Noble House

by James Clavell

  She nodded, then added sadly, “Poor Miss Casey. She’s dying inside.”

  “Yes.”

  “Here are your calls, tai-pan. Master Linbar called from Sydney, please call him back when you have a moment. He thinks he’s got Woolara back in line.”

  Dunross stared at her. “I’ll be damned!”

  “Mr. Alastair called with congratulations, and your father, and most members of the family. Please call Master Trussler in Jo’burg, it’s about thoriums.” She sniffed. “Mrs. Gresserhoff called to say good-bye.”

  “When’s she off?” Dunross asked noncommittally, knowing the flight.

  “Tomorrow, JAL’s early flight. Isn’t it awful about Travkin? Oh I’m so sad about him.”

  “Yes.” Travkin had died in the night. Dunross had visited him at the Matilda Hospital several times but his trainer had never recovered consciousness since the Saturday accident. “Have we tracked down any next of kin?”

  “No. He had no special girlfriend or, or anyone. Master Jacques has made the burial arrangements.”

  “Good. Yes. That’s the least we can do for him.”

  “Are you going to ride Saturday?”

  “I don’t know.” Dunross hesitated. “Remind me to talk to the stewards about making the fifth the Travkin Stakes—a way of thanking him.”

  “Yes. Oh, that would be wonderful. I did so like him, yes that would be wonderful.”

  Dunross glanced at his watch. “Is my next appointment downstairs yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” the tai-pan said, his face closing.

  He went down to the next floor, to his office. “Afternoon, Mr. Choy, what can I do for you?” He had already sent condolences about Four Finger Wu.

  When the door was shut, Paul Choy wiped his hands without noticing it. “I’ve come about step one, sir. Sorry we had to put it off from yesterday, but, er, the wax impressions—they fitted one of your two remaining half-coins?”

  “First I would ask who has the other half, now that Four Fingers is an ancestor.”

  “The family Wu, sir.”

  “Who in the family Wu?” Dunross asked harshly, deliberately rough. “The coin was given to an individual who would pass it on to an individual. Who?”

  “Me. Sir.” Paul Choy stared back at the tai-pan, unafraid, even though his heart was beating faster than it had ever beaten—even more than when he was on the junk a lifetime ago—the young Werewolf’s blood on his hands, the half-dead, mutilated body leaning against him, and his father shouting at him to throw the man overboard.

  “You’ll have to prove Four Fingers gave it to you.”

  “Sorry, tai-pan, I don’t have to prove anything,” Paul Choy replied confidently. “I just have to present the coin and ask the favor. In secret. Everything secret, that’s the deal. If it’s the real coin your honor and the face of the Noble House is at stake and the fa—”

  “I know what I have at stake.” Dunross made his voice grate. “Do you?”

  “Sir?”

  “This is China. Lots of curious things happen in China. You think I’m a fool to be bamboozled by an ancient legend?”

  The young man shook his head, his throat tight. “No. You’re absolutely no fool, tai-pan. But if I present the coin, you will grant the favor.”

  “What’s your favor?”

  “First I guess I’d like to know if you’re … if you’re satisfied it’s one of the four. I’m satisfied.”

  “Are you now?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You know this coin was stolen from Phillip Chen?”

  Paul Choy stared at him, then recovered quickly. “This coin’s from Four Finger Wu. I know of no theft. It came from my father, that’s all I know. It was my father’s.”

  “You should give it back to Phillip Chen.”

  “Did you ever see it, this particular one, in his possession, sir?”

  Dunross had already talked to Phillip Chen about the coin. “Is there no way to prove it’s yours, Phillip?” he had asked him.

  “None, tai-pan. None,” the old man had said, wringing his hands.

  Dunross kept his eyes boring into the youth. “It’s Phillip Chen’s.”

  Paul Choy shifted uneasily. “There were four coins, tai-pan. Mr. Chen’s coin must be one of the others. This one belongs, belonged to my father. You remember what he said at Aberdeen?”

  Dunross stared at him silently, trying to shake him, dealing with him Western style. Paul Choy wavered but held his gaze steady. Interesting, Dunross thought. You’re a tough little bastard and good. Now, are you an emissary of Goldtooth Wu, the eldest son, or a thief and here on your own account? He left the silence hanging, using it to undermine his opponent while he rethought his position. The moment Paul Choy had called yesterday to ask for an appointment he had known the reason. But how to handle it? Four Fingers barely dead and now I’ve a new enemy, he thought, strong, well trained with lots of balls. Even so, he’s got weak links like anyone. Like you have. Gornt’s one of them. Riko could be another. Ah, Riko! What is it about her that moves you so much?

  Forget that! How do you recover the half-coin before the favor?

  “I presume you have your half with you. Let’s go to the assayist right now.” He got up, testing Paul Choy.

  “No sir, sorry but no.” Paul Choy felt his heart about to burst, the thong around his neck suddenly a noose, the half-coin burning into his flesh. “Sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea,” Dunross continued brusquely, pressuring him. “We’ll go and fetch it. Come along!”

  “No. No thanks, tai-pan.” Paul Choy said it with a polite firmness Dunross recognized. “Could we please do it next week? Say a week Friday? There’s no hurry now.”

  “I won’t be in Hong Kong on Friday.”

  “Yes sir. You’ll be in Japan. Could you put aside an hour during your stay there? Anytime to suit you. To go visit an assayist?”

  Dunross’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot, Mr. Choy.”

  “It’s easy to find out anything here, sir. Japan would be better for both of us. Less chance of a, a foul-up and in Japan we’re both equal.”

  “You’re suggesting you won’t be here?”

  “No, no, tai-pan. But as you said, this is China, strange things happen in China. Four Fingers and his group’re well connected too. The coin’s a one shot—person to person—and should be handled that way. That’s the way I figure it.”

  Paul Choy was sweating now, thanking God that part of the “favor” was that everything was to be secret. Ever since he had brought back the body of Four Fingers he had been maneuvering for power in the family. At length he had achieved exactly what he wanted, the very special position—in Mafia terms—of consigliere, chief advisor to Goldtooth Wu, the eldest son, now titular head of the Seaborne Wu. That’s what we are, he thought, his fear rising again. We’re Chinese mafioso. Isn’t there blood on me too? I was aboard with the opium. What does Goldtooth know that I don’t?

  “You can trust me implicitly, Goldtooth,” he had said to his brother, fighting for his future.

  “I’m afraid I have little choice. I’m in uncharted waters. I need all the help I can get. Your expertise will be very valuable,” Goldtooth had said in his clipped English when they were in the final stages of negotiation.

  “I figure we can work together.”

  “Let’s be blunt, Brother. We’re both university trained, the rest aren’t. We need each other and the Seaborne Wu must be modernized. I can’t do it. I need serious help—my years running his Pleasure Boats hardly fit me for command. I kept asking but, well, you know our father. Good God, I couldn’t even change a girl’s hourly rate without getting his approval. His four fingers were on every ship, in every transaction in the fleet.”

  “Sure, but now if his captains’ll go along with change, in a year you’ll have the best-run Chinese operation in Asia.”

  “That’s exactly w
hat I want. Exactly.”

  “What about opium?”

  “The Seaborne Wu have always carried that cargo.”

  “What about guns?”

  “What guns?”

  “I heard whispers Four Fingers was going into gun-running.”

  “I know nothing about guns.”

  “Let’s get rid of the opium-heroin racket. Let’s stay to hell out of narcotics. Isn’t it true he was joining up with those two jokers, Smuggler Yuen and White Powder Lee?”

  “Rumors. I’ll consider what you suggest. But let me say I’m captain of the fleets and head of the Seaborne Wu now. My decision is final. We’ll consult. You’ll be consigliere with all that means, but if I make a decision it’s final. For instance, I heard about the coup, the stock market coup, that you pulled off without his permission. It was brilliant, yes, but there’s to be no more of that—I must be consulted and must know in advance.”

  “Agreed. But from here on in, I’m also in business on my own account. I’ve resigned from Gornt’s. Next, any private dealings I began with Four Fingers are mine to continue.”

  “What are they?”

  “Friday he advanced me 2 million to play the market. My deal was 17.5 percent of the profits. I want all the profits.”

  “50 percent.”

  “90. As of right now, there’s nothing to keep me in Hong Kong. Even at 50 percent, if I sell the present holdings—and only I know what they are by the way—I’m worth around 3 million U.S.”

  They had haggled and settled at 70 percent, Goldtooth’s 30 percent to be deposited in a Swiss bank, a numbered account.

  “I figure the market’ll be on the come for two more days, then I offload. My decision, okay?”

  “Yes. Profitable suits you, Younger Brother, better than Paul. I’d like to stay with Profitable. What else were you doing with Four Fingers?”

  “There was one last scam. He swore me to secrecy, forever. Forever, with blood oaths. I have to honor his wish.”

  Reluctantly Goldtooth Wu had agreed and now, waiting for the tai-pan to answer him about Japan, the young man’s confidence was brimming. I’m rich. I’ve all Goldtooth’s power if I need it, and I’ve a U.S. passport and I’m going to Hawaii. In Japan there’s a chance I can outsmart Dunross—no, not outsmart him, he’s far too good for that, but maybe there I can get a safe, fair shake to prove, once and for all, my coin’s real.

  “Would Japan suit you, tai-pan?” he repeated.

  “I hear you made a killing on the market?”

  The youth beamed, not expecting the non sequitur. “Yes sir. I’m about 5.5 million U.S. ahead.”

  Dunross whistled. “That’s not bad for a couple of weeks’ work, Profitable Choy. At 15 percent tax,” he added innocently.

  The youth winced and fell into the trap. “Hell, I’m a U.S. citizen, so subject to U.S. taxes every which way.” He hesitated. “I’ve a couple of ideas that’d … say, tai-pan, we might make a deal that’d be good for you and good for me.”

  Dunross saw Paul Choy’s eyes flatten and his caution increase.

  “My Old Man trusted you,” the youth said. “You and he were Old Friends. Maybe I could inherit that—be worth that, one day.”

  “Return the coin freely and I’ll grant all sorts of favors.”

  “First things first, tai-pan. First we find out if my coin’s real. Japan, okay?”

  “No. Here, or not at all!” Dunross snapped, deciding to gamble.

  Paul Choy’s eyes slitted even more. Abruptly he decided too and reached under his shirt and took out the coin and laid it on the desk. “I ask a favor in Jin-qua’s name from the tai-pan of the Noble House.”

  In the silence Dunross stared at the coin. “Well?”

  “First, I want Old Friend status, equal to Four Fingers with all that that implies. Second: I want to be appointed a director of Struan’s for a four-year period at a salary equal to other directors—for face I’ll buy a block of shares at market bringing my holdings to 100,000 shares.” He felt a bead of sweat drop off his chin in the silence. “Next: I want to joint venture, 50–50 partners, a pharmaceutical plant with Struan’s, capitalized at 6 million U.S.—I put up half within 30 days.”

  Dunross stared at him, perplexed. “To do what?”

  “The market for pharmaceuticals throughout Asia is vast. We could make a bundle, given your expertise in manufacturing, mine in marketing. Agreed?”

  “Is that all? All the favor?”

  “Three more things. Th—”

  “Only three?” Dunross asked witheringly.

  “Three. First, next year I’m going to start another stock exchange. I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Dunross gaped at him, thrown.

  Profitable Choy grinned and wiped the sweat off his face. “Sure. A stock exchange for Chinese, run by Chinese.”

  Dunross laughed suddenly. “You’ve got balls, Profitable Choy. Oh yes. Incidentally, that’s not a bad idea at all. What about it, the new exchange?”

  “Just your benevolent Old Friend assistance to get started, to stop the big guys from blocking me.”

  “For 50 percent.”

  “For very favorable inside terms. Very favorable, guaranteed. Next,” the youth held on to his hope, “I want you to introduce me to Lando Mata and tell him you’re backing me as part of my father’s group to bid for the gambling and gold syndicate monopoly. All right?”

  “You said three things. What’s last?”

  “In three years a stewardship of the Turf Club. In that time I’ll guarantee to donate a million U.S. to any charity or charities you name, I’ll back all worthy causes and swear by God I’ll make it as easy for you as I can.” The young man wiped the sweat off. “I’m finished.”

  Dunross hesitated. “If the coin’s real I’ll agree to everything except the part about Lando Mata.”

  “No. That’s part of the deal.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “I’ve asked for nothing illegal, nothing you can’t gr—”

  “Lando Mata’s out!”

  The young man sighed. He took the coin off the desk, stared at it. “If that’s out, then the whole deal’s off and I’ll put Four Finger Wu’s ask in place. It’s still the same coin,” he said, readying to play his last card.

  “And?”

  “And that’ll make you party to narcotics, guns and everything you detest but will have to honor. Sorry, tai-pan, but I’m bucking to be an ancestor.” He tossed the coin back on the table. “You choose.”

  Dunross was suddenly perturbed. The favor was cleverly couched. Nothing illegal, nothing extravagant. Paul Choy had done very well against him. Too well. Four Fingers was a known quantity. But this one, this devil’s spawn? I can’t risk narcotics—he knows that.

  To give himself time Dunross reached into his pocket and found the little silk pouch and put his coin on the table. He moved his half into the other. The fit was perfect.

  Without knowing it both men exhaled, staring at the now-joined coin that would lock them immutably together. Dunross knew it was a waste of time but he would go to the assayist anyway. For a moment he held the two halves in his hand. What to do about this cocky young bugger, he asked himself. Ah, now there’s a good thought! Phillip Chen should be given the problem!

  “All right, Profitable Choy,” he said putting him very high on his private Suspected Persons list. “I’ll agree to grant your favor—if your half’s real—except I’ll ask Lando, I can’t tell him anything. All right?”

  “Thank you, tai-pan, you won’t regret it.” Wet with relief Profitable Choy took out a list of names. “Here’s all the expert assayists in Hong Kong. You like to choose one? I, er, I checked and they’re all open to seven o’clock.”

  Dunross smiled faintly. “You’re very sure of yourself, Profitable Choy.”

  “Just try to keep ahead of the game, sir.”

  Casey came out of the Struan Building and went to the waiting Rolls. At once Lim opened the door for her. She s
ank back into the deep cushions feeling nothing, knowing nothing except that her anguish was consuming her and any moment she would break, not even noticing Lim ease the car into the heavy traffic to head for the vehicular ferry.

  Tears were very near. So much time before we leave, she thought. Everything packed and sent to the airplane. I’m checked out, all bills paid, but so much time still left.

  For a moment she considered just stopping the car and walking off but that would have been worse, no privacy, no protection and she felt so terrible. Yet I’ve got to get out, be by myself. I’ve got to. Oh Jesus, Linc poor Linc. “Lim,” she said on an impulse, “go to the Peak.”

  “Missee?”

  “Just drive to the top of the Peak, to the lookout. Please?” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice ordinary. “I’ve, I haven’t been there. I want to see it before I go. Please.”

  “Yes, Missee.”

  Casey leaned back and closed her eyes against the tears that poured out silently.

  CHAPTER NINETY

  6:45 P.M.:

  It was almost sunset.

  Up at Lo Wu, the central border village between the Colony and China, the usual crowds of Chinese were crossing the bridge in both directions. The bridge was barely fifty yards long and spanned a trickling muddy stream and yet those fifty yards, for some, were a million miles. At both ends were guard posts and immigration checkpoints and customs, and in the middle, a small removable barrier. Two Hong Kong police stood there and two PRC soldiers. Two train tracks went across the bridge.

  In the old days trains came from Canton to Hong Kong and back again, nonstop, but now passenger trains stopped on either side and passengers crossed on foot. And the trains themselves went back the way they came. Freight trains from China went through without problem. Most days.

  Each day hundreds of locals crossed the border as they would cross any road. Their fields or work was on both sides of the border and had been so for generations. These border people were a hardy, suspicious lot, hating change, hating interference, hating uniforms, hating police particularly and foreigners of every kind. A foreigner to them, as to most Chinese, was anyone not of their village. To them there was no border, could never be a border.