Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “Thank you.” Struan chose one. The servants lit the cigars, and at a sign from the bishop they left.

  The bishop watched the smoke spiral. “Why should the Tai-Pan of The Noble House seek my help? Papist help?” he added with a brittle smile.

  “You can wager, wi’out odds, Your Grace, that it’s na sought lightly. Have you heard of cinchona bark? Jesuits’ bark?”

  “So. You have malaria. Happy Valley fever,” he said softly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Nay, I’ve na malaria. But someone I cherish has. Does cinchona cure malaria?”

  The bishop’s fingers toyed with the huge ring on his middle finger, then touched his crucifix. “Yes. If the malaria of Happy Valley is the same as the malaria that exists in South America.” His eyes were piercing. Struan felt their power but stared back as relentlessly. “Many years ago I was a missionary in Brazil. I caught their malaria. But cinchona cured me.”

  “Do you have cinchona here? In Macao?”

  There was a silence, broken by the clicking of the fingernails tapping the cross, reminding Struan of the Chinese doctor tapping May-may’s wrist. He wondered if he had judged correctly—about the bishop.

  “I don’t know, Senhor Struan.”

  “If cinchona can cure our malaria, then I’m ready to pay. If you want money you can have that. Power? I’ll give you that. If you want my soul you can have that—I dinna subscribe to your views, so that would be a safe exchange. I’ll even gladly go through the form of becoming a Catholic, but it would be meaningless, as you know and I know. Whatever you want I’ll give you if it’s in my power to give. But I want some of the bark. I want to cure one person of the fever. Name your price.”

  “For one who comes as a supplicant, your manners are curious.”

  “Aye. But I’m presuming that, irrespective of my manners—or what you think of me or I think of you—that we have the means of a trade. Do you have cinchona? If you have it, will it cure Happy Valley malaria? And if it does, what’s your price?”

  The room was very quiet, quiet overlaid with movement of minds and wills and thoughts.

  “I can answer none of those questions now,” the bishop said.

  Struan got up. “I’ll come back tonight.”

  “There’s no need for you to return, senhor.”

  “You’re saying you’ll na trade?”

  “I’m saying that tonight may be too soon. It will take time to send word to every healer of the sick and to get a reply. I will get in touch with you as soon as I have an answer. To all your questions. Where will you be? China Cloud or your residence?”

  “I’ll send a man to sit on your doorstep and wait.”

  “There’s no need. I will send word.” The bishop remained seated in his chair. Then, seeing the depths of Struan’s concern, he added compassionately, “Don’t worry, senhor. I will send word to both places, in Christ’s name.”

  “Thank you.” As Struan was leaving, he heard the bishop say, “Go with God,” but he did not stop. The front door clanged behind him.

  In the stillness of the little room the bishop sighed deeply. His eyes saw the bejeweled crucifix that hung at his chest. He prayed silently. Then he sent for his secretary and ordered the search to begin. Then, alone once more, he split himself into the three persons that all generals of the Church must simultaneously be. First, the anointed Peter, first Bishop of Christ, with all that that spiritually implied. Second, the militant guardian of the Church temporal with all that that implied. And last, just a simple man who believed the teachings of a simple man who was the Son of God.

  He settled back in his chair and let these facets of himself argue one with another. And he listened to them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Struan walked up the marble stairs of the company residence, fatigued yet strangely at peace. I’ve done all I can, he thought.

  Before he could open the door it was flung wide with a flourish. Lo Chum, the majordomo of the servants of The Noble House in Macao, beamed at him toothlessly. He was a tiny old man with a face like ancient ivory and a pixie smile, and he had been in Struan’s service ever since Struan could afford a servant. He wore a neat white smock, black trousers and rope sandals.

  “Hallo-ah, Tai-Pan. Bath ready, brekfass ready, clotheses ready, wat for Tai-Pan wantshee, can? Never mind.”

  “Heya, Lo Chum.” Struan never ceased being wonder-struck at the rapidity with which news traveled. He knew that if, as soon as he had come ashore, he had run the length of the jetty and had gone directly to the mansion, the door would still have been flung open and Lo Chum would have been there as he was now.

  “Bath, clotheses can,” Struan said.

  “Compradore Chen Sheng been have gone. Say come back nine clock, can?”

  “Can,” Struan replied wearily.

  Lo Chum closed the door and scuttled ahead of Struan up the marble staircase and opened the door of the master bedroom. The large, iron hip bath was filled with steaming water, as always, a glass of milk was on a small table as always, his shaving gear was laid out, fresh shirt and clothes were on the bed—as always. It’s good to be home, Struan thought.

  “Tai-Pan wantshee cow chillo in bath, heya?” A neigh of laughter.

  “Ayee yah! Lo Chum. A’ways talkshee werry bad troubles, a’ways talkee jig-jig cow chillo in bath, wat never mind. Wake Mass’er Culum—say here can!” Struan said, getting out of his dirty clothes.

  “Mass’er Culum no slep-slep.”

  “Where Mass’er go-ah?” Struan asked.

  Lo Chum picked up the clothes and shrugged. “A’l night out, Mass’er.” Struan frowned. “All same, every night, heya?”

  Lo Chum shook his head. “No, Mass’er. One, two night slep-slep here.” He bustled out.

  Struan immersed himself in the bath, disturbed by the report of Culum’s absences. I hope to God Culum’s sense enough na to go into Chinatown.

  Promptly at nine o’clock a rich sedan chair stopped outside the mansion. Chen Sheng, compradore of The Noble House, lowered himself ponderously. His robes were crimson and his hat bejeweled and he was very conscious of his majesty.

  He marched up the steps and the door was opened by Lo Chum personally—as always. This gave Chen Sheng great face, for Lo Chum opened the door personally only to the Tai-Pan and to him.

  “He is expecting me?” he asked in a dialect of Cantonese.

  “Of course, Excellency. I’m sorry to arrange your appointment so early but I felt you would want to be first.”

  “I hear he left Hong Kong in frantic haste. Do you know what’s the matter?”

  “He went directly to the Tai-Pan of the longskirts and—”

  “I know that,” Chen Sheng said petulantly. He could not fathom why Struan had rushed to the monastery. “I really don’t know why I’m so patient with you, Lo Chum, or why I continue to pay you monthly squeeze to keep me informed in these very hard times. I knew the ship was in the harbor before you sent word. Disgusting lack of interest in my affairs.”

  “I’m really very sorry, Excellency,” Lo Chum said. “Of course, the Tai-Pan did bring his concubine on the ship.”

  “Ah!” Good, he thought. I’ll be glad to pass back the children and have done with that responsibility. “That’s a little better, though I would have been told by others within the hour. What other pearls of information have you that merit so vast a retainer all these years?”

  Lo Chum showed the whites of his eyes. “What wisdom could I, a lowly slave, have for such a mandarin as yourself?” He spoke very sadly. “These are hard times, Excellency. My wives harass me for money and my sons spill taels on gambling as though silver grew like paddy. Distressing. Only by pre-knowledge of great importance can one defend oneself against fate. It is terrible to think that such knowledge could fall into the incorrect ear.”

  Chen Sheng played with his queue, instantly aware Lo Chum had very special information.

  “I agree. In such hard times as these it is very important
—the gods have decreed as much—to assist the impoverished,” he said gravely. “I was thinking of sending you an unworthy gift on behalf of your illustrious ancestors—three roast pigs, fourteen laying hens, two bolts of Shantung silk, a pearl worth ten taels of the purest silver, a fine jade belt buckle of the early Ch’ing Dynasty worth fifty taels, and some incidental sweetmeats and pastries that are quite inadequate for your palate but perhaps you would care to give them to your own servants.”

  “A gift of such magnificence I could hardly accept,” Lo Chum said with great deference. “It would put me in your debt forever.”

  “If you refuse, then I can only presume that it is an inadequate offering to your illustrious ancestor and I shall lose face.”

  At length Lo Chum allowed himself to be persuaded to accept, and Chen Sheng allowed himself to be persuaded that the gift was princely.

  “I hear that the Tai-Pan seeks something,” Lo Chum whispered, “because his concubine is very sick. Sick with the fever poison of Hong Kong.”

  “What?” Chen Sheng was horrified by the news, but pleased that the amount of the gift had been well spent. “Please go on!”

  Lo Chum told him about the doctor and the strange medicine—and all that Ah Sam had whispered this morning to a sampan owner whom Lo Chum had sent to her.

  “Rumor has it further that the Tai-Pan has offered twenty thousand taels’ reward. His son, your third wife’s illustrious son and your foster son, has instituted a frantic search for the drug in Hong Kong.”

  Chen Sheng’s mind swam with the implications. He motioned to Lo Chum and was guided into Struan’s study.

  “Hallo-ah, Tai-Pan,” he said expansively. “Good you see-ah Macao, nev’r mind.”

  “Hallo-ah, Chen Sheng,” Struan said. He motioned to a chair. “Sitshee!”

  “Boat-ah, Blue Cloud, come home number one, heya?”

  “Doan knowa. Werry wen I say you plenty quickee. Chen Sheng wantshee see my, heya?”

  Chen Sheng was worried. He, the leader of the Macao Triads, had been made personally responsible by Jin-qua for the safety of T’chung May-may and her children. Only he, of all Jin-qua’s associates, knew that she was Jin-qua’s granddaughter and that as the Tai-Pan concubine her value to them personally was enormous, and her value to the future Triad cause—which was the cause of China—inestimable. Word that the fleet was returning immediately to Canton instead of going directly to Peking had saved them nearly four millions of taels—a hundred times the cost of May-may’s education. He blessed his joss for May-may; without her he would have had to find a substantial amount of that ransom himself.

  And now the stupid, worthless woman has had the bad joss to catch the incurable. At least, he amended quickly, incurable unless we can track down the drug. And if we can, she’ll get better and our investment in her—and the Tai-Pan—will be insured and there’ll be twenty thousand taels to boot. Then another scrap of information clicked into place and he thought, Ah, so that explains why Gordon Chen sent forty Triad members of the Hong Kong lodge secretly to Macao yesterday. There must be some of the drug here. He wondered what Gordon Chen would say if he told him that his secret “Teacher” had been sent on Jin-qua’s orders—that Jin-qua was the Triad leader of all Kwangtung, and that he, Chen Sheng, was second to Jin-qua. Ah, he told himself, it is very wise to keep secret many things; you never know when someone will slip.

  “Tai-Pan chillo littel in house my, werry good, werry happy,” he said jovially. “You wantshee see-ah? Take back Hong Kong?”

  “See today. Take back soon. I say werry wen.” Struan had been wondering if he should tell Chen Sheng about May-may.

  “Tai-Pan. Your chillo littel good,” Chen Sheng began. “Thinkee best you fetch cow chillo mama ’shore. Make chillo mama happy, can. Werry number one doctor here can. Werry number-one medicine can. Doan troubles. Thinkee medicine here in Macao. Chen Sheng fix plentee werry good.”

  “How’d you know she was here, and about the malaria?”

  “Wat? No unnerstan’.”

  “How you knowa cow chillo my bad sick hav?”

  Chen Sheng chuckled to himself, and shrugged. “Knowa all same, never mind.”

  “Medicine here? Truth?”

  “If here get. I send junk quick-quick to China Cloud. Bring cow chillo ’shore. Chen Sheng fix.”

  He bowed politely and walked out.

  Struan went aboard China Cloud and gave the crew shore leave by watches. Soon Chen Sheng’s junk was alongside. May-may was carefully brought ashore, a Chinese doctor in attendance, and carried to her house that nestled in the hill of São Antonio.

  The house was clean and staffed with servants, and tea was ready. Ah Sam rushed about officiously and hugged the children, who were waiting in the house with their personal amahs, and propped May-may in the huge bed and brought the children to her. There were tears of happiness and more rushing to and fro, and more shouting, and Ah Sam and May-may were gratified to be home at long last.

  The doctor had brought special foods and medicines to increase May-may’s strength and to maintain the strength of the child in her womb, and ordered her to stay in bed.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Struan said.

  “Good. Thank you, Tai-Pan. Thank you.”

  “I’m going to the residence—then perhaps to the Brock house.”

  “They are in Macao?”

  “Aye. All except Tyler. I thought I’d told you. Do you na remember? Culum and Tess’re here too.”

  “Oh yes,” she replied. She remembered what had been arranged with Gordon Chen. “Sorry. I had forget. My head’s all like sieve. Of course I remember now. I’m very gracious glad to be off ship and home. Thank you.”

  He went back to the residence. Culum had not returned, so he walked along the praia to the Brock residence. But neither Tess nor Liza knew where Culum was. Gorth said that the two of them had gone gaming last night at the English Club but that he, Gorth, had left early.

  “I’ll see thee to door,” Gorth said. When they were alone by the door, he smiled sardonically, exulting in the sweetness of revenge. “You know how it be—I were visiting a lady. Mayhaps he be visiting likewise. No harm in that, eh? He were winning at cards when I be leaving him, if that be wot’s aworryin’ thee.”

  “Nay, Gorth. I’m na worried about that. You know there’re good British laws about murder—a quick trial and a quick noose, whoever it is. Even a prostitute.”

  Gorth whitened. “Wot thee mean by that, eh?”

  “If someone becomes gallows bait, I’ll be hangman gladly.”

  “Be thee threatening me? There be law against that too, by God.”

  “If there’s a death—then there’ll be a charge of murder, by God.”

  “Doan know wot thee means!” Gorth blustered. “Thee be false accusing me!”

  “I’m na accusing you of anything, Gorth. Just reminding you of facts. Aye. I hear that there are two possible witnesses to a possible death—who’d be prepared to talk in court.”

  Gorth controlled his panic. That’ll be that godrotting bitch Fortheringill, and that bugger Quance. She were paid enough to keep her tongue quiet. Well, I’ll be dealing with they right smartly if necessary, but it won’t be, ’cause the little bitch won’t die anyways. “I baint afeared of the likes of you—or thy godrotting false accusations.”

  “I’m na accusing you, Gorth,” Struan said. He was sorely tempted to provoke the inevitable fight now. But he knew that he would have to wait for Gorth to make the first mistake, to insult him unforgivably in public. Only then could he openly and freely send seconds with a formal challenge and kill him before an audience. Only that way could he avoid a breach of the Culum-Tess match and avoid giving Brock a means to destroy him in the courts of law. For May-may had been right—everyone in Asia knew that he was spoiling to slaughter Gorth. “If you see Culum, please tell him I’m looking for him.”

  “Do thy own messengering! I’m not thy lackey. Thee’s Tai-Pan of The Noble House no
t much longer, by God.”

  “Watch your step,” Struan said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Gorth gorged on the bait. “Nor I, Dirk. I tells thee man to man—watch thy step or I’ll be comin’ after thee.”

  Struan walked back to the residence, delighted with himself. Got you hooked, Gorth.

  Culum still had not returned. And there was no word from the bishop. Struan told Lo Chum to try to find Culum. He went out into the praia and turned up the hill toward the cathedral, thence into lesser-known streets, past gracious sidewalk restaurants and colorful umbrellas. He crossed a wide praça and went through a huge doorway.

  The nun at the desk looked up.

  “Morning. Do you speak English?” Struan asked.

  “A little, senhor.”

  “You have a patient. Miss Mary Sinclair. I’m a friend of hers.”

  A long pause. “You wish see?”

  “Please.”

  She motioned to a Chinese nun and talked rapidly to her in Portuguese. Struan followed the Chinese nun down a corridor and up some stairs into Mary’s room.

  It was small, filth-stained and rancid, its windows closed tight. A crucifix hung over the bed.

  Mary’s face was drained, her smile faint. And suffering had aged her.

  “Hello, Tai-Pan.”

  “What’s the trouble, Mary?” he asked gently. “Nothing I don’t deserve.”

  “I’ll get you out of this damned place,” Struan said.

  “I’m fine, Tai-Pan. They’re very kind to me.”

  “Aye, but this is nae place for a Protestant English girl.”

  A gaunt, tonsured monk came in. He wore simple robes—stiff with ancient bloodstains and spilled medicants—and a plain wooden crucifix.

  “Good morning,” the monk said, his English cultured and accentless. “I am Father Sebastian. The patient’s doctor.”

  “Good morning. I think I’ll take her out of your care.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Mr. Struan. She shouldn’t be moved for a month at least.”

  “What’s the matter with her?”