James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  I suppose. Much of the magic of the Royal

  Navy has to do with that, tradition and honor, doesn't it?"

  "Without it the Royal Navy would not be the

  Royal Navy." Ketterer took another deep puff of the cigar. At least the young bugger understands, by God, though that doesn't tip the scales. The truth is the poor fool's mother is quite right to disapprove the marriage--the girl's pretty enough but hardly the right choice, bad blood line, typically French. I'm doing him a favor.

  Are you?

  Remember Consuela di Mardos Perez of

  C@adiz?

  He had first met her when he was a midshipman in Royal Sovereign during courtesy calls at the port. Ultimately the

  Admiralty had refused him permission to marry, his father had been equally opposed and when, at length, he had won both their consents and rushed back to claim her, she was already betrothed. She was

  Catholic too, he thought sadly, still loving her after all this time.

  Catholic, that sent everyone mad, like

  Struan's mother I'll wager. As if it matters, though Consuela's family was good where this girl's isn't. Yes, I still love her. After her, no one. Never wanted to marry, not after losing her, somehow couldn't. Still, that let me put everything into the Navy so life hasn't been a total sodding loss.

  Has it?

  "I'm going to have another port," he said. "That will take ten to fifteen minutes. What can you do to lead the way in ten or fifteen minutes, eh?"

  Gornt hurried down the steps of Struan's into the night, following other guests leaving the party in animated conversation, bundled up and holding their hats against the wind. Servants were waiting with lamps to guide some of them home. After a polite but hasty good night, he went next door to Brock's. The guard, a tall turbanned Sikh, saluted, stared at him as he rushed up the stairs two at a time to knock on

  Norbert Greyforth's door.

  "Who is it?"

  "Me, suh, Edward. Sorry, it's important."

  There was a sour grumble. Then the bolt jerked back. Norbert's hair was tousled. He wore a nightshirt, nightcap and bed socks. "What the hell is it?"

  "Struan. He's just announced from here on he's committing the Noble House to embargo all guns and all opium in Japan and ordering the same in all Asia and the China trade."

  "What's this, a joke?"

  "No joke, Mr. Greyforth, suh. It was at the party--that's what he said in front of everyone a moment ago, Sir William, most of the Foreign Ambassadors, the Admiral,

  Dmitri--Struan's exact words, suh: "I want to make a formal statement. Following my

  Guardian letter today, I've decided no guns or opium will be carried by our ships or traded by Struan's from now on, here or in China.""

  Norbert began to laugh, "Come in, this calls for a celebration. He's put Struan's out of business. And made us Noble House." He stuck his head into the corridor and shouted for his

  Number One Boy. "Lee! Champagne, chop chop! Come in, Edward and close the door, it's drafty and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey." He turned up the oil lamp. His bedroom was large with a vast four-poster, the floor carpeted, oils on the walls of Brock clipper ships--their fleet smaller than Struan's but their steamer fleet almost twice as large. Some of the paintings were fire damaged and the ceiling, too, was not yet completely repaired. Books piled on the side tables and another opened on the bed.

  "The poor bastard's really gone." Norbert chuckled. "First thing we do is to cancel the duel, got to keep him alive. Now this is wh--" His smile vanished. "Wait a minute, what am

  I talking about? It's all a storm in a pisspot, he's no more tai-pan of Struan's than I am. You're the fool, whatever he says means nothing and much as his Bible-thumping mother would like to do the same, she'd never agree, couldn't, it'd ruin them."

  Gornt smiled. "I disagree."

  Norbert glanced at him sharply. "Eh?"

  "She'll agree."

  "Oh? Why?"

  "Secret."

  "What sort of secret?" Norbert glanced at the door as it opened. Lee, an elderly

  Cantonese with a long, thick queue, wearing neat livery--white jacket, black trousers-- waddled in with glasses, champagne in an ice bucket, a neat towel over his arm. In moments two glasses were served. When the door had closed, Norbert raised his glass. "Health, and death to all Struans. What secret?"

  "You told me to try to befriend him. I have. Now he confides in me. First--"

  "He does?"

  "Up to a point but it's better every day. First, about tonight. The reason he wrote the letter and made the announcement was to curry favor with the Admiral, secretly."

  "Eh?"

  "May I?" Gornt motioned at the champagne.

  "Of course. Sit down and explain yourself."

  "He needs the Admiral's approval to get aboard Pearl tomorrow, that's the re--"

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I happened to overhear them, talking privately--they went outside after dinner. I was looking at some of his paintings nearby--I'd noticed a couple of Aristotle Quances--and, well their voices carried." Gornt related, almost word for word, their conversation. "Ketterer ended by saying, "Let's see what you can do in ten or fifteen minutes.""

  "That was all? Nothing about what's aboard or what's so important about Pearl?"

  "No suh."

  "Weird, that's weird. What could it be?"

  "I don't know. The whole evening was strange.

  All during dinner I'd catch Struan glancing at the Admiral from time to time, but never once did he catch his eye. It was as though the Admiral deliberately avoided him without being too obvious. That's what prompted my curiosity, suh."

  "Where was he sitting--the Admiral?"

  "Next to Angelique, place of honor on her right, Sir William the other side, should have been the other way around--another curiosity. I was next to Marlowe, he was star-gazing at

  Angelique and talking boring naval talk, nothing about any trip tomorrow though I got the impression from what Struan had said, it had been planned for some time, pending the Admiral's okay. After the Admiral left I brought the conversation with Marlowe back to tomorrow but he just said,

  "Might be doing some trials, old boy, if the

  Old Man approves, why?"' I told him

  I enjoyed ships and asked if I could come along, he laughed and said he'd certainly arrange a future trip, then he left too."

  "Nothing about Struan and the girl?"

  "No suh. He's all eyes for her though."

  "It's her tits." Norbert grunted. "When

  Struan made the announcement what happened?"

  "First there was a silence, then pandemonium, questions, some laughter, a few catcalls, Marlowe and the other naval officers cheered, and a lot of anger. McFay went white, Dmitri almost spat, Sir William stared at Struan, shaking his head as though the poor fellow was an object of pity. I'd concentrated on

  Ketterer. He made no sign one way or another, said nothing to Struan other than,

  "Interesting," got up at once, thanked him for dinner and left. Struan tried to stop him, started to ask him about tomorrow but the Admiral either didn't hear him or pretended not to, and stalked out, leaving Struan shaking. At the same time, suh, everyone talking and no one listening, like in a

  Chinese market, not a few furious and shouting at

  Struan that he was insane, and how in the hell could we carry on trade--you know, the obvious and the truth."

  Norbert finished his glass.

  Gornt began to pour for him but he shook his head,

  "Don't like bubbly too much at night, makes me fart. Pour me a Scotch--the bottle's over there." It was on a sideboard, oak, weatherbeaten, an old sea clock on it.

  "What's aboard Pearl he'd want so much?"

  "I don't know."

  "What did Struan do after Ketterer left?"

  "He just sat down and took a large drink, stared into space, absently said good night as people bega
n to drift off, paying no attention to Angelique which again was unlike him. As to her, she just watched wide-eyed, not the center of attention for once, clearly not understanding what was going on so

  I guess not in Struan's confidence either. I thought I'd better give you the news so didn't stay."

  "You said something about a secret? What's the secret, eh? Why that old bitch, Tess

  Struan will agree to commit business suicide?"

  "Because of Sir Morgan's plan, suh."

  "What?"

  "Sir Morgan." Gornt smiled broadly. "Before we left Shanghai he told me, privately, he and Mr. Brock had planned and were in the middle of executing some scheme to ruin Struan's and finish them for good.

  He told me it revolves around Hawaiian sugar, the Victoria Bank an--"

  "Eh?" Norbert stared at him, remembering

  Sir Morgan had been specific that he had not given Gornt details of the coup, and did not want him to have them: "even though lad's t'be trusted. Yes, an' there be no harm in letting him mix in the poxy Struan circle to see what he can spy out." "Morgan told you the details? About the deal?"

  "No suh, at least he only told me what

  I was to pass on to Struan as secretly as I could."

  "Jesus Christ," Norbert said, exasperated, "you'd better start from the beginning."

  "He said I wasn't to tell you about my part until I'd accomplished it, until I'd done what he told me to do. I have, I'm in

  Malcolm Struan's confidence, so now I can tell you." Gornt sipped his champagne. "Very good wine, suh."

  "Get on with it!"

  "Sir Morgan told me to tell

  Struan a series of stories--he said it was near enough to the truth to hook Struan and through him the real tai-pan, Tess Struan. Suh, I can almost guarantee, the last of the Struan tai-pans is firmly hooked." Quickly Gornt gave him the substance of exactly what he had told

  Malcolm Struan. Ending it, he laughed.

  "I'm to give him "the secret details" after the duel, en route to his ship."

  "What're you to tell him?"

  The older man listened carefully. Knowing the real details, he was fascinated to hear more of

  Morgan's craftiness. If Tess Struan acted on this false information, it would certainly buy Sir Morgan the extra few weeks he wanted. "But Sir Morgan," Norbert had said in Shanghai when the plan had been laid out,

  "it's foolproof now, you don't need extra time, I can do my part in Yokohama before

  Christmas."

  "Yes, thee can, and will. But me an' Dad, we likes to be safer than safe, Lad, and extra time will make sure our necks be away from any ropes and our arses out of prison."

  Norbert suppressed a shudder at the thought of being caught. No rope, but prison for fraud probably and Debtor's Prison a certainty. Sir Morgan's a crafty bugger all right, just like him to tell me one thing and Gornt another. He's saved me one risk, killing

  Struan. So it's England for me and five thousand a year but I lose the cream, the manor house and being rich. Better safe than sorry.

  Norbert sighed. I was looking forward to putting a bullet into Malcolm and reaping the cream, he thought, Old Man Brock's words etched in his memory: "Norbert, there be cream in thy retirement. Thy bonus be upped by five thousand guineas a year if thee kills him, a thousand bonus for a bad wounding, thee's beached if thee's humbled."

  "Morgan's clever, the plan's foolproof," he said with a smile. To make sure, testing him, added casually, "Isn't it?"

  "Suh?"

  "The small changes make all the difference, don't they?" He was watching him carefully.

  "Sorry, suh, I don't know any details--other than what I've told you and he said to pass on to Struan."

  "I'll have another Scotch--help yourself to wine," Norbert said, satisfied, then drank in silence until he had thought everything through. "You continue as if you haven't told me. Tomorrow I'll cancel the duel. Can't afford to kill or put the bugger out of action."

  "Yes, suh, that was my immediate thought too."

  Gornt handed him Malcolm Struan's letter, the equivalent of the one Norbert had signed. "He gave me this for you, but I suggest you don't cancel tomorrow, that might make him suspicious--and we might find out what's so important about

  Pearl, if he goes or if he doesn't."

  "All right Edward, good idea." Norbert guffawed. "So Wednesday, young nipper

  Struan's on his way to disaster, eh?"

  Gornt grinned. "On his merry way, suh.

  Their Noble House is finished and ours begins."

  "Yes." The warmth of the Scotch mixed with the warmth of the future. "Then you've decided to join us?"

  "Yes, suh, if you approve. Sir

  Morgan said you'd have to approve."

  "You keep this up and you're approved. Tonight was a good night's work, tiptop. 'night."

  He bolted the door after him. Before he climbed back into the high bed he used the chamber pot and felt even better. His glass was on his side table, perched on a pile of books and magazines, still a quarter full. He settled himself against the high pillows he favored and picked up the half-opened book, City of the

  Saints, Burton's account of a stay among the mysterious, polygamous Mormons in Salt

  Lake City, Utah, another first for this, the most famous adventurer and explorer in the world, who spoke thirty or more languages, and whose exploits and idiosyncrasies were avidly followed in minutest detail.

  He read a few paragraphs, then, distracted, tossed it aside. It's not as good as

  Pilgrimage to El-Medina and Mecca, he thought, or about discovering Lake Tanganyika.

  Amongst all that Mormon snatch you'd think

  Burton who openly favors polygamy, which any fool knows is the right idea, would describe his conquests, he's done it enough times in other books to raise the old hackles. Some papers reported he had a baker's dozen of 'em, all at the same time, presented personally by Brigham Young, head of their "Latter-day

  Saints" Church and Governor of Utah. What liars!

  But, my God, what a man--he's done more and seen more than any Englishman alive, makes you even prouder to be English. And with all the freedom to go where he wants, live as he wants, how he wants, what's he do but go back to England and get married to a good

  Englishwoman like any normal man. Of course, he left after a month and now they say he's somewhere in parts unknown, the Hindu Kush or up in the secret land on Top of the World, living with the snow giants...

  He sipped more of the drink, and thought about

  Gornt. That young bugger's not as smart as he thinks. Anyone can work out what's aboard Pearl and why. Ketterer can keep a secret, so can

  Wee Willie but Michaelmas Tweet can't, nor Heavenly when he's in his cups, so I'd heard about Tess Struan's letters and that she's boxed Wee Willie, blocked the Church, blocked all ship captains, and through Ketterer the

  Navy--'cepting she's no power over the Navy!

  And aboard Pearl is Marlowe. Marlowe could marry 'em--if Ketterer allows it.

  He chuckled.

  But Ketterer hates Struan's because they sold cannon to the White Lotus pirates, like us, like we've been selling cannon to any God-cursed warlord who'll buy, and will continue to do the same even if Struan's don't, and why not? They're legal and always will be. Parliament needs armament factories because armaments are great business and all governments like war--because wars are great business, and, most of all, because war covers up their own sodding incompetence.

  To hell with governments.

  Ketterer hates Struan's. For all his red-neck arrogance he's no fool, he would want practical results for a favor. Those he can't get--announcements from that young fool mean nothing--so he's cat-and-mousing him. Maybe he'll let Struan and his doxy go aboard, maybe he won't, but either way Marlowe won't be allowed to marry them--Ketterer wants Struan to crawl. The sod would make me crawl too if he'd a quarter of a chance and give me a hundred lashes to boot.

  A large swallow
of the fine whisky put him into a better humor and he laughed. So young Struan's stymied: no Pearl'-assisted marriage and back to Hong Kong, with or without his doxy, and into the sodding pit with his ma. Curious that