Glessing put down his teacup. “I’m in your debt, Mr. Struan. I got a letter the day before yesterday from Mary. She told me how kind you were—you and Culum. Particularly you. She sounds very much better.”
“I saw her just before I left. She certainly was ten times better than the first time I saw her.”
“She says she’ll be released in two months. That you told the Papist you’d accept responsibility for her. Of course, that’s up to me now.”
“As you wish. It’s only a formality.” Struan wondered what Glessing would do when he found out the truth about Mary. Of course he had to find out; how could May-may believe that he would na?
“Did the doctor say what her trouble was?”
“A stomach disorder.”
“That’s what she wrote. Again, thanks.” Glessing moved a chart on his desk and wiped a tea stain off the teak. “Culum mentioned that you were Royal Navy as a lad. At Trafalgar. Hope you don’t mind my asking, but my father had the honor of serving there too. I was wondering what ship you were in. He was flag lieutenant to Admiral Lord Collingwood, in—”
“In Royal Sovereign,” Struan said for him. “Aye. I was aboard.”
“By Jove!” was all that Glessing could splutter.
Struan had kept this private from Glessing deliberately, always knowing that he had another ace to play should he need it to bring him to his side. “Aye. Of course, I dinna remember your father—I was a powder monkey and scared out of my wits. But the admiral was aboard and I was in Royal Sovereign.”
“By Jove,” Glessing repeated. He had seen the 110-gun ship of the line off Spithead once as a boy. “A ship’s company of eight hundred and thirty-six and the future Tai-Pan of The Noble House. No wonder we won, by God!”
“Thank you,” Struan said. “But I had little to do with the battle.”
“By gad, Tai-Pan—if I may call you that—I think this is wonderful. I’m very glad. Yes, I am. My word! Used to hate your guts, as you know. Don’t any more. I still think my decision was right at the Battle of Chuenpi, but I realize now that that cursed nitheaded misbegotten sod Longstaff was right when he said if I’d been you or you’d been me our attitudes would have been the same.”
“What’re you riled at Longstaff for?”
Glessing’s face lost its warmth. “Bloody sod had the impertinence to interfere in naval affairs! He ‘suggested’ to the admiral that I be sent home! Thank God the admiral’s Royal Navy and the bugger’s sacked! And while we’re on the subject of fools, I’m sure you’ve read last night’s paper. That stupid bastard Cunnington! How dare he say Hong Kong’s a godforsaken rock with hardly a house on’t! Absolute bloody nerve! Best harbor on earth! How dare he say we don’t know anything about the sea?”
Struan remembered the first day—good Lord, was that only six-odd months ago?—and he knew that he had been right. Glessing might go down with Hong Kong, but he would fight to the death to protect Glessing’s Point. “Perhaps the new man, Whalen, will agree with Cunnington.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it. Or the admiral. He nearly had apoplexy when he read it. Stands to reason. Look at the fleet. Riding snug and safe as in Portsmouth harbor. Where the devil’d we be a day like today without Hong Kong? Good sweet God! I’d be frightened to death if I was anchored at Macao. Got to have Hong Kong and that’s the end to it. Even that idiot general’s seen the light for once and agrees absolutely,” and he ranted on, damning Cunnington and Longstaff to Struan’s amusement.
The door opened and a flurry of wind and rain rustled the charts. Culum and Tess came in, their spirits high in spite of the weather. “Oh, hello, Tai-Pan,” Culum said. “Can we have tea, Glessing old boy? We said a prayer in your honor!”
“Thanks.” Glessing motioned at the iron pot on the coal stove. “Help yourself.”
Tess curtsied to Struan and took off her sodden cloak. “Morning, Tai-Pan.”
“You’re lovely today, Mrs. Struan,” he said.
She blushed and busied herself pouring the tea.
“You two look happy enough,” Struan said.
“Yes, we are,” Culum said. “We’ve given thanks to God. And for sending the change of wind.”
“Will you na change your mind, lad? Come over to the residence?”
“No, thanks, we’re quite safe here.”
Struan noticed a small jeweled silver box dangling from Culum’s watch chain. “What’s that, Culum?”
“A keepsake. Tess gave it to me.” The little box contained Brock’s twenty sovereigns now, and Culum felt guilty again that he had never told Tess of their significance. He had put them into the box after he and Tess had come ashore off White Witch the last time: to remind him about Tyler Brock—that Brock hadn’t been fair, hadn’t given him the chance to tell his side.
“It was my grandma’s. It’s not much of a wedding gift,” Tess told Struan. “But with no dowry and all, beggars can’t be pickers.”
“Dinna worry about that, lass. You’re part of The Noble House. When do you move into your house?”
“In three weeks,” Culum and Tess said together, and they laughed, happy again.
“Good. We’ll do the day proud. Well, see you all later.”
“Look at that fool, Tai-Pan!” Glessing said. He was training his telescope through a porthole at a lorcha barreling into the east channel, sails reefed.
“What the devil’s he doing? Nae day to be out there,” Struan said.
“With your permission, Mr. Struan, I’ll signal her to tie up to your wharf in Happy Valley. She’ll have trouble anchoring in the Roads. And your wharf’s clear.”
“Aye, with pleasure. Who is she?”
“Naval lorcha. Flying the deputy captain superintendent’s pennant.” He snapped his telescope shut. “Her captain needs his head examined to leave Macao in this weather. Or Mr. Monsey’s in a devil of a hurry. What’s your evaluation of that?”
Struan grinned. “I’m no crystal gazer, Captain Glessing.”
Glessing gave the necessary orders to a seaman, who promptly bound the signal flags to the halyard. He opened the ceiling hatch. Rain sprinkled them as the flags were run up.
“Where’s Longstaff?” Struan asked.
“Aboard the flagship,” Glessing said. “Must confess I’d be happier afloat myself.”
“I wouldn’t,” Culum said. “Oh dear, no,” Tess added.
Struan finished his tea. “Well, I’ll be off. You know where I am if I’m needed.”
“Baint—I mean isn’t that dangerous, Tai-Pan?” Tess asked. “The Happy Valley fever and all? Staying there?”
“The wind and the rain’ll beat down any poison gases,” Struan said with a confidence he did not feel.
“Don’t forget, Tess, there’s some cinchona left, and we’ll soon have plenty.” Culum said. “Tai-Pan, I think the new venture is wonderful. A service to all mankind.”
Struan had told Culum about his arrangement with Cooper before it had been printed. He had also encouraged Culum to spend time with the American; the more he thought about a joining of Cooper and Culum, the more he liked the idea. “Jeff’s very smart, lad. You’ll like working with him.” He pulled on his rain cloak. “Well, I’ll be off. Listen, you two. Dinna worry about Brock. Dinna worry about your father, lass. I’m sure he’ll come around if you give him time. Just give him time.”
“I hope so,” Tess said. “Oh, I hope so.”
On his way out, Struan stopped at the barometer. “Good sweet Jesus! It’s down to 29.5 inches!”
Glessing looked at the time anxiously. It was almost ten o’clock. “That’s damn near half an inch in half an hour.” He made a notation on a pressure chart and followed Struan, who had run outside.
A quarter of the eastern horizon was black, and there seemed to be no division between sea and sky. The wind was fiercer, gusty, still dead-north, and the rain was heavier.
“There she is, all right,” Struan said tensely. “Batten down for your life.” He began sp
rinting along Queen’s Road toward Happy Valley.
“Inside! Culum, Tess!” Glessing ordered. He slammed the door and bolted it. “Whatever you do, don’t open any doors until further orders.” He pulled the porthole covers over the storm windows and checked all the fastenings, and he realized that Struan was right. The vortex was going to pass directly over them. “I’m very glad you’ve made peace with your father, Culum. Now, I think some breakfast,” he said calming them. “Mrs. Struan, perhaps you’d supervise?”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Struan ran hard. A few Chinese sedan-chair coolies were hurrying for Tai Ping Shan, and a few stray Europeans were scurrying for cover. Through the rain Struan could see the naval lorcha abreast of him in the harbor, scudding fast for Happy Valley under many reefs. The churning sea was dull gray-green. The dark line of a squall raced at incredible speed across the harbor; its edge caught the lorcha, tore off her mainsail and heeled her over. Struan braced himself and was enveloped by the squall. It lasted only a few seconds, but he felt the lash of the blinding, wind-whipped rain and was almost thrown off his feet. When he could open his eyes, he looked seaward. Amazingly the lorcha was still afloat, limping ahead with a mizzen sail, her decks awash, the tatters of the mainsail streaming aft.
Once more Struan began running. He arrived on his wharf at Happy Valley just in time to see the white-capped swell catch the lorcha and fling her against the pilings. A sailor jumped from the gunnel with the fore hawser, but he slipped and fell between wharf and ship. His hands caught the edge of the wharf and he shrieked as the ship slammed into the jetty and cut him in half. When the sea pulled the ship away, the sailor had disappeared.
Struan shouted to the frightened deckhands and raced forward. One seaman threw him the line and he made it fast around a stanchion. Another, taking his life in his hands, jumped and made the wharf safely with the aft hawser.
The sea was rising and the lorcha and the wharf pilings screamed, and then the lorcha was fast and men began jumping ashore.
“Make for the factory!” Struan motioned them to follow and he ran for the front door. He yanked it open, the wind tugging at him. The crew of eight men ran in, cursing and blessing their luck.
Struan pulled off his soaking clothes, then noticed Horatio and Monsey. “Great God, what are you doing here, Horatio? Hello, Mr. Monsey!”
“Never thought we’d see land again,” Monsey wheezed.
Horatio leaned against a wall, his chest heaving, and vomited.
The door opened, and in a flurry of wind and rain the captain—a young lieutenant—strode in angrily and shook himself like a dog. Struan walked over and slammed the door.
“By the Lord God of Moses!” the man said to Struan. “Have you seen the sky?”
“What the devil were you doing at sea on a day like this? Did you na have sense enough to use your eyes in Macao?”
“Yes, by God! But I was ordered to Hong Kong, so I came to Hong Kong. We’re in the hands of a maniac!”
“Eh?”
“That blood-mucked Captain Superintendent of Trade, Sir Clyde Bloodmucking Whalen, by God! That stupid Irish bugger damn near sank my ship with all hands. I told him there was bad weather and he just looked at the sky and said, ‘Plenty of time to get there. You’re ordered to sea!’ Thank God for Hong Kong.”
“What’s the sea outside like?”
“One more hour and we’d never have made it. Twenty, thirty-foot waves. But that cursed wind! It won’t veer and it won’t back—it’s impossible! Is it a typhoon or isn’t it? How’s that possible?”
“Because the storm’s due east of us and we’re dead in its path, lad.”
“Oh God, protect us!”
“Make yourself at home. I’ll see about some tea and grog for all hands.”
“Thank you,” the young man said. “Sorry for the outburst.” Struan went across the room to Monsey and Horatio. “Can you make it upstairs, Mr. Monsey?”
“Yes. Thank you, Tai-Pan. You’re very thoughtful.”
“Give me a hand with Horatio.”
“Of course. Don’t know what’s got into the poor lad. He’s been moaning incoherently ever since we left Macao. Most peculiar.”
“It’s fright,” Struan said.
They helped Horatio out of his rain-sodden coat. His face was dirty gray now and he was almost helpless with nausea. Together they half carried him up the stairs and laid him on a couch in the west wing in the quarters that once belonged to Robb.
Struan went to the sideboard and poured brandies. Monsey took one, his hands trembling, and drained it. He accepted a refill. “Thanks.”
“Give Horatio some,” Struan said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He walked along the corridor onto the landing and then down the east-wing corridor. His suite occupied the south end of this floor.
May-may, Yin-hsi, Ah Sam and Lim Din were playing mah-jongg at a small table in the expanse of the living room. Lanterns were lit and the flames danced cheerily.
“Hello, Tai-Pan,” May-may said. She picked up another of the bamboo-ivory tiles and slammed it down with a curse. “Oh stinky day, Tai-Pan!” she said. “My joss is terrifical bad. I have na won a single game. I’ve lost four hundred cash, and we’ve been playing for hours. Woe, woe, woe! I’m glad to see you, never mind.”
The rain battered the shutters and the wind was rising.
“Cursed noise! Can you lend me some taels? I’m impoverished!”
“I’ll take it out of your allowance. Go back to your game, lassie.” Struan grinned. “We’ve company downstairs and all around, so dinna go out.”
“Wat for go out?” He returned to Robb’s quarters.
Monsey was looking better. He had taken off his soaked clothes and had wrapped himself in a blanket. Horatio was sleeping restlessly. “God saved us this time, Tai-Pan,” Monsey said.
“Why the devil did you leave Macao? Asking for trouble. You must have seen the weather.”
“Official business, Tai-Pan,” Monsey sneered. “His Imperial Excellency Whalen arrived by frigate last night. He ordered me to Hong Kong with an official dispatch for the ex-plenipotentiary. In this weather, if you please! As if a day or two matters! I hadn’t the heart to tell him the ‘big news’ had already been printed in the paper.”
“What’s he like?”
“I’d say he’s rather trying. He sailed into Macao about midnight, aboard a frigate, unannounced. Within four minutes I was summoned aboard. He presented his credentials, gave me the Foreign Secretary’s dispatch to read—it’s word for word with Skinner’s story; how do these damned newsmen get secret documents?—and ordered me to leave with the dawn to deliver the dispatch to Longstaff immediately. Said that he would be arriving in Hong Kong forthwith, that Longstaff was to leave at once. That I was to see the admiral and general and tell them that everything must be ready for an immediate departure north.” Monsey plopped into a chair. “An Irishman. What more can I say?”
“Why did he na come direct?”
“Can’t have two plenipotentiaries here at once—distinctly against the rules, Mr. Struan. There’s such a thing as protocol, thank heavens. I have to take over from Longstaff right away. As soon as he’s left harbor I can inform His Excellency. Then he will arrive.”
A gust of wind slammed against the shutters and rattled them.
“Blast the man. Nearly killed me. Things are going to buzz in Asia with him in control. The first thing he said was ‘That cursed rock can sink as far as I’m concerned.’ Oh, my word! If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in for a few minutes. I’m not feeling myself.”
Horatio began moaning again and then he vomited.
“Give him some more brandy,” Struan said. “There’s a bedroom next door.”
He went below to see how the lorcha’s crew was faring. They had already found the stores and liquor. Those who were not drinking or eating were sleeping or trying to sleep.
The barometer read 29.1, still falling.
; “Good God, that’s more than three tenths of an inch an hour,” the young lieutenant said. He was tall and fair. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Struan, I’m Lieutenant Vasserly-Smythe, R.N.”
Struan shook the offered hand.
“Thanks for giving us a berth.”
A north window burst open and rain and wind poured into the foyer. Three of the seamen slammed the window shut and relocked the shutters.
“I think I’ll take a look at my ship,” the lieutenant said.
“Better come this way.” Struan led him along a corridor to a side window that was heavily shuttered but in the lee of the north wind. He opened it warily and peered out.
He saw that China Cloud and Resting Cloud were riding easily. The lieutenant’s lorcha was rising and falling with the waves, creaking and grinding against the pilings, and to the east there was no horizon. Just blackness. And the blackness was bearing down on them.
“Your ship’s as safe as she’ll ever be, Lieutenant.”
“Yes.” The young man took a last frightened look at the eastern sky and bolted the shutters. “She’s my first command. I’ve only been in these waters a few months. What happens in a typhoon?”
“The Supreme Winds come out of the gale against you.”
“What’re they?”
“Gusts. Squalls. Sometimes they’re called the Devil Winds.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The first of the Supreme Winds swooped across the harbor an hour later and fell on Resting Cloud. Her hawsers snapped and she was adrift and helpless in the darkness. Mauss, in one of the cabins, looked up from his Bible and thanked God for His mercies and for Hung Hsiu-ch’uan. The gale heeled Resting Cloud over, slamming Mauss unconscious against the bulkhead, and the ship was driven, almost on her beam ends, toward the shore. In her path was Boston Princess, the Cooper-Tillman vessel. The two ships collided violently and Resting Cloud’s bowsprit tore away part of the other vessel’s upperworks before it snapped off, and she careened away, stern toward the shore. The tempest flung her into the floating village of sampans, swamping scores of the tiny boats, and grounded her viciously. Hundreds of Chinese were drowning, and those still secure in the sampans cowered under their flimsy bamboo coverings. But the next Supreme Wind snatched up the coverings and with them many families.
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