Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “I did na go with one of the girls. Just to see Aristotle.”

  “Huh!” May-may shook a finger in his face. “That’s your story. I dinna mind whores but na those ones. Oh very well, this time I’ll believe you.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  “Yin-hsi is special nice, so no need for whorehouses. Oh, I feel so happy. She sings beautiful and plays many instruments and sews nicely and very quick to learn. I teach her the English. She will come to England with us. And Ah Sam and Lim Din.” A slight frown. “But we come back home to China? Very often?”

  “Aye. Maybe.”

  “Good. We come back of course.” Again a little smile. “Yin-hsi is very accomplished. She is nice in bed?”

  Struan’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I did na make love, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Wat?”

  “I like to choose who’s in my bed and when.”

  “She’s in your bed and you dinna make love?”

  “Aye.”

  “I swear to God, Tai-Pan. I never understand you. You do na desire her?”

  “Of course. But I decided today was na the time. Tonight maybe yes. Or tomorrow. When I choose. Na before. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  “I swear to God you’re peculiar. Or maybe you were just so exhausted with a dirty whore you could na respond. Eh?”

  “Go on with you.” There was a knock on the door.

  “Aye?”

  Lim Din padded in. “Tai-Pan, Mass’er here. See Tai-Pan. Can?”

  “Mass’er wat?”

  “Mass’er Penneewort.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Brock watched Struan climb the path that led up the knoll from the shadow of the roofless abandoned church. He saw the bunched fighting iron and felt somewhat nauseated. Yet he was glad that at long last there was to be a showdown.

  He shifted the thong of his own fighting iron, stood up, and moved into the open. He grasped his knife with his left hand.

  Struan saw Brock the instant he moved from the cover of the church and momentarily forgot the plan that he had decided upon. He stopped. All he could remember was that this was his enemy whom he must destroy. With an effort Struan cleared his head and continued to climb the path, his muscles quivering with the anxiety to begin.

  At last the two men confronted each other.

  “Thee planned elopement and duel, didn’t thee?” Brock snarled.

  “Aye.” Struan let the bunched fighting iron fall. It jingled hatefully. Again he had to strain to recall what he had decided to say.

  Brock gripped the haft of his fighting iron and eased forward a step and readied.

  Only Struan’s eyes moved. “I’m sorry Gorth died the way he died,” Struan said. “I’d have enjoyed killing him.”

  Brock made no answer. But he shifted his weight imperceptibly, the east wind ruffling his hair.

  Struan’s dirk appeared in his left hand and he crouched slightly. “Tess be poxed.”

  Brock stopped in his tracks. “She baint. Doctor sayed Culum were clean.”

  “Doctors can be bought,” Struan said, feeling the blood lust swamping him. “She was poxed deliberately!”

  “Why, you—” Brock swung the fighting iron viciously and lunged at Struan. The metal barb missed Struan’s eyes by only a fraction of an inch. Struan swayed back and hacked, but Brock sidestepped and they began to circle each other like two animals.

  “By Gorth! That’s what Gorth planned,” Struan said. He wanted to have done with talking. “You hear? That was Gorth’s doing.”

  Brock’s head was pounding. All he could think of was to close with the enemy and kill.

  Again there was a violent skirmish, and again they flailed at each other with the fighting irons. Brock parried a knife slash by Struan, who twisted out of range and knew that he could not contain himself and back off much longer. “Gorth planned the pox!”

  “God curse thy lies!” Brock stalked Struan slowly.

  “Gorth gave Culum spiked liquor. And an aphrodisiac. Gorth paid a whorehouse to put him with a poxed woman. He wanted Culum poxed! That’s your cursed son. Understand?”

  “Liar!”

  “But by the grace of God, Culum’s na poxed—I only said it to make you understand why I wanted to kill Gorth. Culum’s na poxed. Tess neither.”

  “Wot?”

  “Aye. That’s the truth, before God.”

  “Devil! Blasphemer! You lie afore God!”

  Struan feinted and Brock backed and readied menacingly. But Struan did not hack with the weapon. He went through the open door of the derelict church and stood in front of the altar.

  “Before God I swear that’s the truth!”

  He turned, and his control snapped. All sound seemed to cease, and the whole world was Brock and the frantic urge to kill. He began to come back down the aisle, slowly. “Gorth murdered a whore in Macao and another here,” he hissed. “That’s more truth. His blood is na on my hands, but yours will be.”

  Brock backed out of the doorway, his gaze never wavering from Struan’s. The wind had dropped and he knew it to be strange, untoward strange. But he paid it no heed.

  “Then—then thee … had cause,” Brock said. “I—takes back wot I sayed. Thee had cause, by God.” Now he was outside on the ground and he stopped, at bay. “I takes it all back about Gorth. But that baint the settling twixt thee an’ me.” His rage at Gorth and at Struan and at all the years scorched him, and he knew only that now he must fight and hack and kill. To stay alive.

  Then he felt the new wind on his cheek.

  Abruptly his head cleared. He stared at the mainland.

  Struan was momentarily put off balance by the suddenness of Brock’s movement, and he hesitated.

  “Wind be changed,” Brock croaked.

  “Eh?” Struan made an effort to concentrate and backed away, not trusting Brock.

  Now they were both staring over mainland China, listening intently, tasting the wind.

  It was coming from the north. Gently but unmistakably.

  “It be squall, mayhaps,” Brock said, his voice wounding him, his heart thundering; all strength was gone from him.

  “Na from the north!” Struan said, feeling equally depleted. Oh God, for a moment I was an animal. But for the wind changing—

  “Typhoon!”

  They looked at the harbor. The junks and sampans were scurrying for shore.

  “Aye,” Struan said. “But that was the truth. About Gorth.”

  Brock tasted the bile in his mouth and he spat it out. “I be apologizing for Gorth. Yus. That were provoked and he be dead an’ more’s the pity.” Where be I goin’ wrong? he asked himself. Where? “Wot be done, be done. I sayed my piece to thee at Settlement. Yus, I were wrong to call thee out today, but I sayed my piece in Canton and I baint changing. I baint changing any more than thee. But the day thee come again’ me with cat in thy hand be the day there baint a stopping twixt us’n. Thee choose that day, as I sayed afore. Agreed?”

  Struan felt curiously faint. “Agreed.” He backed off and unfastened his fighting iron and sheathed his knife, watching Brock, distrusting him. Brock also put away his weapons. “And you’ll forgive Culum and Tess?”

  “They’s dead afore my face, like I sayed. Till Culum be part of Brock and Sons and Brock and Sons be Noble House and I be Tai-Pan o’ Noble House.” Struan dropped his metal whip on the ground and Brock dropped his. Both men swiftly left the hill by different paths.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  All that day the north wind increased. By nightfall Queen’s Town was as prepared as it would ever be. Windows were shuttered and doors jammed and those who had had the foresight to dig cellars blessed their joss. Those with make-shift or temporary habitations sought stronger buildings. But few buildings were strong—except in Happy Valley. And few men were prepared to risk the night gases even though they had read today’s Oriental Times about a cure for malaria. Today there was no cinchona to be had.


  All ships were battened down and every available anchor was bedded deeply. The ships were eased as far apart as possible to give maximum swinging room when the wind would back or veer.

  But there were some who said that because this wind was constant from the north, it could not possibly herald a typhoon. Never had anyone known the typhoon to blow from the north alone. A typhoon wind veered or backed constantly.

  Even Struan was inclined to agree. Never had the barometer stayed so high. And never had there been a typhoon without the barometer’s dropping.

  Drizzle came at nightfall from a lowering ceiling and brought relief from the heat.

  Struan had weighed the dangers carefully. If he had had only himself to worry about, he would have put to sea in China Cloud and run south until the wind backed or veered. Then he would have taken the safest course and escaped. But some instinct he did not understand told him not to risk the sea. Instead, he moved May-may and Yin-hsi and Ah Sam and Lim Din to the vast abandoned factory in Happy Valley and put them in his quarters on the third floor. He felt that the rain and the wind would blow away the night gases. May-may would be safer protected by brick and stone than on the sea or in a hole in the ground, and that was all that counted.

  Culum had thanked Struan for the offer of a berth in the factory but had said that he preferred to bring Tess into the harbor master’s office. It was a low, granite building, and Glessing had set aside space for Culum and Tess in the quarters that were part of the building.

  Struan had told them what had happened on the knoll and that a peace of sorts had been made. And all day while he was preparing against a typhoon that might never come, he brooded over the violence of man.

  “What’s the matter, Husband?” May-may had asked.

  “I dinna ken. Brock, mysel’, typhoon—I dinna ken. Maybe the cloud ceiling’s too low.”

  “I’ll tell you wat’s wrong. You think too much about wat happened—and worse, you worry about wat could possible have happened. Huh! Foolishness! Be Chinese! I order you! Past is past. A peace is made with Brock! Dinna waste time moping like constipate hen. Eat some foods and drink some tea and make love to Yin-hsi.”

  She laughed and called Yin-hsi, who hurried across the huge bedroom and sat on the bed and held her hand. “Look at her, by God! I’ve already give her a good talking-to.”

  He grinned and felt easier.

  “That’s better,” she said. “I think of you all time, never mind. Yin-hsi is in the room next door alone. She waits dutifully all night.”

  “Get on with you, lassie.” He chuckled, and May-may spoke rapidly in Chinese to Yin-hsi. Yin-hsi was all attention and then she clapped her hands elatedly and beamed at Struan, then hurried out.

  “What did you say, May-may?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I tell her how you make love. And how to make you fantastical excited. And na to be afraid when you cry out at the ending.”

  “Devil take you! Have I nae privacy at all?”

  “Tai-tai knows wat’s best for her losing-temper little boy. Yin-hsi’s waiting for you now.”

  “What?”

  “Yin-hsi. I told her to get ready. Love in the evening is pleasant, never mind. Have you forgotten?”

  Struan grunted and walked for the door. “Thank you kindly, but I’m busy.” He went downstairs and suddenly found that he was feeling much better. Aye, it was nonsense to worry about the past. And again he blessed his joss for May-may.

  Brock had had the broken foremast of the White Witch unstepped and lashed alongside for safety. All the broken spars and twisted rigging had been sorted out and the ship battened down. He had put three anchors forward and a canvas storm anchor aft to keep her head to wind.

  All day he had felt dulled. His head and chest ached, and he knew that his dreams would be bad tonight. He would have liked to get drunk, to lose himself. But he knew that there was danger coming. He took a last turn around the rain-swept deck with a lantern, then went below to check on Liza and Lillibet.

  “Here’s thy tea, luv,” Liza said. “Best get into dry clothes. They be ready for thee.” She pointed at the bunk and at the sea coat and trousers and sea hat and boots.

  “Thanks, luv.” He sat at the table and drank the tea.

  “Da’,” Lillibet said, “will you play game with me?” And when Brock did not answer, for he had not heard her, she tugged at his wet coat. “Da’, will you please play a game with me?”

  “Leave thy father be,” Liza said. “I be playin’ with thee.”

  She took Lillibet into the next cabin and thanked God that there was peace between her man and Struan. Brock had told her what had occurred, and she thanked God for answering her prayers. The wind be miracle, she told herself. Now all that he needed be patience. He be comin’ round to bless Tess. Liza asked God to guard Tess and Culum and the ship and all of them, then sat down and began to play a game of noughts and crosses with Lillibet.

  This afternoon Gorth’s coffin had been put into a cutter. Liza and Brock had gone into deep water and Brock had said the funeral service. When he finished, he had cursed his son and cast the coffin into the deep. They had returned to the White Witch and Brock had gone into his sea cabin and bolted the door, and he had wept for his son and for his daughter. He wept for the first time as a man, and the joy of life had gone out of him.

  ——

  All night the wind and the rain gradually worsened. With the coming of dawn the downpour was strong but not fearsome and the sea high but not threatening.

  Brock had slept in his clothes, and he came on deck blear-eyed. He checked the barometer. Still 29.8 inches, steady. He rapped it with a knuckle but the reading did not change.

  “Morning, sir,” Pennyworth said.

  Brock nodded apathetically.

  “It just be a rainstorm, I’m thinking,” Pennyworth said, perturbed by Brock’s lackluster manner.

  Brock peered at the sea and sky. The cloud blanket was only a few hundred feet away and hid the mountains of the island and the Peak, but this too was not unusual.

  Brock forced himself to walk forward and check the anchor hawsers. They were firm: three anchors and three hawsers as thick as a man’s thigh. Enough to hold in any storm, he thought. But this did not please him. He felt nothing.

  China Cloud was riding neat and sleek in the harbor, the watch cowering in the lee of the quarterdeck. All the other ships were riding without trouble, the huge flagship dominating the harbor. A few late-coming sampans and junks were searching for moorings beside the floating village in the lee shore of a small cove near Glessing’s Point.

  Brock went below, and Pennyworth and the rest of the watch were greatly relieved to have him gone.

  “He’s aged since yesterday,” Pennyworth said. “He looks like he’s dying on his feet.”

  In the dawn light, Struan was checking the rough shutters on the first floor. He went downstairs to the main floor and checked the others. He read the barometer: 29.8 and steady.

  “By the gods!” he said, and his voice rattled around the buildings. “Either begin to drop or finish the godrotting rain and let’s have done with it.”

  “Wat, Tai-Pan?” May-may called down from the landing.

  She looked minute and lovely. “Nothing, lassie. Go back to bed,” he said.

  May-may was listening to the rain pattering and wished she was in Macao where the sound of the rain on the roof would be sweet. “I dinna like this rain,” she said. “I hope the children are all right. I miss them very much.”

  “Aye. Go back to bed, there’s a good lassie. I’m going outside for a while.”

  She waved jauntily. “You be careful, now.”

  Struan pulled on his heavy sea coat and went outside.

  Now the rain was slanting. It had not increased in the last hour. In fact, he thought, it seemed to be lessening. The clouds were very low. He studied the lie of China Cloud. She’s pretty and safe, he told himself.

  He went back and checked the baromete
r. No change.

  He ate a good breakfast and prepared to leave again.

  “Up! Down! Why you so unpatient? Where you go now, heya?” May-may asked.

  “The harbor master’s office. I want to see if Culum’s all right. Dinna on any account go out or open any of the windows or doors, Supreme Lady Tai-tai or nae Supreme Lady Tai-tai.”

  “Yes, Husband.” May-may kissed him.

  Queen’s Road was deeply puddled and almost empty. But the wind and the rain felt bracing, and it was better than being shut up in the box of the factory. It was just like a spring nor’easter in England, he thought; nae, na as strong as that.

  He entered the harbor master’s office and shook the rain off.

  Glessing got up from his desk. “Morning. Strange storm, isn’t it? Care for tea?” He motioned to a chair. “Suppose you’re looking for Culum and Mrs. Struan. They’ve gone to early service.”

  “Eh?”

  “They’ll be back any minute. It’s Sunday.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten.”

  Glessing poured the tea from a huge pot, then put it back on the side of the brazier. The room was large and filled with charts. A mast came through the raftered ceiling, and beside it was a hatch. Signal flags were in neat cubicles, muskets in racks, and the whole room was tidy and shipshape. “What’s your opinion of the storm?”

  “If it’s a typhoon, then we’re dead in its path. That’s the only answer. If the wind does na back or veer, then the vortex’ll pass over us.”

  “God help us if you’re right.”

  “Aye.”

  “Once I got caught in a typhoon off Formosa. Never want to be in a sea like that again, and we weren’t anywhere near the vortex. If there is such a thing.”

  A gust of rain-heavy wind rattled the storm shutters. They watched the wind indicator. Still inexorably north.