Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I might’ve heard earlier myself,” he mumbled, “but I was on the road.”

  “I understand,” she said sympathetically. “Can I do anything?”

  “Do? You mean, for me?” he said, startled.

  “Of course. I can see how distraught you are. This must be very difficult for you.”

  “But not for you?”

  Her expression didn’t waver. “My father and I were never—close. I always admired him, but I’m afraid that admiration was never translated into affection. He wasn’t an affectionate man.”

  “I knew him well enough to know that,” Coffin replied somberly. “How are you managing?”

  “Well enough.”

  “What will you do now?” Prodded by possibilities, his mind was beginning to function normally for the first time since that horrible moment yesterday when Cobb had given him the news. There were still lives to be lived, decisions to be made. “I presume you’re going to sell the business.”

  “Why would I want to do that? Hull House and its myriad components are operating profitably. Why would I want to sell any of them?”

  “I see. Well then, you’re going to be needing advice, help. Who’s going to run the business for you?”

  She smiled slightly, glanced down at the desk, then folded her hands on the wooden surface in front of her as she looked back up at him. “Mr. Coffin, my father was very involved in the war, right from the start. I believe you were also. Who do you think ran Hull House in his absence?”

  “Actually I never gave it a thought. I had my own concerns to worry about. I just naturally assumed his managers were handling things.”

  “You ‘naturally assumed.’ Mr. Coffin, as my father’s only heir I have been seeing to the day-to-day operations of Hull House for more than two years.”

  “Tobias knew that?”

  “I’m not sure how much he knew. When he was off fighting the Kingites he only followed up bad reports, and there were few of those. As long as the balance sheets he received were positive, he felt free to concentrate his energies on militia work. Balance sheets weren’t signed by me. When he did want details he never came to me. He rarely knew where I was and cared less, so I don’t think he learned how involved I became with the business. His managers would tell him all was going well and that was usually enough to satisfy him. But when it came to making important decisions, I did that. Not his underlings.”

  “Well you won’t have to worry about such things anymore,” Coffin said reassuringly. “I can’t imagine what a strain it’s been for you, but what’s done is done. Obviously you coped admiringly. Now that it’s over, you can make proper arrangements.”

  “I see.” She was still smiling. A very pretty smile, Coffin noted. “What sort of arrangements would you suggest, Mr. Coffin?”

  “Call me Robert, please. I don’t know how aware you were of the relationship between your father and myself, but we were never on what you’d call the best of terms.”

  “I know that much.”

  “A lot of people were afraid of your father.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’m aware of that also. I was afraid of him myself.”

  “I think I was one of the few who wasn’t. That was one of the things that made our disagreements so extreme. It bothered him when he encountered someone he couldn’t frighten. In any event, we were competitors. Coffin House and Hull House have many similar interests. Now that he’s gone, along with my son, I feel I should do something to compensate for all those arguments your father and I had.”

  “Compensate how?”

  “As I mentioned, there are many areas of duplication in our businesses. Shipping lines, stage lines, farming and manufacturing and so forth. A merger of our two grand companies, of Hull and Coffin House, would not only result in greatly improved savings of economy but also in larger profits. Consolidation would bring strength. The result would be by far the biggest company in the colony. One might go so far as to say it would be dominant.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Robert.”

  “You would be able at last to take your ease, to release the reins which I’m sure have been an intolerable burden to you these past years. No more strain, no more unnatural dealings with crude, rough businessmen. You would be able to relax and live the life of a proper English gentlewoman. A very wealthy one at that.” He made a strenuous effort to mask his eagerness. “How does my proposal strike you?”

  “It makes a great deal of sense.”

  “Then you agree?”

  “Naturally. I’ll start sending my people over tomorrow to attend to the structuring of the merger.”

  Coffin frowned slightly. “Your people?”

  “Of course. If Hull House is to take over Coffin House we should begin as soon as possible, while there is a lull in the fighting.”

  He sat forward in his chair. “I think you misunderstand me. I was proposing to lift the burden of administering your father’s diverse and far-flung enterprises from your shoulders, to set you up as an independently wealthy woman. To make up for all those years you were mistreated.”

  She stiffened slightly. “How I was treated as a child is not your concern. I think you’re the one who misunderstands, Mr. Coffin. I think you misunderstood when you came here and I know you misunderstand now. I am already an ‘independently wealthy woman,’ thank you. One who intends to become wealthier. What makes you think I have the slightest interest in leading the life of a ‘proper English gentlewoman’? You forget, sir, whose daughter I am.”

  He should have thanked her, it was such a catharsis to be able to get mad at someone else. “Are you toying with me, young woman?”

  “No more than you were toying with me. Let us understand each other, Robert. I have enjoyed running Hull House in my father’s absence. I expect to enjoy continuing to do so in the future.”

  Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed, but it was all so absurd he couldn’t help himself. “You’re out of your mind. It’ll fall apart around you. You’ll never be able to cope with the stress.”

  “Why not?” Her tone was icy now. “Because I’m a woman?”

  “And a young, attractive one at that. Who’s going to respect your opinions now that your father’s not around to back them up? Do you really think you can give orders to Captains who’ve sailed between here and Sydney for twenty years? Or to wagon masters whose every word is one not spoken in polite company? What makes you think for a moment they’ll do anything other than laugh at you?”

  “Because if they do not listen to me they’ll soon find themselves looking elsewhere for employment. Then I’ll find men who will listen to me.

  “I’ve already taken care of my father’s will. It is vague in some areas but not where matters of direct inheritance are concerned.” Her smile returned. “Tobias Hull was far more generous in death than ever he was in life.”

  Coffin rose, glaring down at her. “You’ve let me talk for your private amusement.”

  “Not a bit of it.” She looked calmly back at him. “As I recall you came here to console me over the loss of my father, not to do business. However, I’ve no objection to you opting for the latter. And now that you’ve concluded what you came to do, I think it’s time for us to part. I’ve a great deal to do and I’m sure you do also.” She hesitated, added in a less formal tone, “Only once did I have the pleasure of meeting Christopher. It was a long time ago. I understand you two were alike in some ways, different in others.”

  It was intended to soothe Coffin but it only made him angrier. It was good to have someone to direct his frustration at. “Have it your way then, Miss Hull. In all the years your father and I competed we gave each other no quarter. I assure you I won’t change that just because you’re a woman.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “I intend to take over Hull House. If our situations were reversed I know your father wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same to my family.”

  “I look forward to doing business, either
with you or against you, Mr. Coffin.”

  He spun and strode toward the door. “You’ll never make a go of this. You’ll see. People you think are loyal are already plotting against you, waiting for the right time to ease you out of the director’s chair. Men who’ll throw you out in the street. You’ll end up with nothing. When that happens you’ll remember the offer I made you this day, but then it’ll be too late. You’re throwing away a life of luxury and ease, for a whim.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Coffin, I do nothing on a whim. Now I bid you good day.”

  He nodded once, brusquely, too furious to reply. He could not say what he wanted to say, not and retain his dignity. There was nothing more to be gained here, certainly not by verbally abusing this stubborn, ignorant young woman.

  He let himself out, ignoring the curious glances that followed him. Let her enjoy her brief moment of triumph. His eventual takeover of Hull House was as inevitable as the rise and fall of the tides. With Tobias Hull dead nothing could stop him from merging the two concerns to form the biggest private company in the country. He’d waited this long for his final victory over Hull; he could wait a little longer. A woman’s attempts to direct Hull’s extensive and far-flung enterprises would quickly result in the company disintegrating of its own weight. All he needed to do was be patient and wait for it to fall into his lap.

  She’d spurned his generous offer. The choice had been hers. She was young and pig-headed and one day she would come to regret her words. Nor was he the only one she was going to have to contend with. Angus McQuade and the rest of the colony’s merchant barons would rapidly move in on Hull House regardless of whatever Coffin did, probing and testing like gulls picking at the corpse of a seal. She wouldn’t halt such incursions with words.

  The thought of her fighting to stave off the predatory thrusts of men like Angus, Ainsworth and Sanderson muted his anger. She was upset and confused, after all. Her father had only just died, leaving her with innumerable decisions to make. Let her try to deal with the situation for a month or two. Then he would make his proposal again. No need to argue. She’d soon see the light. Better if he could take over with as little fuss and trouble as possible.

  As he emerged onto the busy street he found he was feeling better. He could be generous in victory—yes, generous. Keep in mind that underneath, Rose Hull was still a frightened child sneaking around the fringes of Hull’s immense, gloomy mansion when she wasn’t prowling the wharfs and docks. It was only natural for her to reject overtures of friendship and assistance. Only realistic for her to be suspicious.

  Let the others wear her down while they enlightened her to the realities of the business world. When he made his offer anew she would be ready, nay, eager to accept. He would swallow his momentary outrage, she would swallow her false pride, and all would be well. And Holly would improve. He would see to it. Soon he would have everything he’d ever wanted.

  The sun shone down brightly as he walked homeward, but it was not strong enough to penetrate the darkness that shadowed him.

  9

  “My sister is a whore!”

  Te Ohine sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was a good, solid chair, made of English walnut, and it supported his considerable weight with ease. He had another, but his son wouldn’t sit on it, preferring instead the low, carved traditional stool.

  This was no day to fight, to argue. The sky was clear, there was no sign of rain, and there was enough sun to warm the blood of an old man. Outside, children ran through the village, laughing and playing. Into the midst of this contentment had come his son, an evil dark spirit, a black cloud drawing stares from everyone he passed. In his presence the very air itself took on an oppressive heaviness.

  Yet Opotiki was his favorite son. He could not deny him entrance, nor could he turn away the thirty or so warriors who traveled with the young man. Te Ohine had looked on them with pity. They were a ragged, tired-looking lot, many of them carrying recent scars. A few were missing eyes or limbs. They were slowed by their heavy burden of clubs and swords, rifles and sabers. The villagers eyed them warily and whispered among themselves. At Te Ohine’s bidding they had been given food and drink, a courtesy that would have been extended to any travelers regardless of their politics or the color of their skin.

  The old chief had to think a moment. “Your sister is not the thing you have said.”

  “She is worse than a whore!” Opotiki repeated contemptuously. “She is a traitorous whore. Not only does she lie with men to whom she is not married, she lies with pakehas.”

  “If I know this thing rightly, a whore is one who sleeps with men for money. Your sister would never do that. So she is not what you say. She is too proud to do such a thing. If she sleeps with a man it is because she wishes to. Where is the harm in that?”

  “Not even with a warrior,” Opotiki sneered quietly. “She sleeps with a common laborer, a workman who does not fight with the pakeha soldiers. A coward.”

  “You have seen this for yourself?”

  “No, but it is spoken of.”

  “Then you cannot say it is so.”

  “Will you say she does not sleep in the house of your pakeha friend Robert Coffin?”

  “Of course I will not. This everyone knows. She is keeper of his Tarawera house.”

  “You deny she sleeps with him as well as this other man?”

  Te Ohine considered. “Without asking him myself I can say nothing, though I would not think it likely. Coffin did not wish to take her into his service, but I argued with him and finally he agreed. The pakehas take only one wife at a time. Do you think he sleeps with Merita with his family present?”

  “Pagh! There are many times Coffin is at Tarawera without his wife.”

  “And if this be true, is it such a bad thing?” Te Ohine smiled condescendingly. “What will be between a man and a woman will be.”

  Opotiki’s reply was vehement. “He is the enemy!”

  “Robert Coffin is, has long been, and always will be my friend. He would be your friend too, if you would let him.” Te Ohine was aging, but he could still summon the commanding tone and presence of a high ariki when necessary. Under that relentless, unblinking stare Opotiki found he could only nod dutifully.

  “As you say, Father.”

  “That is better. Now, why the long face, why such misery? Did you not have pakeha friends of your own before the troubles?”

  “I did. They are strangers to me now. All pakehas are my enemy.” He gazed earnestly up at the old chief. “As they should be yours. If we do not fight together we will never defeat them. Maoris should no longer quarrel among themselves.”

  “I have no quarrels with you, my son.”

  “I know that, Father.” Opotiki’s tone softened. Anger having failed to move the old man, he now decided to try reason. “Surely even you can see what is happening. Each year there are more and more pakehas. They come in the great canoes and they breed like flies among sheep. Their sicknesses kill us. Every month they take more and more of the old lands for themselves. The pakeha has a hunger for land that treaties will never satisfy, and what they take they never sell back. They will not be sated until they have pushed us into the high mountains or off Te Ika-a-maui altogether. Then they will push us off Te Waipounamu as well. Where will we live then, Father? What will we do? Take to the canoes like our ancestors and sail off in search of another Aotearoa? This is the land the gods gave us. Not the pakehas. We will stay here.”

  “Of course we will stay here.” Te Ohine smiled condescendingly. “An end will come to the fighting, you will see. The pakehas will tire of it, the Maori will tire of it, and there will be peace as there was before.”

  Opotiki shook his head violently. “It can never be as it was before, Father. Can’t you see that? No matter who wins, Maori and pakeha will never be able to deal truthfully with each other again. What has been broken cannot be made whole again.”

  “What nonsense is that? Broken canoes can be mended, broken hands, broken
friendships as well.”

  “I do not believe that. Now I must fight harder than ever because it is known that my sister has a pakeha lover.”

  “I see.” Te Ohine adopted a somber mien. “You, my son, have never slept with a pakeha woman?”

  “No. Nor do I have a desire to do so.”

  “Pity. They are pale, fragile creatures. You would think love-making would break them like eggs, but they do not break. This I can vouch for myself.” He smiled down at his son.

  Opotiki turned away, perhaps to conceal a smile of his own. He was a good man, Te Ohine knew. It was not his fault he still suffered from the sickness of youth. Like that of many young warriors his heart was easily filled with a lust for fighting. This had ever been so for the Maori. Before the coming of the pakeha their love of battle had been directed at each other. Now those who would fight had a common enemy. Yet even in this time of long war there were many Maori and pakeha who remained friends, who did not fight, who stood apart from the killings on both sides.

  “Those who lived in peace before can do so again.”

  “It is not hard to live in peace with the pakeha,” said Opotiki contemptuously as he turned back to face his father. “All you have to do is give them everything they want, give in to all their demands, and there will be peace. They will pat you on the head and smile and call you a good boy. That is a life for children and slaves, not for warriors.”

  Te Ohine took a deep breath. “You cannot defeat the pakeha. As you have just said, their number is endless. They have better guns than we have and they do not have to ration their powder and bullets. They have the big guns and the warships. The pakeha are the People of the Gun. We cannot fight their ships with our guns so we cannot keep them from coming to settle here. We cannot fight their big guns so when they bring those we have to run away.”