Tai-Pan (7 page)

They drank, and when their glasses were drained, Struan ordered them refilled.

“With your permission, Captain Glessing, I’d like to offer your men a tot. And you, of course. A toast to the queen’s newest possession. You’ve passed into history today.” He called out to the merchants, “We should honor the captain. Let’s name this beach ‘Glessing’s Point.’ ”

There was a roar of approval.

“Naming islands or a part of an island is the prerequisite of the senior officer,” Glessing said.

“I’ll mention it to His Excellency.”

Glessing nodded curtly and snapped at the master-at-arms: “Sailors one tot, compliments of Struan and Company. Marines none. Stand easy.”

In spite of his fury at Struan, Glessing could not help glorying in the knowledge that as long as there was a Colony of Hong Kong his name would be remembered. For Struan never said anything lightly.

There was a toast to Hong Kong, and three cheers. Then Struan nodded to the piper, and the skirl of the clan Struan filled the beach.

Robb drank nothing. Struan sipped a glass of brandy and ambled through the throng, greeting those he wished to greet and nodding to others.

“You’re not drinking, Gordon?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Struan.” Gordan Chen bowed in Chinese fashion, very proud to be noticed.

“How are things going with you?”

“Very well, thank you, sir.”

The lad’s grown into a fine young man, Struan thought. How old is he now? Nineteen. Time goes so fast.

He remembered Kai-sung, the boy’s mother, fondly. She had been his first mistress and most beautiful. Ayee yah, she taught you a lot.

“How’s your mother?” he asked.

“She’s very well.” Gordon Chen smiled. “She would wish me to give you her prayers for your safety. Every month she burns joss sticks in your honor at the temple.”

Struan wondered how she looked now. He had not seen her for seventeen years. But he remembered her face clearly. “Send her my best wishes.”

“You do her too much honor, Mr. Struan.”

“Chen Sheng tells me you are working hard and are very useful to him.”

“He is too kind to me, sir.”

Chen Sheng was never kind to anyone who did not more than earn his keep. Chen Sheng’s an old thief, Struan thought, but, by God, we’d be lost without him.

“Well,” Struan said, “you could na have a better teacher than Chen Sheng. There’ll be lots to do in the next few months. Lots of squeeze to be made.”

“I hope to be of service to The Noble House, sir.” Struan sensed that his son had something on his mind, but he merely nodded pleasantly and walked off, knowing that Gordon would find a way to tell him when the time was ripe.

Gordon Chen bowed and after a moment wandered down to one of the tables and waited politely in the background until there was space for him, conscious of the stares but not caring; he knew that as long as Struan was 
the
 Tai-Pan he was quite safe.

The merchants and sailors around the beach ripped chickens and suckling pigs to pieces with their hands and stuffed themselves with the meat, grease running down their chins. What a bunch of savages, Gordon Chen thought, and thanked his joss that he had been brought up as a Chinese and not a European.

Yes, he thought, my joss has been huge. Joss had brought him his secret Chinese Teacher a few years ago. He had told no one about the Teacher, not even his mother. From this man he had learned that not all that the Reverends Sinclair and Mauss had taught was necessarily true. He had learned about Buddha and about China and her past. And how to repay the gift of life and use it to the glory of his motherland. Then last year the Teacher had initiated him into the most powerful, most clandestine, most militant of the Chinese secret societies, the Hung Mun Tong, which was spread all over China and was committed by the most sacred oaths of blood brotherhood to overthrow the hated Manchus, the foreign Ch’ings, the ruling dynasty of China.

For two centuries under various guises and names the society had fostered insurrection. There had been revolts all over the Chinese Empire—from Tibet to Formosa, from Mongolia to Indochina. Wherever there was famine or oppression or discontent, the Hung Mun would band the peasants together against the Ch’ings and against their mandarins. All the insurrections had failed and had been put down savagely by the Ch’ings. But the society had survived.

Gordon Chen felt honored that he, only part Chinese, had been considered worthy to be a Hung Mun. Death to the Ch’ings. He blessed his joss that he had been born in this era in history, in this part of China, with this father, for he knew that the time was almost ripe for all China to revolt.

And he blessed the Tai-Pan, for he had given the Hung Mun a pearl beyond price: Hong Kong. At long last the society had a base safe from the perpetual oppression of the mandarins. Hong Kong would be under barbarian control, and here on this little island he knew that the society would flourish. From Hong Kong, safe and secret, they would probe the mainland and harass the Ch’ings until the Day. And with joss, he thought, with joss I can use the power of The Noble House in the cause.

“Hop it, you bloody heathen!”

Gordon Chen looked up, startled. A squat, tough little sailor was glaring at him. He had a haunch of suckling pig in his hands and he was ripping at it with broken teeth.

“Hop it, or I’ll twist yor pigtail around yor bleedin’ neck!”

Bosun McKay hurried over and shoved the sailor aside. “Hold yor tongue, Ramsey, you poxy sod,” he said. “He don’t mean no harm, Mr. Chen.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. McKay.”

“You want grub?” McKay stabbed a chicken with his knife and offered it.

Gordon Chen carefully broke off the end bone of the chicken wing, appalled by McKay’s barbarian manners. “Thank you.”

“That all you’ll have?”

“Yes. It’s the most delicate part.” Chen bowed. “Thank you again.” He walked off.

McKay went over to the sailor. “You all right, mate?”

“I oughta cut yor bugger heart out. Is he yor Chinee doxy, McKay?”

“Keep yor voice down, mon. That Chinee’s to be left alone. If you want to pick on a heathen bastard, there’s plenty others. But not him, by God. He’s the Tai-Pan’s bastard, that’s what.”

“Then why don’t he wear a bleeding sign—or cut his bleeding hair?” Ramsey dropped his voice and leered. “I hear tell they’s different—Chinee doxies. Built different.”

“I don’t know. Never be’d near one of th’ scum. There’s enough of our own kind in Macao.”

Struan was watching a sampan anchored offshore. It was a small boat with a snug cabin fashioned from thin mats of woven rattan stretched over bamboo hoops. The fisherman and his family were Hoklos, boat people who lived all their lives afloat and rarely, if ever, went ashore. He could see that there were four adults and eight children in the sampan. Some of the infants were tied to the boat by ropes around their waists. These would be sons. Daughters were not tied, for they were of no value.

“When do you think we can return to Macao, Mr. Struan?”

He turned around and smiled at Horatio. “I imagine tomorrow, laddie. But I suppose His Excellency will need you for the meeting with Ti-sen. There’ll be more documents to translate.”

“When’s the meeting?”

“In three days, I believe.”

“If you have a ship going to Macao, would you give my sister passage? Poor Mary’s been aboard for two months.”

“Glad to.” Struan wondered what Horatio would do when he found out about Mary. Struan had learned the truth about her a little over three years ago . . .

He had been in a crowded marketplace at Macao, and a Chinese had suddenly pushed a piece of paper into his hand and darted away. It was a note written in Chinese. He had shown the paper to Wolfgang Mauss.

“They’re directions to a house, Mr. Struan. And a message: “ ‘The Tai-Pan of The Noble House needs special information for the sake of his house. Come secretly to the side entrance at the Hour of the Monkey.’ ”

“When’s the Hour of the Monkey?”

“Three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Where’s the house?”

Wolfgang told him and then added, “Don’t go. It’s a trap, 
hein
? Remember there’s a hundred thousand taels’ reward on your head.”

“The house is na in the Chinese quarter,” Struan had said. “In daylight it’d na be a trap. Get my boat’s crew together. If I’m na out safely in one hour, come and find me.”

So he had gone, leaving Wolfgang and the armed boat’s crew close by and ready if necessary. The house was joined to others in a row on a quiet, tree-lined street. Struan had entered through a door in the high wall and found himself in a garden. A Chinese woman servant was awaiting him. She was neatly dressed in black trousers and black coat, and her hair was arranged in a bun. She bowed and motioned him to be quiet and to follow her. She led the way through the garden and into the house and up a flight of private stairs and into a room. He followed cautiously, ready for trouble.

The room was richly furnished and the paneled walls were hung with tapestries. There were chairs and a table and Chinese teak furniture. The room smelled strangely clean with the faintest suggestion of a subtle incense. There was one window which overlooked the garden.

The woman went to the far end of a side wall and carefully moved a strip of paneling. There was a tiny peephole in the wall. She peered through it, then motioned him to do the same. He knew that it was an old Chinese trick to dupe an enemy into putting his eye to such a hole in a wall while someone waited on the other side with a needle. So he kept his eye a few inches from the hole. Still he could see the other room clearly.

It was a bedroom. Wang Chu, the chief mandarin of Macao, was on the bed nude and corpulent and snoring. Mary was naked beside him. Her head was propped on her arms and she was staring at the ceiling.

Struan watched with fascinated horror. Mary langourously nudged Wang Chu and stroked him awake and laughed and talked with him. Struan had been unaware that she could speak Chinese, and he knew her as well as anyone—except her brother. She rang a small bell, and a maid came in and began to help the mandarin dress. Wang Chu could not dress himself for his nails were four inches long and protected with jeweled sheaths. Struan turned away filled with loathing.

There was a sudden chatter of singsong voices from the garden and he cautiously looked out the window. Wang’s guards were assembling in the garden; they would block his exit. The servant woman motioned him not to worry but to wait. She went to the table and poured him tea; then she bowed and left.

In half an hour the men left the garden and Struan saw them form up in front of a sedan chair on the street. Wang Chu was helped into the sedan chair and carried away.

“Hello, Tai-Pan.”

Struan spun around, drawing his knife. Mary was standing in a doorway which had been concealed in the wall. She wore a gossamer robe which hid none of her. She had long, fair hair and blue eyes and a dimpled chin; long legs and tiny waist and small, firm breasts. A priceless piece of carved jade hung from a gold chain around her neck. Mary was studying Struan with a curious, flat smile.

“You can put the knife away, Tai-Pan. You’re in no danger.” Her voice was calm and mocking.

“You ought to be horsewhipped,” he said.

“I know all about whipping, don’t you remember?” She motioned to the bedroom. “We’ll be more comfortable in here.” She went to a bureau and poured brandy into two glasses.

“What’s the matter?” she said with the same perverse smile. “Haven’t you been in a girl’s bedroom before?”

“You mean a whore’s bedroom?”

She handed him a glass and he took it. “We’re both the same, Tai-Pan. We both prefer Chinese bedmates.”

“By God, you damned bitch, you—”

“Don’t play the hypocrite; it doesn’t suit you. You’re married and you’ve children. Yet you’ve many other women. Chinese women. I know all about them. I’ve made it my business to find out.”

“It’s impossible for you to be Mary Sinclair,” he said half to himself.

“Not impossible. Surprising, yes.” She sipped her brandy calmly. “I sent for you because I wanted you to see me as I am.”

“Why?”

“First you’d better dismiss your men.”

“How do you know about them?”

“You’re very careful. Like me. You wouldn’t come here secretly without a bodyguard.” Her eyes were mocking him.

“What are you up to?”

“How long did you tell your men to wait?”

“An hour.”

“I need more of your time. Dismiss them.” She laughed.

“I’ll wait.”

“You’d better. And put some clothes on.”

He left the house and told Wolfgang to wait for another two hours and then to come and find him. He told him about the secret door but not about Mary.

When he returned, Mary was lying on the bed. “Please close the door, Tai-Pan,” she said.

“I told you to put some clothes on.”

“I told you to close the door.”

Angrily he slammed it. Mary took off the filmy robe and tossed it aside. “Do you find me attractive?”

“No. You disgust me.”

“You don’t disgust me, Tai-Pan. You’re the only man I admire in the world.”

“Horatio should see you now.”

“Ah, Horatio,” she said cryptically. “How long did you tell your men to wait this time?”

“Two hours.”

“You told them about the secret door. But not about me.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I know you, Tai-Pan. That’s why I trust you with my secret.” She toyed with the brandy glass, her eyes lowered. “Had we finished when you looked through the peephole?”

“God’s blood! You’d better—”

“Be patient with me, Tai-Pan,” she said. “Had we?”

“Aye.”

“I’m glad. Glad and sorry. I wanted you to be sure.”

“I dinna understand.”

“I wanted you to be sure that Wang Chu was my lover.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve information that you can use. You’d never believe me unless you’d seen that I was his woman.”

“What information?”

“I’ve lots of information you can use, Tai-Pan. I’ve many lovers. Chen Sheng comes here sometimes. Many of the mandarins from Canton. Old Jin-qua once.” Her eyes frosted and seemed to change color. “I don’t disgust them. They like the color of my skin and I please them. They please me. I have to tell you these things, Tai-Pan. I’m only repaying my debt to you.”