Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  ——

  Aboard Resting Cloud, Struan found May-may already in bed in her own quarters, looking very well and even stronger.

  “I’m very gracious happy to be home, Tai-Pan. There, you see! Your old mother obeys like seaman. I’ve had two cups of cinchona and am prepared for three more.”

  “Eh?” he said, his suspicions rising.

  “Why, absolute yes. And dinna look like that. I am truth speaking! Am I a Hoklo whore? A dogmeat beggar? Do I lie in my face? A promise is a promise, and dinna forget it. Of course,” she added sweetly, “now I take dungtasting poison magic with mango juice, which any normal womans would think of immediate but nae mans, oh dear no—that’s much too simple.” She tossed her head with her old imperiousness. “Mans!”

  Struan hid his smile, and his pleasure that she was more her own self. “I’ll be back later. And you stay in bed.”

  “Huh! Do I break promises? Am I a good-for-nothing turtle dropping?” She held out her hand like an empress. “Tai-Pan!”

  He kissed her hand gallantly and she burst into laughter and hugged him. “Run along, my son, and no dirty whorehouses!”

  Struan left her and went to his own cabin. He unlocked his safe and took out one of two copies of the briefcase papers and maps that he had meticulously made. He put them in his pocket, with the small sack which contained the remains of the cinchona bark.

  He boarded his cutter again.

  “Boston Princess,” he ordered, naming the Cooper-Tillman hulk. The sun was teetering on the horizon, but it glowed dully as though a veil had been drawn across the heavens. “What do you make of that, Bosun?”

  “Doan know, sorr. I seed it like that in the South Seas, afore good weather an’ bad. If moon be ringed tonight, then mayhaps we be getting a spell of rain.”

  Or worse, Struan added to himself. He stood up and looked to the west channel. There was no sign of the White Witch. Well, he thought, maybe they’ll stand off and come in at dawn. I will na think about you yet, Tyler.

  The cutter swung alongside the Boston Princess. She was a huge three-decked, converted merchantman, permanently at anchor.

  Struan ran up the gangplank. “Permission to come aboard,” he said to the American officer on deck. “Perhaps Mr. Cooper would see me. It’s urgent.”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Struan.” The officer went below. Struan lit a cheroot and threw the match overboard. China Cloud was bearing off toward her moorings that lay in deep water abreast of Happy Valley.

  “Hello, Tai-Pan,” Jeff Cooper said, briskly coming on deck. “I suppose you heard what that stupid son-of-a-bitch Cunnington’s done? We were terribly sorry to hear about the duel and everything. Did those two young fools elope?”

  “Aye. How’s Wilf?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Damnation! When did he die?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Let’s below, eh?”

  “All right. What about Longstaff being sacked and the treaty repudiated?”

  “Means nothing. Just a stupid political blunder. I’m sure it’ll be corrected.”

  Cooper led the way below. The main cabin was luxurious. “Brandy?”

  “Thanks.” Struan accepted the drink. “Health!”

  “Health.”

  Struan opened the small bag and took out some of the cinchona. “See this, Jeff? It’s a bark. Cinchona bark. Sometimes called Jesuits’ bark. Make a tea out of it and it’ll cure malaria.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. It cured my mistress. That part’s private—but it cures for certain.” Cooper picked up a piece of the bark, his fingers trembling. “Oh my God, Tai-Pan, do you realize what you’ve done? Do you realize what you’re saying?”

  “Aye. Malaria’s worldwide—you’ve got it in the States all over Florida and the Louisiana Purchase. I know a cure and how to get the bark. What does that lead you to?”

  “A service to mankind—and a fortune to whoever gets in first.”

  “Aye, laddie. I’m proposing a partnership.” Struan put the bark back in the bag, suddenly sad. “Ironic, is it na? A few weeks ago this could have saved Robb and little Karen. All the others—and even Wilf, though I despised him.”

  “He died badly,” Cooper said.

  “I’m sorry for that.” Struan tasted the brandy and dismissed what was past. “My proposal is simple. We form a new company to specialize in the bark. We put up equal money. Four directors—you and your appointee, mysel’ and Culum. You run the company. I supply the where and the how and the what immediately and you start planning tomorrow.”

  Cooper put out his hand. “You’ve a deal.”

  Struan told him how he had got the bark and from whom, and about the ship that he had chartered that was leaving Macao tomorrow for Peru. “The bishop sent word Father Sebastian will go with her. I propose we double up and na take chances. The company’ll be debited the costs of this vessel, and we send another ship—but direct from America. We hire two doctors and two businessmen to go with the ship and find out everything they can about cinchona. The day the U.S. ship leaves, we release the news in the States through your connections. We’ll be one step ahead of our competitors and we’ll cover my bet with the bishop. We release the news instantly here to take the curse off Happy Valley. And as soon as we can in Europe. By the time our ships are back, doctors throughout the world will be screaming for cinchona. My ships will freight to the British Empire—you take care of the American continent—and we split the rest of the world. We could sell it by the ton in southern Italy alone.”

  “Who else knows about it?”

  “Only you. Today. I’m giving Skinner a story tonight if I can find him. So, business’s over. Now, how’s Shevaun?”

  “Good and bad. She’s accepted the fact that she’s betrothed. But I have to admit, however much I love her, she doesn’t love me.”

  “Will you buy out Tillman’s interests?”

  “Not if Shevaun marries me. If she hadn’t agreed—well, it would be bad business not to. Now that Wilf’s dead, I’ll have to find another partner. That will mean giving a stock interest—you know very well the problems.”

  “Aye. What’s Zergeyev up to?”

  “Oh, he’s still here. His hip doesn’t trouble him very much. We see quite a lot of him. Dine with him two or three times a week.” Cooper smiled wanly. “He’s very much attached to Shevaun and she seems to like him. She’s visiting on his ship now.”

  Struan rubbed his chin speculatively. “Then I’ve another gamble for you. More dangerous than cinchona.”

  “What?”

  “Send Shevaun home for a year. Give her her head—she’s a thoroughbred. If she wants to come back at the end of a year, you’ll marry her happily. If she decides against you, you give her her freedom. In any event tell her you’ll continue to pay her father his ‘share’ for his lifetime. Her brothers can rot. Dinna forget, we can make good use of Senator Tillman’s connections on our cinchona venture. The money you give him will more than repay itself.”

  Cooper walked over to his desk to fetch the cigars and to give himself time. Why was the Tai-Pan suggesting this? Did he plan to go after Shevaun himself? No, there was no need for him to be so devious: if he beckoned, Shevaun would go running.

  “I’d have to think about that, Tai-Pan,” he said. “Cigar?”

  “Nay, thanks. And while you’re considering it, add a further gamble. Ask Zergeyev to offer her passage home on his ship—chaperoned, of course.”

  “You’re out of your head!”

  “Nay, laddie.” Struan produced the copy of the papers, neatly bound with green ribbon. “Read these.” Cooper picked it up. “What is it?”

  “Read. Take your time.” Cooper sat at his desk and undid the ribbon.

  Well, Struan was telling himself, cinchona’s launched. Now what about Culum? Perhaps the lad’s right, he does need a partner. Jeff’s the answer. Struan-Cooper-Tillman. At least, Struan-Cooper; we can forget Tillman now. Why
na? It’s a huge advantage to Jeff. We gain an advantage with the Americas. Jeff’s canny and straight. Think about it very carefully. It’s a good solution. Longstaff? Longstaff’s taken care of as much as he can ever be. Once out of your sight, he’ll only do what the next strong man tells him to do. How about Skinner? Thus far he’s done well. Blore? Must check on him. Mauss too. What next? Home and May-may. Perhaps Orlov was right. Perhaps all you felt was the sea watching you—you’ve had a fair run for your money. Dinna put aside such feelings lightly.

  Inexorably his mind bore down on Brock: Aye. There’s a killing to be done. And Liza was right. Once it starts, perhaps it’ll never end. Or it will end with both of you.

  “How true is this?” Cooper had finished with the dossier.

  “The source would be called ‘beyond question.’ What’s your feeling about it?”

  “It’s diabolical. Zergeyev’s obviously the man—certainly one of them—sent to investigate the ‘British sphere of influence’ in Asia, and to study the means of emigration into Russian Alaska.” Cooper collected his thoughts a moment. Then he said, “What to do about it? Well, following your thought: Shevaun. Zergeyev would be delighted to escort her to America. She beguiles him either deliberately or unknowingly and takes him to Washington. Her father, who is the obvious one to give all this to, tells Zergeyev privately that the United States is distressed with Russia and wants them out. Monroe Doctrine and all that. Is this what you had in mind?”

  “You’re a smart man, Jeff.”

  “This information makes Lord Cunnington look like a fool.”

  “It does that.”

  “And absolutely makes the need—and vital importance—of Hong Kong obvious.”

  “Aye.”

  “Now what we have to decide is how to get this information immediately and safely into the senator’s hands. This will raise his stock in political circles enormously, so he’ll play it for all he’s worth. Should we risk letting Shevaun in on all this, or just give her a copy of the dossier to take to her father?”

  “I’d na let her read the dossier or even tell her what’s in it. After all, she’s a woman. Women are likely to do the unpredictable. She might fall in love with Zergeyev. Then she’d dump the United States of America, because female logic says that she must protect the mate, irrespective of heritage or whatever. It’d be disastrous if Zergeyev knew we were aware of all that’s in the dossier.”

  “I’d like to think about all this,” Cooper said. He tied up the folder and handed it back. “It sounds pompous, Tai-Pan, but my country’ll learn to thank you.”

  “I want nae thanks, Jeff. It might help, perhaps, if Senator Tillman and other diplomats began to ridicule Lord Cunnington’s stupid mishandling of our area.”

  “Yes. Take it as done. By the way, you owe me twenty guineas.”

  “For what?”

  “Don’t you remember our bet? Over who was the nude? The first day, Dirk. Aristotle’s painting of the ceding of the island was part of the bet, don’t you remember?”

  “Aye. Who was she?” Struan asked. Twenty guineas is na much against a lady’s honor, he thought. Aye, but dammit, I liked that painting.

  “Shevaun. She told me two days ago—said she was going to have the painting done of herself. Like the Duchess of Alba.”

  “Are you going to let her?”

  “I don’t know.” Cooper’s face crinkled with a wan smile and lost, momentarily, its usual anguish. “The sea voyage would stop that, wouldn’t it?”

  “Na with that lassie. I’ll send the purse aboard tomorrow. As I remember, the loser was to have Aristotle paint the winner in to boot. Take it as done.”

  “Perhaps you’d accept the painting. As a gift. I’ll have Aristotle paint both of us in, eh?”

  “Well, thank you. I’ve always fancied that painting.”

  Cooper motioned at the papers. “Let’s talk some more about these tomorrow. I’ll decide overnight about sending Shevaun.”

  Struan thought about tomorrow. He handed the papers back to Cooper. “Put this in your safe. For safety.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for trusting me, Tai-Pan.”

  Struan went ashore to the temporary office he had had erected on their new marine site. Vargas was waiting for him. “Let’s have all the bad news first, Vargas.”

  “There’s a report from our agents, senhor, in Calcutta. It seems that Gray Witch was three days ahead of Blue Cloud, according to last reports.”

  “Next?”

  “Building costs are huge, senhor. With yesterday’s editorial, well, I’ve held up all work. Perhaps we should cut our losses.”

  “Continue work immediately and double our labor force tomorrow.”

  “Yes, senhor. The stock-market news from England is bad. The market is very jittery. The budget has not balanced again and financial troubles are expected.”

  “That’s normal. Have you na some special disaster to relate?”

  “None, senhor. Of course robberies are incredibly frequent. There have been three piracies since you left and a dozen were attempted. Two pirate junks were captured and all the crew were publicly hanged. Forty to fifty thieves, robbers, cutthroats are whipped every Wednesday. Hardly a night goes by without a home being burglarized. Distressing. Oh, by the way, Major Trent has ordered a curfew for all Chinese at sunset. That seems to be the only way to control them.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Quance?”

  “Still on the small hulk, senhor. She canceled her passage for England. Apparently there’s a rumor that Senhor Quance is still on Hong Kong.”

  “Is he?”

  “I would not like to feel we’ve lost the immortal Quance, senhor.”

  “What’s Mr. Blore been up to?”

  “He’s spending money as if the rocks of Hong Kong were made of gold. Of course, it’s not our money,” Vargas said, trying not to show his disapproval, “but ‘Jockey Club funds.’ I understand the Club is to be nonprofit-making, any profits going to benefit the racecourse, horses, and so on.” He dried his hands on a handkerchief. The day was very humid. “I hear Senhor Blore has arranged a cockfight. Under Jockey Club auspices.”

  Struan brightened. “Good. When’s it to be?”

  “I don’t know, senhor.”

  “What’s Glessing doing?”

  “Everything a harbor master should. But I hear he’s furious with Longstaff for not allowing him to go to Macao. There’s a rumor he’s going to be sent home.”

  “Mauss?”

  “Ah, the Reverend Mauss. He’s returned from Canton and has rooms in the hotel.”

  “Why the ‘ah,’ Vargas?”

  “Nothing, senhor. Just another rumor,” Vargas replied, annoyed that he had been loose-tongued. “Well, it seems—of course we Catholics disapprove of him and are sad that all Protestants do not believe as we do, for the salvation of their own souls. In any event, he has a cherished follower, a baptized Hakka called Hung Hsiu-ch’uan.”

  “Would Hung Hsiu-ch’uan have anything to do with Hung Mun—the Triads?”

  “Oh no, senhor. The name is a common one.”

  “Aye, I remember him. A tall curious-looking man. Go on.”

  “Well, there’s not much to tell. It’s just that he’s begun preaching among the Chinese at Canton. Unbeknownst to the Reverend Mauss, calling himself the brother of Jesus Christ, saying that he talks to his father—God—nightly. That he’s the new Messiah, that he’s going to clean out the temples like his brother did, and a lot of garbled idolatrous nonsense. Obviously he’s mad. If it weren’t so sacrilegious, it would be very amusing.”

  Struan thought about Mauss. He liked him as a man and pitied him. Then he remembered Sarah’s words again. Aye, he told himself, you’ve used Wolfgang in many ways. But in return you gave him what he wanted—the chance to convert the heathen. Without you he’d have been dead long ago. Without you … let it rest. Mauss has his own salvation to find. The ways of God are passing strange. “Who knows, Vargas? Perhaps Hung Hsiu-ch’ua
n is what he claims. In any event,” he added, seeing Vargas bridle, “I agree. It is na amusing. I’ll talk to Wolfgang. Thank you for telling me.”

  Vargas cleared his throat. “Do you think I could have next week off? This heat and—well, it would be nice to see my family.”

  “Aye. Take two weeks, Vargas. And I think it would be good for the Portuguese community to have its own club. I’m starting a subscription. You’re appointed temporary treasurer and secretary.” He scribbled on a pad and tore off the sheet. “You can cash this at once.” It was a sight draft for a thousand guineas.

  Vargas was overwhelmed. “Thank you, senhor.”

  “Nae thanks,” Struan said. “Wi’out the support of the Portuguese community we’d na have any community.”

  “But surely, senhor, this news—this editorial! Hong Kong is finished. The Crown has repudiated the treaty. Double the labor force? A thousand guineas? I don’t understand.”

  “Hong Kong’s alive as long as one trader stands on it, and one naval vessel is in the harbor. Dinna worry. Any messages for me?”

  “Mr. Skinner left word. He’d like to see you at your convenience. Mr. Gordon Chen too.”

  “Send word to Skinner that I’ll stop by the newspaper this evening. And to Gordon that I’ll meet him aboard Resting Cloud at eight o’clock.”

  “Yes, senhor. Oh, by the way, one other thing. You remember Ramsey? The sailor who deserted? Well he’s been living in the hills all this time in a cave, like a hermit. On the Peak. He survived by stealing food from the fishing village at Aberdeen. It seems he raped several women there and the Chinese tied him up and gave him to the authorities. Yesterday he was tried. A hundred lashes and two years penal servitude.”

  “They might as well have hanged him,” Struan said. “He’ll never last two years.” Jails were death traps, indescribably brutal.

  “Yes. Terrible. Thank you again, senhor. Our community will be most appreciative,” Vargas said.

  He left, but returned almost instantly. “Excuse me, Tai-Pan. One of your seamen’s here. The Chinese, Fong.”