Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  When they reached the gangway, he let Liza go on deck first.

  “Morning,” Captain Orlov said.

  “Is Miss Brock aboard?” Struan asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Be you—be you marrying they? Culum and my Tess?” Liza asked.

  “Aye.” Orlov turned to Struan. “You put me under his orders. He ordered me to marry them. The master is the master and that’s your law. I followed orders.”

  “I quite agree,” Struan said mildly. “You were na responsible except in matters of seamanship. I made that clear to Culum.”

  Liza whirled on Struan furiously. “Then it were deliberate. Thee arranged this’n. Thee knowed they were eloping!”

  “No, he didn’t, Mrs. Brock.” Culum was emerging from the gangway, confident but tense. “It was my idea. Hello, Tai-Pan. I ordered Orlov to marry us. It’s my responsibility.”

  “Aye. Let’s below, lad.”

  Liza, her face ashen, took Culum by the shoulder. “Be thee poxed?”

  “Of course not. What put that in your head? Do you think I’d marry Tess if I were?”

  “I pray t’ God you be telling truth! Where be Tess?”

  “In the cabin. We’re … come below.”

  “Be—be she all right?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Brock!”

  “This is nae place for family matters,” Struan said. He went down the gangway, and Liza followed.

  “Hello,” Tess said shyly, coming out of the main cabin. “Hello, Mumma.”

  “Be you all right, luv?”

  “Oh yes, oh yes.”

  Then mother and daughter were in each other’s arms. Struan motioned Culum out of the cabin. “I’m sorry, Tai-Pan, but we decided it was best.”

  “Listen, lad. There was trouble while you were away.” He told Culum about Gorth. “There’s nae doubt it was him. He set you up like we thought.”

  “There’s no—no chance that after seven days … is there?”

  “Nay. But best to go to Brock’s doctor. It’ll set Liza’s mind at rest.”

  “You were right again. You warned me. God in heaven, you warned me. Why would Gorth do that?” How could any man do that to another, he asked himself.

  “I dinna ken. Is everything all right, twixt you and Tess?”

  “Oh, yes. Damn Gorth! He’s ruined everything.” He took two letters from his pocket. “Here are the replies from Skinner and Gordon.”

  “Thank you, lad. Dinna worry about—”

  “We be going ashore,” Liza said, standing formidably in the doorway. “I be taking Tess, and then—”

  Culum interrupted her. “You won’t take my wife anywhere, Mrs. Brock. As to the rumors about the pox, we’ll see your doctor instantly and settle that right now.”

  “Tyler’ll have marriage broke. It were without permission.”

  “We’re married before God, legally, and that’s the end to that.” Culum was saying what he and Tess had planned to say. But his boldness seemed hollow now, because of Gorth. “I’m sorry we eloped—no, not sorry. We’re married and I’ll do everything in my power to be a good son-in-law, but Tess stays with me and does what I say.”

  “Tyler’ll horsewhip you!”

  “Oh Mumma, no,” Tess burst out, running to Culum. “We be wed and it be the same as three month and that’s over. Tell her, Tai-Pan, tell her that she’s wrong.”

  “I’m sure your father will be angry, Tess. Rightly so. But I’m also sure he’ll forgive you both. Liza, can you na forgive them here and now?”

  “It’s not me, Dirk Struan, who’s to forgive.”

  “Come on, Mumma,” Tess said. Nothing can happen now, she told herself. Now that we’re husband and wife and he’s loved me and it hurt like afore but different. And he’s satisfied and so gentle and wonderful. She had cast Nagrek away forever. “Let’s all have breakfast together.”

  Liza wiped her sweat-beaded lips. “You’d best move into house. I’ll send word to thy Da’.”

  “We’ll be staying at the English Hotel,” Culum said.

  “Nae need for that, Culum,” Struan said. “There’s a suite for you in our residence.”

  “Thank you, but we’ve decided it’s best. We think we should go back to Hong Kong immediately and see Mr. Brock and ask his forgiveness. Please, Mrs. Brock, let’s be friends. Father told me about what happened to Gorth. It wasn’t of his choosing.”

  “I think it were, lad. And thee can’t leave immediate. We’ve to take coffin back tomorrow.”

  “What?” Tess asked.

  “Gorth was killed, darling,” said Culum. “Yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “He were foully murdered by assassins!” Liza screamed.

  “Oh God, no!”

  Struan told her everything. Except what Gorth had tried to do to Culum. “I had nae option but to challenge him,” Struan ended. “But his blood is na on my hands. I think it best we all go ashore.”

  Tess was sobbing quietly. Culum kept his arm around her. “Come on, love, dry your eyes. It was none of our doing—or Father’s doing.” He led her out of the cabin.

  Struan broke the silence. “They’re married and happy, Liza. Why na leave it at that?”

  “If it were me. I’d say yes. If wot Culum says be truth. But Tyler won’t—thee knowed him as he knowed thee. I knowed thee planned this’n, Dirk. He’ll know it. He’ll kill thee—or try t’kill thee, and I think thee’s planned it that way. Tyler an’ thee’ll kill each other once he starts on thee or thee on him. Why baint thee leaving it be—three month were not much to wait. But now—oh, God!”

  Struan looked up from the letters as Culum came dejectedly into the office and sat down.

  “All’s well?”

  “Yes. The doctor said I was clean.”

  “Have you had lunch?”

  “No. Neither of us felt like eating. Oh, God—everything had been going so well. God damn Gorth and his goddamned madness.”

  “How’s Mrs. Brock?”

  “As well as can be expected—as the papers would say. How’s—did the cinchona arrive?”

  “Aye. She’s fine now.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

  “Aye.” But in spite of his feeling of well-being, Struan was troubled by a vague, yet piercing apprehension. It was nothing that he could articulate, just an awareness of danger somewhere. The letters had given no hint of what it might be. Gordon Chen had written that he still had hopes of finding the cinchona. And Skinner had said that he would release the news immediately and expect Struan today.

  But it canna be today now. I wish to God I’d been firm and told May-may she’ll stay.

  “I’ll be returning to Hong Kong tomorrow. You two’d best come with me.”

  “I think we’d better go in White Witch with Mrs. Brock and Lillibet,” Culum said. “Mrs. Brock sent word to Brock by lorcha this morning. About us—and about Gorth.”

  “Dinna worry, lad. Liza Brock’ll come around, and Tyler will na trouble you either. He swore an oath, remember?”

  Culum studied the Tai-Pan for a moment. “Did you know I was going to take Tess on China Cloud?”

  “Well, lad, when she was missing, I hoped you had,” Struan said circumspectly.

  Culum picked up a paperweight that was on the desk. It was white jade and heavy. “I’ve been very stupid.”

  “I dinna think so. Best thing you could have done. You’re settled now.”

  “I’ve been very stupid because again I’ve been a puppet.”

  “Eh?”

  “I think you put the idea of eloping into my head. I think you deliberately put Orlov under my command knowing that I would order him to marry us. I think you sent me and Tess off knowing that this would drive Gorth berserk, and make him publicly attack you and give you the opportunity to kill him openly. Did you?”

  Struan sat motionless in the chair. His eyes did not waver from Culum’s. “I dinna quite know how to answer you, Culum. I dinna know for certain if you
want an answer. The fact is that you wanted to marry Tess quickly and you are married. The fact is that Gorth did try to murder you in the foulest way a man could conceive. The fact is that he’s dead. The fact is I regret na having the pleasure of killing him, but the fact is that his blood’s na on my hands. The fact is that because he is dead, you’re alive—you and Tess. The fact is that whatever Brock wants to do about it, he swore a holy oath to give you a safe berth in a safe harbor. And a last fact is that soon now you can take over. As Tai-Pan.”

  Culum put down the paperweight. “I’m not ready to be Tai-Pan.”

  “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 Cabrão 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 praia. 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.

  Na
y.

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

  Thank God!

  Aye. Gorth’s dead. But na forgotten.

  Six

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  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.