Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “You disapprove of him, yet you’re taking his side. Why?”

  Glessing had shrugged. “Perhaps because I’ve learned that the ‘sins’ of the father are the father’s problem, not the son’s. Perhaps because the Tai-Pan’s a better seaman than I’ll ever be and runs the best fleet of the most beautiful ships on earth—treats his seamen like they should be treated, good food, pay and quarters—when we’ve to work with what the damned Parliament gives us: no cursed money, and pressed men and gallows bait as crew. Perhaps because of Glessing’s Point—or because he’s the Tai-Pan. Perhaps because the Sinclairs admire him. I don’t know. I don’t mind telling you that if I ever get an order to go after him, I’ll do it to the limit of the law. Even so, I hope to God he manages to outsmart that uncouth bugger Brock again. Couldn’t stand that sod as the Tai-Pan.”

  From that day Culum had seen a lot of Glessing. Between them a friendship had ripened….

  “Today,” Culum continued to Struan, very uncomfortably, “well, when I saw you and Gordon Chen together, I asked George Glessing. He was honest enough to tell me.”

  Struan stopped. “You mean it was dishonest of me na to tell you?”

  “No. You don’t have to justify anything you do. To me. A father doesn’t have to justify anything to a son, does he?”

  “Gordon’s a nice lad,” Robb said uneasily.

  “Why did you want to know how old he was?” Struan asked.

  “He’s the same age as me, isn’t he?”

  “So?”

  “It’s not important, Father.”

  “It is. To you. Why?”

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Why?”

  “A matter of ethics, I suppose. If we’re the same age, his mother was—isn’t the word ‘concurrent’?—with mine.”

  “Aye. Concurrent would be the right word.”

  “‘Adultery’ would be another right word, wouldn’t it?”

  “One of the truths of man is that adultery’s as inevitable as death and sunrise.”

  “Not according to the Commandments of God.” Culum avoided his father’s eyes. “The sale should start—now that Longstaff’s here,” he said.

  “Is that why you’re so nervous? Meeting Gordon and applying Commandments to me?”

  “You don’t need me, do you, Father, with Brock? I think I’ll—if you don’t mind, I’ll see everything’s ready.”

  “Please yoursel’, lad. I think you should be with us. This is a rare occasion. But please yoursel’.” Struan resumed his course along the road. Culum hesitated, then caught up with him.

  Queen’s Road ran due west from the valley along the shore. A mile away it passed the tents of the marines who guarded the growing number of naval stores. Beyond them a mile were the tented rows of the soldiers near Glessing’s Point, the terminus of Queen’s Road.

  And above Glessing’s Point was Tai Ping Shan, connected to the shore by a quivering, never-ending line of Chinese, bowed by the weight of their possessions. The line was perpetually moving and constantly replenished from the incessant arrival of junks and sampans.

  “Good day, Your Excellency,” Struan said, raising his hat as they met Longstaff and his party.

  “Oh, afternoon, Dirk. Day, Robb.” Longstaff did not stop. “Aren’t you ready to begin, Culum?”

  “In just a moment, Excellency.”

  “Well, hurry it up. I’ve got to get on board, what?” And he added to Struan, as an insulting afterthought, “Good to have you back, Dirk.” He continued his stroll, greeting others.

  “He’ll change in about three minutes,” Struan said.

  “Stupid, contemptible, pox-ridden fool.” Culum’s voice was raw and soft. “Thank God this is the last day I serve him.”

  Struan shook his head. “If I were you, I’d use ‘Deputy Colonial Secretary” to my advantage.’

  “How?”

  “We have our power back. But it’s still his hand that signs paper into law. And his hand still has to be guided, eh?”

  “I suppose—I suppose so,” Culum replied.

  As the Struans approached the Brocks, a silence fell over the beach and excitement quickened.

  Gorth and Nagrek Thumb were ranged alongside Brock and Liza and the girls.

  Skinner began whistling tonelessly and moved closer.

  Aristotle Quance hesitated in the middle of a brush stroke.

  Only the very young did not feel the excitement, and were not watching and listening.

  “Afternoon, ladies, gentlemen,” Struan said, doffing his hat.

  “Day, Mr. Struan,” Liza Brock said blandly. “Thee knowed Tess and Lillibet, doan thee?”

  “Of course. Day, ladies,” Struan said as the girls curtsied, noticing that Tess had grown considerably since he had last seen her. “Can we settle our business?” he said to Brock.

  “Now’s as good a time as may be. Liza, you’n the girls, back to the ship. And, Lillibet, you be akeeping thy hands outa the sea or thee’ll catch thy death. And doan fall overboard. And thee, Tess luv, thee watch thyself and Lillibet. Run along now, and be adoing wot yor ma tells thee.”

  They curtsied hastily and ran ahead of their mother, glad to be dismissed.

  “Children an’ shipboard just doan mix, do they?” Brock said. “Never watch where they be agoin’. Enough to drive you barmy.”

  “Aye.” Struan handed the banker’s draft to Gorth. “We’re even now, Gorth.”

  “Thank you,” Gorth said. He examined it deliberately.

  “Perhaps you’d like to double it.”

  “How?”

  “A further twenty thousand says one of our ships will beat you home.”

  “Thankee. But they sayed a fool’n his money is soon split. I baint fool—or a betting man.” He looked at the draft. “This’ll come in right handy. Maybe I can buy a bitty of the knoll from me da’.”

  The color of Struan’s eyes deepened. “Let’s go over to the tent,” he said, and began to lead the way.

  Robb and Culum followed, and Robb was very glad that his brother was Tai-Pan of The Noble House. His old fear returned. How am I going to deal with Brock? How?

  Struan stopped outside the tent and nodded to Cudahy.

  “Come on, lads,” Cudahy said to the small group of waiting seamen. “On the double.”

  To everyone’s astonishment the men collapsed the tent.

  “Our sight drafts, if you please, Tyler.”

  Brock warily took the notes out of his pocket. “Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand nicker.”

  Struan gave the notes to Robb, who checked them carefully against the duplicates.

  “Thank you,” Struan said. “Would you sign this?”

  “Wot be this?”

  “A receipt.”

  “An’ where’s thy banker’s draft?” Brock said suspiciously. “We decided to pay cash,” Struan said.

  The seamen dragged the collapsed tent away. Almost concealing the bulk of empty barrels were neat walls of silver bricks. Hundreds upon hundreds of silver bricks, glinting under the bleak sun. Brock stared at them transfixed, and there was a monstrous silence over Hong Kong.

  “The Noble House decided to pay cash,” Struan said offhandedly. He lit a match and put it to the roll of sight drafts. He took out three cheroots, offered one to Robb and to Culum, and lit them with the burning paper. “It’s all been weighed. But there’s a scale if you wish to check the amount.”

  The blood rushed to Brock’s face. “God rot you to hell!”

  Struan dropped the charred paper and ground it into the sand. “Thank you, Mr. Cudahy. Take the men aboard Thunder Cloud.”

  “Aye, aye, sorr.” Cudahy and the men took a last, sweating look at the bullion and dashed to their boats.

  “Well, that’s finished,” Struan said to Robb and Culum. “Now we can deal with the land.”

  “A rare occasion indeed, Dirk,” Robb said. “That was a masterly idea.”

  Culum scanned the beach. He saw the greed
and envy, and the eyes that watched them covertly. Thank you, oh God, he said silently, for letting me be part of The Noble House. Thank you for letting me be Thy instrument.

  Brock came out of his shock. “Gorth, get thy bullyboys ashore and on the double.”

  “What?”

  “On godrotting double,” he said, his voice low and violent. “Armed. We be having every heathen pirate in Asia on our necks inside minutes.”

  Gorth took to his heels.

  Brock pulled out his pistols and gave them to Nagrek. “If any comes within five yards, blow their heads off.” He stamped over to Longstaff. “Can I borrow them sodjers, Yor Excellency? Else we be havin’ a passel of trouble on our hands.”

  “Eh? Soldiers? Soldiers?” Longstaff blinked at the bullion. “Goddamme, is that all real silver? All of it? Goddamme, eight hundred thousand pounds’ worth, did you say?”

  “A little more,” Brock said impatiently. “Them sodjers. Marines, sailors. Any wot is armed. To guard it, by God!”

  “Oh, armed! Of course. Admiral, would you arrange it, please?”

  “Belay, there!” the admiral shouted, whipped into fury by the avarice on every face, including officers of the Royal Navy. Marines and soldiers and sailors came on the double. “Form a circle fifty paces from this treasure. No one’s allowed near. Understand?” He glared at Brock. “I’ll be responsible for its safety for one hour. Then I leave it where it is.”

  “Thankee kindly, Admiral,” Brock said, repressing an oath. He glanced seaward. Gorth’s cutter was pulling strongly for the White Witch. An hour be enough, he thought, cursing Struan and the bullion. How in the name of God can I unload so much bullion? Whose paper dare I takes? With war acoming and maybe no trade, eh? If there be trade, then it’d pay for all the season’s tea. But unless trade be guaranteed, why, all the companies’ paper be worthless. Except the godrotting Noble House.

  No bank an’ no vault and no safety until it be off’n yor hands. Yor life’s on rack. You should’ve thort, by God. You should’ve thort this were wot that belly-fornicating-bugger’d do. He trap you right proper.

  Brock tore his mind off the bullion and looked at Struan. He saw the mocking smile, and rage rose in him. “The day’s not over yet, by God.”

  “Quite right, Tyler,” Struan answered. “One more thing to settle.”

  “Yus, by God.” Brock shoved through the silent crowd toward the dais.

  Abruptly Culum’s anxiety returned, more excruciating than before. “Listen, Father,” he said in a rush, his voice held down, “Uncle Robb’s right. Brock’ll leave you when the bidding’s reached—”

  “Na again, laddie, for the love of God. The knoll belongs to The Noble House.”

  Culum stared at his father helplessly. Then he walked away.

  “What the devil’s the matter with him?” Struan asked Robb.

  “I don’t know. He’s been as nervous as a bitch in heat all day.”

  Then Struan noticed Sarah standing on the edge of the crowd—Karen beside her—white-faced, statuelike. He took Robb’s arm and began to guide him toward them. “You’ve na told Sarah yet, have you, Robb? About staying?”

  “No.”

  “Now’s a good time. Now that you’re rich again.”

  They came up to Sarah but she did not notice them.

  “Hello, Uncle Dirk.” Karen said. “Can I play with your pretty bricks?”

  “Are they truly real, Dirk?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, Sarah,” Robb answered.

  “God only knows how you did it, Dirk, but thank you.” She winced as the child kicked in her womb, and took out her smelling salts. “This means—this means we’re saved, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Struan said.

  “Can I play with one of those, Mummy?” Karen said shrilly. “No, dear. Run along and play,” Sarah said. She went up to Struan and kissed him, her tears streaming. “Thank you.”

  “Dinna thank me, Sarah. The price of so much metal comes high.” Struan touched his hat and left them.

  “What did he mean, Robb?”

  Robb told her.

  “I’m still leaving,” she said. “As soon as I can. Soon as the baby’s born.”

  “Yes. It’s best.”

  “I pray you never find her.”

  “Oh, don’t start that again, Sarah. Please. It’s a beautiful day. We’re rich again. You can have everything in the world you want.”

  “Perhaps I just want a man for a husband.” Sarah walked heavily toward the longboat, and when Robb began to follow, she snapped, “Thank you, but I can get aboard myself. Come along, Karen dear.”

  “Just as you wish,” Robb said, and he stalked up the beach again. He couldn’t see Struan among the crowd for a while. Then, as he neared the dais, he noticed him chatting with Aristotle Quance. He joined them.

  “Hello, Robb, my dear fellow,” Quance said expansively. “Marvelous gesture, I was just saying to the Tai-Pan. Marvelous. Worthy of the The Noble House.” Then to Struan, his ugly face dancing with joy, “By the way, you owe me fifty guineas.”

  “I dinna such thing!”

  “The portrait of Culum. It’s ready for delivery. Surely you didn’t forget?”

  “It was thirty guineas, and I gave you ten in advance, by God!”

  “You did? I’ll be damned! Are you sure?”

  “Where’s Shevaun?”

  “She has the flux, so I hear, poor lady.” Quance took some snuff. “Princely, that’s what you are, my lad. Can I have a loan? It’s in a good cause.”

  “What sort of flux?”

  Quance looked around and dropped his voice, “Lovesick.”

  “Who?”

  Quance hesitated. “You, lad.”

  “Oh, go to hell, Aristotle!” Struan said sourly.

  “Believe it or believe it not. I can tell. She’s asked after you several times.”

  “During sittings?”

  “What sittings?” Quance said innocently.

  “You know what sittings.”

  “Lovesick, my lad.” The little man laughed. “And now that you’re rich again, expect to be swept off your feet and into the hay! Immortal testicles of Jove! She’d surely be magnificent. Only fifty guineas, and I won’t bother you for a month.”

  “What’s the ‘good cause’?”

  “Me, dear boy. I need a cure. I’ve been poorly.”

  “Aye, and I know what your problem is. You’re feeling your oats. Disgusting for a man your age!”

  “You should be so lucky, dear lad. Must admit I’m marvelous. Fifty’s not much for an impoverished immortal.”

  “You’ll get your twenty guineas when I get the painting.” Struan bent down and whispered significantly, “Aristotle, do you want a commission? Say a hundred pounds? Gold?”

  Immediately Quance stuck out his hand. “I’m your man. My hand on it. Who do I have to kill?”

  Struan laughed and told him about the ball and the judgeship.

  “Great balls of fire, never, by God!” Quance exploded. “Am I a bloody fool? Do you want me detesticled? In an early grave? Hounded by every doxy in Asia? Ostracized? Never!”

  “Only a man of your knowledge, your stature, your—”

  “Never, by God! You, my erstwhile friend—for a miserable hundred pounds you put me in mortal danger. Yes, by God! Mortal danger! To be deviled, hated, ruined, dead before my time … make it two hundred?”

  “Done!” Struan said.

  Quance threw his hat in the air and danced a jig and hugged his stomach. Then he adjusted his purple silk waistcoat and picked up his hat and set it rakishly on his head. “Tai-Pan, you’re a prince. Who but I, Aristotle Quance, would dare to do such a thing? Who but I would be the perfect choice? Perfect! Oh, marvelous Quance! Prince of painters! Two hundred. In advance.”

  “After the judging.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “No. You might leave. Or have the vapors.”

  “I’d get off my deathbed to judge this
contest. In fact, I’d have volunteered. Yes, by the blood of Rembrandt, I’d willingly pay—I’d pay a hundred guineas, if I had to crawl to Brock to borrow it, to have that privilege.”

  “What?”

  Quance threw his hat into the air again. “Oh happy, happy day! Oh, perfect Quance, immortal Quance. You’ve got your place in history. Immortal, perfect Quance.”

  “I don’t understand you at all, Aristotle,” Robb said. “You really want the job?”

  Quance picked up his hat and brushed the sand off it, his eyes dancing. “Have you considered the advantages such a position gives me? Eh? Why, every doxy in Asia will be—how shall I put it?—will be ready to sway the judge, eh? In advance.”

  “And you’ll be ready to be swayed!” Struan said.

  “Of course. But it will be an honest choice. The perfect choice. I know the winner now.”

  “Who?”

  “Another hundred pounds? Today?”

  “What do you do with all the money, eh? Between Robb, Cooper and myself we give you a fortune!”

  “Give? Huh! Give? It’s your privilege to support immortality. Privilege, by Lucifer’s hind tit! By the way, is there any brandy in those barrels? I’ve an immortal thirst.”

  “There’s none. None at all.”

  “How uncivilized! Disgusting.” Quance took some more snuff, and saw Longstaff bearing down. “Well, I’ll be off. Good day, lads.” He walked off whistling, and as he passed Longstaff he raised his hat gravely.

  “Oh, Dirk,” Longstaff said, a broad smile on his face. “Why is Aristotle in such a good humor?”

  “He’s just glad, like you, that we’re still The Noble House.”

  “And quite right, too, what?” Longstaff was jovial and full of respect. “I didn’t know there was that much bullion in Asia. Magnificent to pay like that. By the way, would you have dinner this evening? There are some matters I’d like your opinion on.”

  “Afraid I’m busy this evening, Will. Tomorrow? Why not come aboard our headquarters, Resting Cloud? At noon.”

  “Noon would be perfect. Perfect. I’m so glad—”

  “Oh, by the way, Will. Why do you na cancel the fleet’s order sending them north?”

  Longstaff frowned. “But those devils have repudiated our treaty, what?”