,’ Mr. Greyforth? Would that be Struan?”

“Bull’s-eye.”

“Standard acknowledgment.” Gornt put down the glasses and rubbed his eyes, the concentration had given him a headache. “Bull’s-eye? You know what it all means?”

“What’s aboard
Pearl
that’s so important? Captain bloody Marlowe, R.N.” It took Norbert no time at all to explain.

“Married?” Gornt burst out. “You’re brilliant, suh!”

“Never thought Ketterer would agree but it seems he has. Why? He gains nothing.” Norbert was puzzled, then smiled spitefully. “Unless…unless he’s ordered Struan and Marlowe aboard to mat Marlowe and undo the deed right smartly—to jam the knife further into Struan, to torture him some more.”

“Can he?”

“That bugger can do what the hell he likes, if the truth be known,” Norbert said, and spat into the spittoon, then threw the butt of his cheroot into it as well. “Every man jack aboard the fleet’s duty bound to obey him, and they would!”

“You mean he could order them to go against the law?”

“Let’s put it this way: they’re to obey immediately or suffer the consequences—which range from the cat to hanging to keelhauling. If he wanted he could hang you from one of his yardarms, then plead he’d been misled by juniors—he’d beat any court-martial. Meanwhile you’re dead.”

“Then how could you be so … so opposed to him, to his face, Mr. Greyforth?”

“Because Ketterer’s law-abiding; they breed ’em like that for the Royal Navy, special, to obey orders from the next above, but mostly because we’ve Wee Willie—that feisty little bugger’s the one above. He’s our real protection from Ketterer, the General, Jappos and every other bloody enemy—but that won’t protect young Struan from Ketterer’s phlegm.”

“So, Captain Marlowe, Mr. Struan’s peculiar request was for you to go out of sight of land—and to marry him to Miss Angelique Richaud?”

“Yes, sir.” Marlowe stood at attention unable to read the Admiral’s face. Ketterer was flanked at the table in the great cabin aft by the flagship Captain. Behind them, his aide-de-camp, the Flag Lieutenant, stood equally frozen.

“And you did, knowing them to be minors?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please give me a report, in writing, by sundown, specifying your reasons, exactly, and what occurred, exactly. Dismissed.” Marlowe saluted and began to leave as Ketterer turned to the Captain, a weathered, craggy, ugly man renowned for the toughness of his discipline and worship of Naval Regulations. “Captain Donavan, perhaps you’d research the legal position, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” His blue eyes were merciless.

“Good, that’s all then—for the moment.” This was the last thing Marlowe heard before he closed the door and his heart seemed to begin again.

Struan was waiting in the anteroom outside. Two marines stood guard suspiciously. “Christ, did you get stick?”

“No, not at all.” Marlowe tried to sound calm. “The Admiral, correctly, wants a written report, that’s all. I’ll be getting back to my ship. See you later.” Before he could leave, the cabin door opened and he died a little more. Captain Donavan brushed past, hardly acknowledging him or his salute. At the doorway, the Flag Lieutenant said, “Mr. Struan, Admiral’s compliments, would you kindly step in, please.”

Struan hobbled into the cabin. Flag did not follow, but closed the door and waited within shouting distance. Before leaving, Marlowe caught his eye but that told him nothing—of course neither would say anything in front of the marines.

Ketterer, now alone in the cabin, motioned Struan to be seated. “On the one hand may I congratulate you,” he said with grim formality, and put out his hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Struan shook hands, finding the Admiral’s grip firm but his palm soft. “And on the other?”

“On the other it seems you are going to have your work cut out to keep your promises.”

“Sir?”

“You seem to have stirred up a snake pit of venom amongst your fellows. Sir William is besieged with complaints.”

“As I said, I’ll do my best.”

“You must do more than that, Mr. Struan.”

“Sorry, but what does that mean, Admiral?”

“It means nothing more or less than what you’ve already promised to do.”

In the small silence, Struan decided not to be overpowered, or crushed, or to lose sight of the fact that this man had made his marriage possible-no, not possible, he corrected himself, had “allowed” it to be possible. John Marlowe had had the balls to take the initiative. “Captain Marlowe’s not in any trouble, is he?”

“Captain Marlowe is subject to Naval Regulations.”

“Yes, naturally, but I believe he married us within Naval Regulations, sir. I read the paragraph meticulously beforehand, and there was no age limit or mention of ages.”

“Regulations also state that any such marriage is subject
to immediate review if feasible
. In this case it is.”

“So I’m married but not, is that what you are saying?”

“I merely point out, Mr. Struan, as in all matters in the Navy, unusual happenings are subject to review.”

Struan forced a smile. “Correctly so. My …” He almost used “reading,” but judiciously changed the word. “My understanding of the order, sir, gave him permission.”

Ketterer raised an eyebrow. “Captain Marlowe showed you a sealed order from me to him?”

“As I understood it, sir, the order gave him a qualified permission, sir—I confess I went out of my way to ask for the exact wording, and to persuade him that was the case.”

“I rather thought you would,” the Admiral said dryly.

“Then it was a qualified permission?”

“My order was stated clearly: If you should ask a peculiar favor, he might grant it
if he wished
. Last night, didn’t you mention something about wanting to go out of sight of land? Your peculiar request might have been only that—his orders were to do his trials within sight of the flagship.”

Struan was trying hard to keep his balance, feeling the coals of disaster beneath him. “Yes, sir. Yes, you might have thought that. If there was any misunderstanding it was mine, not Captain Marlowe’s.”

“I’ll note that, Mr. Struan.”

Malcolm had been watching the older man carefully and listening even more carefully, wanting to discern where the Admiral was heading, now afraid that this was a continuation of the cat-and-mouse game. Am I again in his claws—and will never be out of them?

“May I ask, Admiral, why you gave Captain Marlowe even a perhaps qualified permission that certainly I may have misconstrued?” Struan kept his face clear, not forgetting he was married until the ceremony was declared illegal. “I never thought you would, last night.”

In the night Ketterer had been beset with Consuela. “Give the young senhor a chance, Charles,” she had said with that lovely, liquid accent, as sensual in memory as the depth of her brown eyes in life. “We were never given one, why not give him one—remember you were not much older than him. You have from him a giant step forward, surely he will keep his promise. Why not be generous—as our parents and your foul Admiralty were not? He is so much in love, Charles, like you were, but unlike you, the young senhor has already been dealt a cruel hand at the whim of God …”

He had awakened, her words sounding in his ears, the way she
pronounced his name still tugging at his heart after all the years. But this isn’t the same, he had thought, hardening his heart. The Struans are opium smugglers and gunrunners—I will not forget my dead sailors. Sorry, my long lost love, the marriage will be declared illegal immediately—Struan will not be allowed off the hook. Duty is duty.

Now, looking at Struan, remembering the way he had hobbled in, determined to appear strong when Hoag and Babcott had both confirmed privately the youth was almost constantly in pain, doubting if he would ever run, or ride comfortably again, remembering,
Unlike you … at the whim of God
.

He sighed. “A sudden whim, Mr. Struan,” he said, deciding to be lenient, “coupled with a belief that you will perform as promised.” He got up, her smile etched on the back of his eyes, and went to the sideboard feeling curiously young. “Sherry?”

“Thank you.” Struan started to stand, and wavered, weak with relief at Ketterer’s admission.

“I’ll bring it. Tio Pepe? Good. Health!” They touched glasses. Ketterer took a large swallow.

“Listen, young man,” he said, his voice unusually quiet and kind, “I shall, of course, consult Sir William and will prevail on him to read Naval Regs. More than likely Captain Marlowe’s report will be accepted, after due consideration—we must make sure our officers are always aware of the consequences of independent action, but he will not be ‘in trouble’ as you put it. This is to be another secret between us. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. I will do what I promised.” Struan took a deep breath. “Then my marriage is legal?”

“That depends on your point of view. As far as I am concerned, the Navy is concerned, that is my belief, therefore it should be in common law. As far as your two Churches are concerned, and the inevitable legal broadsides you will have to endure, I suggest you both batten down your hatches and prepare for the worst. Again congratulations, on the one hand. My compliments to Mrs. Struan—privately, of course.”

By sunset, the news had spread throughout the Settlement, Drunk Town and the Yoshiwara.

Speculation had been immediate, noisy, and argumentative as theories were put forth for and against such a marriage, some predicting the ceremony was totally illegal, others angrily denying it, many of the more quarrel some traders—and all Drunk Towners—using foul language, obscene
gestures, and bunched fists to support their positions, while a few of the wiser said: “Ah, the canny young bugger, so that’s why he sucked up to the Admiral! It was a deal! Clever—I’d do the same if I were Struan. Now that he’s got her will he still be anti-opium, anti-armaments? No way …”

With the new topics, several fights began in Drunk Town and a bar burned down. Father Leo was rumored to have had apoplexy and was now prostrate in front of his altar. Reverend Tweet, at this very moment, was supposed to be raving at Sir William, and in the Club, Lunkchurch and Grimm, inevitably on opposing sides, had begun to battle and, as usual, were tossed into the street.

Malcolm and Angelique were in the cabin of their launch. Ahead was their jetty and, holding hands, they saw a boisterous group of well-wishers that had gathered there, headed by Jamie McFay. The promised bad weather had not materialized, with only a sprinkle late afternoon. The wind was still up, sky overcast, but this did not dampen the welcoming uproar.

“Here we go, Mrs. Struan,” Malcolm said, and hugged her. She kissed him, whispering, “Yes, my darling husband. Oh, Malcolm, that sounds so funny, strange, so marvelous. This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No, though it feels the same to me.”

The cutter twisted in the chop, throwing them together to more laughter, and swung alongside to cheers and shouts, the neatest docking the Bosun had ever made. “Lively on the ropes, lads,” he ordered, but there was no need as eager hands twisted the towlines to bollards and sailors swarmed to help them.

“Congratulations, Tai-pan, Mrs. Struan,” Jamie shouted amidst cheers that reached the interior of the Club across High Street. At once the room emptied and everyone began to gather, doffing their hats, even Mrs. Lunkchurch and Mrs. Grimm amongst them, equally festive.

Gornt and Norbert Greyforth watched from the upper windows of their building. Outside all houses Chinese servants stood around popeyed, and samurai were collecting at the North Gate, mystified. Ministers and their staffs were trickling out of their Legations: Sir William, hard-faced, flanked by a smiling Phillip Tyrer, and Michaelmas Tweet, black-browed and furious, Zergeyev beaming and cheering lustily, Dmitri shouting congratulations waving an American flag, and Seratard and André were torn between elation that the marriage was now achieved, and fury that they had not been consulted.

“André, bring her in as soon as possible.
Jésus
, the stupid
gamine
should have let us into the secret—it’s your job to control her!” Seratard said with the side of his mouth, enthusiastically waving back as Angelique caught his eye and waved. “Struan must execute a will conforming to the Code Napoléon at once, see to it! Only God knows what dirty tricks William will
try, for or against—whatever he says, our position is the marriage is legal, but we must insist it conform to French law! Get Father Leo, he will conduct their proper wedding next week…
Mon Dieu
, look at those cretins!”

Angelique and Struan were being mobbed. With increasing difficulty they tried to push a way through the crowd, all of whom wanted to kiss the bride, as their right, to be prevented by others, to more uproar.

She began to panic. This heightened the tension of those nearby. The crowd swirled and swamped her, Struan using his sticks to fight to her side as Jamie began shoving through roughly. Someone threw a punch, and an ugly skirmish began. Sir William called out to the marine sentries, “Go and clear a way for them, hurry up, for God’s sake, or they’ll be crushed!” The four men began running. “Phillip, supervise them, and get Struan into my office on the double.”

The Sergeant roared, “Hey, you lot!” and the mob devil that sometimes appeared in a crowd for no apparent reason was gone. Quietly and firmly he began forcing a passage. “Behave yourselves, give the lady room!” He was obeyed as Struan reached her. “Are you all right, Angel?”