Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “Russia’s limitless,” Zergeyev said. “But only in symbolic terms. Actually, even Russia is bounded. By the Arctic and the Himalayas. By the Baltic and the Pacific.”

  “You’ve taken lands north?” Struan tried to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Where, for the love of God? North of Manchuria? Manchuria? Or China, my China?

  “Mother Russia stretches from sea to sea. Under God, Tai-Pan,” Zergeyev said simply. “You should see the earth of Mother Russia to understand what I mean. It is black and rich and filled with life. Yet we laid waste fifteen hundred miles of it to contain Bonaparte and his Grande Armée. You belong to the sea. But I belong to the land. I bequeath you the sea, Tai-Pan.” Zergeyev’s eyes seemed to cloud over. “That was a great battle this afternoon. And an interesting wager. Most interesting.”

  The lines on Struan’s cheeks deepened with his smile. “A pity it was a draw. Now we’ll never know—will we, Your Highness?—who was the better man.”

  “I like you, Mr. Struan. I would like to be your friend. We could be of great service to each other.”

  “I’d be honored to assist in any way.”

  Zergeyev laughed, his teeth brilliant white. “There’s time enough. One advantage Asia has over Europe is its appreciation of time. My family comes from Karaganda. That’s this side of the Urals, so perhaps, in part, I am Asian. We are Kazaki. Some people call us ‘Cossacks.’”

  “I dinna understand. The Urals?”

  “A mountain chain that runs from the Arctic to the Caspian Sea. It splits Russia into east and west.”

  “I know so little about Russia—or Europe, for that matter,” Struan said.

  “You should come to Russia. Give me six months of your time and let me be your host. There is much to see, cities—and seas of grass. It could be a very profitable experience. Huge markets for tea and for silks and all manner of trade goods.” His eyes twinkled. “And the women are most beautiful.”

  “I’m a little busy this week, but perhaps next?”

  “Now, let us not joke but be a little serious. Please consider it. Next year, the year after. I think it’s very important. For you and your country and the future. Russia and Britain have never warred on each other. For centuries we’ve been allies, and we’re both at odds with France, our hereditary enemy. Russia has huge land resources and millions of people, strong people. You’re land-poor, so you need your Empire and we favor that. You rule the seas and we favor that. You have your astounding industrial power and the wealth it brings. We are greatly pleased. You have trade goods and the means to deliver them and we have markets. But we also have trade goods you can use; the raw materials that you need to feed your incredible machines, and food for your astonishing people. Together we’re unbeatable. Together we can dominate France. And the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia and the infidel Turk. Together we can keep the peace. And grow and prosper to the benefit of all.”

  “Aye,” Struan said, as seriously. “I’m for that. But you’re talking on a national level. From a historical point of view. That’s na practical. And I dinna think you can blame Frenchmen for the ambition of her kings. Or justify changing Turks into Christians by the use of the sword. I had my say at lunch. On an international level, without some form of control over kings—and queens—we’ll always have wars. His Excellency said it very well. Kings—and any form of leader—spill other people’s blood. To be practical, there’s little I can do. I dinna operate on a national level—and I’ve no real power in Parliament, as you well know.”

  “But about Asia your opinion is carefully listened to. And I have great power in St. Petersburg.”

  Struan took a long pull on his cigar and then he exhaled. “What do you want in Asia?”

  “What do you want in China?”

  “Trade,” Struan said immediately, but very much on guard and careful not to reveal his true aim. There’s a devil of a difference, he said to himself, between Asia and China.

  “I could, perhaps, see that The Noble House was granted an exclusive tea-import license for the market for all the Russias. And outward bound, all the fur exports and grain of all the Russias.”

  “In return for what?” Struan said, overwhelmed by the enormousness of the offer. Such a monopoly would mean millions. And such a position of power would stand him in good stead in English political circles and give him enormous face.

  “Friendship,” Zergeyev said.

  “That word covers a multitude of meanings, Your Highness.”

  “It has only one meaning, Mr. Struan. Of course there are many ways a friend may help a friend.”

  “What specific help would you specifically want in return for a specific trade agreement with my company?”

  Zergeyev laughed. “Those are too many specifics for one evening, Mr. Struan. But it is worth thinking about and worth considering. And discussing at a specific time, eh?” He gazed over the harbor and past the ships to the mainland. “You should come to Russia,” he repeated.

  “When did you want it translated, Your Excellency?” Horatio looked up from the paper which Longstaff had handed him.

  “Anytime, my dear fellow. In the next few days, what? But put the Chinese characters over the English words, eh?”

  “Yes, sir. Should it be sent to someone?”

  “No. Just give it back to me. Of course, it’s a private matter.” Longstaff walked off, pleased with the way his scheme was progressing. The letter had said: “His Excellency the English Captain Superintendent of Trade wishes to buy fifty pounds’ weight of mulberry seeds or a thousand saplings, to be delivered as soon as possible.” All he had to do when Horatio returned it translated was substitute “tea” for “mulberry.” He could manage this himself; the Chinese character for tea was written on every box exported. Then he would wait until he had decided who could be trusted enough to receive it.

  Standing alone, Horatio reread the letter. Now, why would Longstaff want mulberries? There were tens of thousands of mulberry trees, and their silkworms, in the south of France, and it would be simple to get seeds from there. But not simple to get them from China. Is Longstaff planning to plant a grove of trees here? But why fifty pounds? That’s a fantastic quantity of seeds and he’s no gardener. And why say pointedly, “Of course it’s a private matter”?

  “Horatio?”

  “Oh, hello, George. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  Horatio noticed that Glessing was perspiring and ill at ease. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that, well, there comes a time in every man’s life … when he should … well, you meet someone who—I’m not putting it right. It’s Mary. I want to marry her and I want your blessing.”

  Horatio calmed himself with an effort and said what he had previously decided to say. He had been very conscious of Glessing’s attention to Mary tonight and had remembered the look on his face on that first day. He loathed Glessing for daring to complicate his and Mary’s life, and daring to have the impertinence to think that Mary would consider him for an instant. “I’m most flattered, George. And Mary will be too. But she’s, well, I don’t think she’s ready for marriage yet.”

  “But of course she is. And I’ve fine prospects and my grandfather’s going to leave me the manor. I’ll be quite well-off and my service prospects are damned fine and I’ve—”

  “Slow down, George. We must consider things very carefully. Have you discussed this with Mary?”

  “Good Lord, no. Wanted to have your feeling first. Of course.”

  “Well, why don’t you leave it with me? I had no idea your intentions were serious. I’m afraid you must be patient with me—I’ve always thought of Mary as much younger than she is. She is, of course, under the age of consent,” he added carelessly.

  “Then you approve in a general way?”

  “Oh yes—but it never occurred to me that … well, in due time, when she’s of age, I’m sure she’d welcome and be honored by your suit.”

  “Y
ou feel I should wait until she’s twenty-one?”

  “Well, I have only her interests at heart. She’s my only sister and, well, we’re very close to each other. Since Father died I’ve brought her up.”

  “Yes,” Glessing said, feeling flattened. “Damn fine job you did too. Damned decent of you to consider me at all; she’s so—well, I think she’s wonderful.”

  “Still, it’s best to be patient. Marriage is such a final step. Particularly for someone like Mary.”

  “Yes. Quite right. Well, let’s have a drink to the future, eh? I’m in no hurry to—well, but I’d like a formal answer. Plans must be made, mustn’t they?”

  “Of course. Let’s drink to the future.”

  “Devil take it,” Brock said as Gorth came up to him. “Struan’s be having every godrotting foot of cargo space outside of our ships. How’d they be doing that? This morning? Baint reasonable!”

  “It be almost like he’d advance news—but that be impossible.”

  “Well, no matter, by God,” Brock said, smug with the knowledge that he had a ship speeding for Manila but unaware that Struan’s ship was hours ahead. “That were a dance all right, weren’t it?”

  “Culum be fair taken with our Tess, Da’.”

  “Yus—I marked that too. It be time she went home.”

  “Not afore the judging.” Gorth’s eyes burned into his father’s. “A match twixt they two’d be right good for us.”

  “Never, by God,” Brock said tightly, his face reddening.

  “I say yes, by God. I heard a rumor—from one of our’n Portuguese clerks, who hav’ it from one of the Struans’: that the Tai-Pan be goin’ home in half a year.”

  “Wot?”

  “Leaving for good.”

  “I doan believe it.”

  “With that devil out, who’s Tai-Pan, eh? Robb.” Gorth spat neatly. “We can eat up Robb. Afore the land sale I’d say we could chew Culum like salt pork. Now I baint sure. But if Tess were his wife—then it’s Brock-Struan and Company. After Robb, Culum’s Tai-Pan.”

  “Dirk be never leaving. Never. Thee’s crazy in thy head. Just because Culum be dancin’ with her doan mean—”

  “Get it through thy head, Da’,” Gorth interrupted. “One day Struan be leaving. Common knowledge he wants in t’ Parliament. Like thee’ll want to retire. One day.”

  “There be time enough for that, by God.”

  “Yes. But one day thee’ll retire, eh? Then I’m Tai-Pan.” Gorth’s voice was not harsh, but calm and final. “I be Tai-Pan of Noble House, by God, not the second house. Culum-Tess’d fix it clever.”

  “Dirk’ll never leave,” Brock said, hating Gorth for implying that where he had failed Gorth would succeed.

  “I be thinking of us’n, Da’! An’ our house. An’ how you and me beed working day and night to beat him. An’ about the future. Culum-Tess be perfect,” Gorth added inflexibly.

  Brock bristled at the challenge. He knew that in time he would have to pass over the reins. But not soon, by God. For without the house, and without being Tai-Pan of Brock’s, he would shrivel and die. “Wot makes thee think it be Brock-Struan? Why not Struan-Brock and he be Tai-Pan and thee out?”

  “Doan thee worry, Da’. With thee an’ devil Struan it be like the fight today. Thee’s both equal matched. Both equal strong, equal cunning. But me an’ Culum? That be different.”

  “I be thinking about wot thee says. Then I decides.”

  “Of course, Da’. You be Tai-Pan. With joss, you’d be Tai-Pan o’ The Noble House afore me.” Gorth smiled and walked toward Culum and Horatio.

  Brock eased the patch over his eye and watched his son, so tall and dynamic and strong, and young. He looked at Culum, then glanced around, seeking Struan. He saw the Tai-Pan standing alone, down by the shore, looking out into the harbor. Brock’s love for Tess and his wish for her happiness was balanced against the truth of what Gorth had said. And he knew with equal truth that Gorth would eat up Culum if conflict was joined between them—and that Gorth would force the issue in time. Beed that right? To let Gorth eat up the husband that mayhaps Tess loved?

  He wondered what he would really do if the love blossomed—what Struan would do. It be solving us’n, he told himself. An’ that baint a wrong thing, eh? Yus. But you knowed old Dirk be never leaving Cathay—nor thee—and there’ll be a settling twixt thee and him.

  He hardened his heart, loathing Gorth for making him feel old. Knowing that even so he must settle the Tai-Pan. For Gorth against Culum with Struan alive was no contest.

  When the ladies came back, there was more dancing, but the Kankana was not repeated. Struan danced first with Mary and she enjoyed it greatly; his strength calmed her and cleaned her and gave her courage.

  Next he chose Shevaun. She pressed close enough to him to be exciting, but not close enough to be indelicate. Her warmth and perfume surrounded him. He half noticed Mary being led off the floor by Horatio, and when he turned again, he saw that they were strolling down to the shore. Then he heard the ship’s bells. Half past eleven. Time to see May-may.

  When the dance ended he escorted Shevaun back to the table. “Would you excuse me a moment, Shevaun?”

  “Of course, Dirk. Hurry back.”

  “I will,” he said.

  ——

  “It’s a beautiful night,” Mary said awkwardly.

  “Yes.” Horatio held her arm lightly. “I wanted to tell you something amusing. George drew me aside and asked, formally, for your hand in marriage.”

  “You’re astonished that anyone would want to marry me?” she asked coldly.

  “Of course not, Mary. I meant it’s preposterous for him to think you’d consider such a pompous ass as himself, that’s all.”

  She examined her fan and then stared into the night, troubled. “I said that I thought he—”

  “I know what you said, Horatio.” She cut him off sharply. “You were sweet and sloughed him off with ‘time’ and ‘my dear old sister.’ I think I’m going to marry George.”

  “You can’t! You can’t possibly like that bore enough to consider him for even a moment.”

  “I think I’m going to marry George. At Christmas. If there is a Christmas.”

  “What do you mean—if there is a Christmas?”

  “Nothing, Horatio. I like him enough to marry him, and I’m—well, I think it’s time to leave.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it myself.” Her voice trembled. “But if George wants to marry me—I’ve decided George is a good choice for me.”

  “But, Mary, I need you with me. I love you and you know—”

  Her eyes flashed suddenly, and all the pent-up bitterness and agony of years choked her. “Don’t talk about love to me!”

  His face became deadly white and his lips trembled. “I’ve asked God to forgive us a million times.”

  “Asking God to forgive ‘us’ is a little late, isn’t it?”

  It had begun after a flogging when he was young and she was very young. They had crept into bed together, clutching each other to black out the horror and pain. She was comforted by the heat of their bodies, and she felt a new pain which made her forget the beating. There were other times, happy times—she too young to understand, but not Horatio; then he had left for school in England. When he returned they had never referred to what had happened. For by then both knew what it meant.

  “I swear by God I’ve begged forgiveness.”

  “I’m so glad, dear brother. But there is no God,” she said, her voice flat and cruel. “I forgive you. But that won’t make me virgin, will it?”

  “Mary, I beg you, please, for the love of God, please—”

  “I forgive you everything, brother dear. Except your rotten hypocrisy. We didn’t sin—you did. Pray for your own soul, not mine.”

  “I pray for yours more than mine. We sinned, God help us. But the Lord will forgive. He will, Mary.”

  “This year, with joss, I’ll marry G
eorge and forget you and forget Asia.”

  “You’re not the age of consent. You can’t go. I’m your legal guardian. I can’t let you go. In time you’ll see how wise it is. It’s best for you. I forbid you to leave. That scum’s not good enough for you, you hear? You’re not leaving!”

  “When I decide to marry Glessing,” she hissed, her voice clawing him, “you’d better give your fornicating ‘approval’ in a hurry, because if you don’t tell everyone—no, I’ll tell the Tai-Pan first and he’ll come after you with a lash. I’ve nothing to lose—nothing. And all your godrotting praying to your nonexistent God and to Father’s sweet Christ won’t help you a bit. Because there’s no God and never was and never will be, and Christ was only a man—a saint but still a man!”

  “You’re not Mary; you’re”—his voice cracked—“you’re evil. Of course God exists. Of course we’ve souls. You’re a heretic. You’re a fiend! It was you, not me! Oh Lord God, give us Thy mercy—”

  Mary struck him with the flat of her hand. “Stop it, brother dear. I’m sick of your useless praying. You hear? You’ve made my flesh crawl for years. Because I know from the lust in your eyes that you still want to bed me. Even though you understand incest, and you understood it before you began.” She laughed, a terrifying laugh. “You’re worse than Father. He was mad with belief, but you—you only pretend to believe. I hope your God exists, because you’ll burn in hellfire forever. And good riddance.”

  She left. Her brother stared after her, then ran blindly into the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Heya, Mass’er!” Lim Din said, throwing open the door with a flourish.

  “Heya, Lim Din,” Struan said, checking the barometer. Fair weather, 29.8 inches. Excellent.

  He began to walk down the corridor, but Lim Din stood in the way and motioned importantly to the living room. “Missee say here-ah can. Can?”

  Struan grunted, “Can.”