——
Aboard Boston Princess, Jeff Cooper dragged himself off the deck of the main cabin and helped Shevaun to her feet. The gale rose in violence and battered the vessel, but her hawsers held.
“Are you all right?” Cooper shouted above the tumult.
“I think so. Oh God help us!”
“Stay here!” Cooper opened the cabin door and fought his way toward the deck, pandemonium surrounding him. But the gale and horizontal rain drove him below. He went down three decks and along a corridor and into the hold. He peered around with a lantern. Where Resting Cloud had hit, the timbers were crushed and the seams starting to go. Cooper went back to Shevaun.
“It’s all right,” he lied. “So long as we don’t break our moorings.”
A Supreme Wind struck Glessing’s Point and snapped the flagpole, throwing it like a javelin at the harbor master’s office.
The flagpole smashed through the granite wall and chopped Glessing’s arm off at the elbow. It punched its way through the other side of the building, throwing Culum aside and cascading bricks and debris and burning coals on Tess before coming to rest.
The rain and gale howled through the broken walls, and Tess’s dress was ablaze. Culum groped to his feet and beat at the flaming clothes with his hands.
When he had extinguished the fire, he held Tess in his arms. She was unconscious. Her face was white, and her hair was partially singed. He ripped off her dress and examined her carefully. There were burns on her back.
Culum heard screaming. Turning around, he saw Glessing, blood spurting from his stump. And across the room he saw the disjoined arm. Culum stood up, but his legs would not move.
“Do something, Culum!” he shouted against the wind.
His muscles obeyed, and he grabbed a flag halyard and bound a tourniquet around the stump and stopped the bleeding. He tried to decide what he should do next, and then he remembered what his father had done when Zergeyev was shot.
“Clean the wound,” he said aloud. “That’s what you’ve got to do. Then cauterize it.”
He found the teakettle. There was still water in it, so he knelt beside Glessing and began to daub the stump. “Hold on, old boy,” he muttered, Glessing’s agony tearing his guts.
Tess whimpered as she regained consciousness. She groped to her feet, the wind churning the papers and flags and dust, half blinding her. Her eyes cleared and she screamed.
Culum spun around in panic and saw her staring at the severed arm. “Help me! Find the fire tongs!” he yelled above the storm. She shook her head and backed away hysterically, and then she was very sick.
“Get the godrotting tongs!” Culum shouted, his hands on fire. “You can be sick later!”
Tess forced herself upright, shocked by the venom in Culum’s voice. She began searching for the tongs. “For God’s sake, hurry up!”
She found them and through her nightmare handed them to Culum.
Culum picked up a burning coal with the tongs and held it against the stump. Glessing screamed and fainted again. The stench from the burning flesh was overpowering. Culum fought his nausea down until the stump was thoroughly cauterized.
Then he turned his head and retched violently.
Brock looked up from the barometer, the whole ship vibrating and timbers howling. “28.2 inches, Liza! It’s never beed that low!”
Liza held Lillibet and tried to contain her fear. “I wonder where Tess be. Oh God, protect her.”
“Yus,” Brock said.
Then there was a shrieking of timbers and the whole ship reeled, but she corrected herself. “I be going on deck!”
“Stay here! For luv of God, lad, doan risk—” But she stopped, for he had already gone.
“When’s it going to stop, Mumma?” Lillibet sobbed. “Any minute now, luv.”
Brock poked his head cautiously out of the leeward quarterdeck gangway. He craned to look at the masts. They were bent like twigs. There was a monstrous crack as the main topmast stay parted.
“Belay there!” Brock shouted down the gangway. “Port watch on deck!”
A Supreme Wind shrieked out of the north and another halyard parted, and another, and the mainmast sheared off just above the deck and slammed into the mizzen, and both masts and spars and rigging pounded onto the deck, crushing the quarterdeck gangway. White Witch heeled dreadfully.
Brock freed himself from the debris and railed at the petrified crew. “On deck, you scum! For yor lives! Cut masts adrift or we be lost!”
He spurred the men on deck, and, hanging on with one hand, the gale wrenching him and the rain blinding, he slashed frantically with an ax at the main halyards and remembered the other typhoon that had cost him an eye, and he prayed that he would keep his remaining eye and that Tess was safe and Liza and Lillibet would not drown.
The scaffoldings of the new town had long since been torn away. A Supreme Wind rushed at the shore, demolishing the remains of the soldiers’ tents and wrecking the dockyard. It snuffed out the gin shops and pubs and whorehouses near the dockyard and flattened Mrs. Fortheringill’s establishment, pulverizing the painting and entombing Aristotle Quance in the rubble. Then it tore an arrow-straight swath through the hovels of Tai Ping Shan, obliterating a hundred families, and swept the remnants of the debris a mile away on the breast of the Peak.
Deep below ground on the Tai Ping Shan hillside, Gordon Chen crouched in the secret cellar he had constructed and congratulated himself on his prudence. The cellar was rock-lined and very strong, and though he knew that his house above had vanished, he cheerfully reminded himself that all his valuable possessions were safe here, and the house could quickly be replaced. His eyes ranged over his sets of ledgers, the files of land deeds, promissory notes, outstanding debts and mortgages, over the chests of bullion, boxes of jades, bolts of expensive silks and kegs of the finest wine. And over his concubine, Precious Blossom. She was propped comfortably, under the finest down coverlets, in the bed that was set against one of the walls. He poured himself another tiny cup of tea and got in beside her.
You’re a very clever fellow, he told himself.
The wind and the rain were pounding the north side of Struan’s factory in Happy Valley, and from time to time one of the Devil Winds would pull at it. But apart from an occasional tremor, and the raging noise, the building stood firm.
Struan was lighting a cheroot. He hated being inside the house and doing nothing.
“You smoke too much,” May-may shouted above the tempest. “Smoking’s good for the nerves.”
“Dirty habit. Stinky.”
He said nothing, but checked the barometer again.
“Wat for you keep looking at that every ten minutes?”
“It tells where the storm is. When it stops dropping, the center’ll be over us. Then it’ll rise. I think.”
“I’m na very pleasurably happy we’re here, Tai-Pan. It would be much better at Macao.”
“I dinna think so.”
“Wat?”
“I dinna think so!”
“Oh! Do we have to sleep here again tonight?” she asked, tired of shouting. “I would na want you or Yin-hsi or even that turtledung Ah Sam to get the fever.”
“I think we’re safe enough.”
“Wat?”
“We’re safe enough!” He glanced at his watch. The time was twenty past two. But when he peered through a crack in the shutter, he could see nothing. Only a vague movement in the darkness and horizontal streaks of rain on the windowpanes. He was thankful that they were in the lee of the wind. This corner of the residence faced east and west and south and was protected from the violence. And Struan was thankful to be ashore. Nae ship can live through this, he told himself. Nae harbor on earth can protect the fleets from such an act of God for long. I’ll wager Macao’s catching it. No protection there. I’ll wager half her shipping’s wrecked and ten thousand junks and sampans for five hundred miles up and down the coast. Aye. And the ship sent to Peru? I’ll wager she was caught a
nd she’s gone, Father Sebastian with her.
“I’m going to look in on the others.”
“Dinna be long, Tai-Pan.”
He went along the corridor and checked the shutter fastenings. Then he walked across the landing and absently straightened a Quance painting and entered Robb’s quarters.
Horatio was sitting—half shadowed—on the bamboo chair in which Sarah had been seated long ago, and in the frail, flickering light of the lanterns Struan thought for a moment that it was Sarah.
“Hello, Horatio. Where’s Monsey?”
Horatio looked at Struan without recognizing him. “I found Ah Tat,” Horatio said, his voice weird.
“I canna hear, lad. You’ll have to shout.”
“Ah Tat. Oh yes, I found her.”
“Eh?”
Horatio began to laugh hideously, as though Struan were not in the room. “Mary’s had an abortion. She’s a filthy whore for stinking heathens and has been for years.”
“Nonsense. That’s nonsense, lad. Dinna believe it,” Struan said.
“I found Ah Tat and lashed the truth out of her. Mary’s a devil whore of Chinese and she carried a half-caste bastard in her. But Ah Tat gave her the poison to murder it.” Again a shriek of laughter. “But I caught Ah Tat and beat her till she told me the truth. She was Mary’s pimp. Mary sold herself to heathens.” His eyes went back to the lantern’s core. “Glessing’ll never marry a whore of Chinese. So she’ll be mine again. All mine. I’ll forgive her if she crawls and begs.”
“Horatio. Horatio!”
“She’ll be all mine. Like when we were young. She’ll be all mine again. I’ll forgive her.”
Another devil gust rocked the building, and another, and a third, and it seemed as though they were in the middle of ten thousand raging maelstroms, and Struan heard windows and shutters blowing apart. He took to his heels and rushed along the corridor to his suite. May-may and Yin-shi were quailing in the bed, and Ah Sam was moaning, petrified. Struan charged over to the bed and took May-may in his arms. The roaring screaming violence crescendoed.
Abruptly the storm vanished.
There was silence.
Light began seeping through the cracks in the shutters, growing in intensity with the seconds.
“Wat’s happened?” May-may asked, her voice sounding unreal in the overpowering hush. Struan put May-may down and walked over to the window. He peered through one of the cracks, then cautiously opened the window and unbolted the shutters. He winced as hot, dry air swarmed into the room.
He stared incredulously into the harbor.
China Cloud was still at her moorings. White Witch was dismasted, the ends of her halyards drooping over the side. Resting Cloud was grounded at Glessing’s Point. The lorcha was still tied up at the company wharf. He saw one frigate aground, heeled over, high above the surf. But the rest of the fleet and troopships and merchantmen were still at anchor, untouched.
Above were feathers of clouds and blue sky and sunshine. But in the harbor the sea had gone mad. Pyramidal waves rose out of the surface and clashed into each other, and he saw China Cloud take water over both gunnels and stern and bow at the same time. Beyond, in the distance, an encircling screen of gigantic thunderclouds grew out of the sea and towered, peerless, to sixty thousand feet.
And over all, but for the slopping of the waves against one another, the unearthly silence.
“We’re in the vortex!”
“Wat?”
“The eye of the storm. This is it. The center!” May-may and Yin-hsi and Ah Sam hurried over.
“The fleet’s safe, by all that’s holy!” Struan said exultantly. “The ships are safe. They’re safe.” Abruptly his joy vanished and he slammed the shutters and windows and bolted them.
“Come on,” he said urgently, flinging the door open, and they followed, astonished. He ran the length of the corridor across the landing into the opposite wing of the building and opened the door of the northmost suite.
The shutters were partially broken and one window was smashed and glass was everywhere. “Stay here,” he said.
“Wat’s the matter, Tai-Pan? The storm’s gone.”
“Do as I say.” He hurried out. May-may shrugged and sat on a broken chair.
“What’s the matter with Father?” Yin-shi asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t understand him sometimes. Thank heaven the noise is finished. Isn’t it quiet? It’s so quiet it almost hurts.”
Yin-hsi went over to a window and opened it. “Oh, look!” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful? I’m so glad the storm’s gone.”
May-may and Ah Sam crowded around her.
Brock was standing on deck, paralyzed. He saw waves coming at him from all directions, but here in the lee of the shore the waves were small. The sun was warm and dry. Water dripped loudly. The encircling thunderclouds were like the walls of a mighty cathedral, five miles wide. But the walls were moving. The eastern quadrant was closing on them.
“What be happening, luv?” Liza said, coming on deck with Lillibet. “Oh, how beautiful!”
“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Lillibet said.
“We be in’t eye of storm. In’t vortex!” Brock burst out. Seamen coming on deck turned and looked at him.
“Oh, look!” Lillibet said. She pointed to the island. “Isn’t that funny!”
The trees that dotted the island were white against the brown earth; their limbs had been stripped clean of leaves. New Queen’s Town had almost vanished and Tai Ping Shan was a shambles. Tiny figures were beginning to move over the foreshore.
“Get thee below,” Brock said, his voice grating.
Bewildered, they did as he ordered.
“Cap’n Pennyworth!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Best make peace with thy Maker,” Brock said. “Only He knowed wot be t’other side of them devil clouds. Get thee all below!”
He picked up his telescope and trained it on the residence of The Noble House. He could see Struan standing in the midst of a group outside the front door. There were a few heads peeking out of third-story windows.
He snapped the telescope closed. “Best get thee inside, Dirk,” he said quietly.
He jammed the remnants of the gangway hatch into place and battened it down as best he could and went below.
“I thinks we be sayin’ prayers,” he said breezily.
“Oh good,” Lillibet said. “Can I say mine first? Like at bedtime?”
Culum had his arm around Tess.
“If we get out alive, I’m damned if I’m staying here,” he said. “We’re off home, and to the devil with this place.”
“Yes,” Tess said, sickened by the destruction. She looked in terror at the gradually approaching cloud screen. It swallowed Kowloon Peninsula. “We’d better get inside,” she said.
Culum closed the door after her, and the pain from his burned hands was excruciating. But he bolted the door.
She picked her way over the debris, and knelt beside Glessing. His face was cadaverous but his heart was beating. “Poor George.”
Struan was gauging the distance from the wharf to China Cloud and to the eastmost thunderclouds. He knew there was no time to get a cutter, so he ran down to the end of the wharf and cupped his hands.
“Orlov!” he roared. “Ahoy, China Cloud!” His voice echoed eerily over the Happy Valley harbor, and he saw Orlov wave to him and heard him call back faintly, “Aye?”
“Point her south! The winds’ll come from the south now! Head her south!”
“Aye,” he heard Orlov answer, and in a moment he saw seamen scurrying forward, and a cutter was over the side and the men began to pull feverishly and shove the bow around.
Struan hurried back to the group of men at the front door.
“Get inside!”
Some of them moved, but the young lieutenant still stared at his lorcha and at the harbor with disbelief. “Great God on high, she’s still afloat! And look at the fleet—look at the ships! I though
t they’d all be blown to hell by now, but only one frigate’s aground, and that clipper’s lost its masts. Incredible, by God! South, did you say? Why?”
“Come on,” Struan said, tugging his arm. “Get inside—and get your men inside.”
“What’s the matter?”
“For God’s sake, we’ll be out of the vortex in a few minutes. And then the gale’ll reverse—I think it’ll reverse and blow from the south. Get your men—”
He was almost bowled over as Horatio rushed past and bolted up Queen’s Road toward the dockyard.
“Come back, you fool, you’ll be killed!” Struan shouted, but Horatio paid no attention. Struan chased after him.
“Horatio! What the devil’s the matter with you?” he said, catching up with him and grabbing him by the shoulders.
“I’ve got to tell Glessing. Finish all this marriage filth,” Horatio screamed. “Get away from me—murderer! You and your filthy murdering whore! I’ll see you both hanged!” He tore himself loose and rushed away.
Struan charged after him again, but rain began spattering and he stopped. The thundercloud wall was already halfway across the harbor, the sea boiling at its feet. He saw the cutter’s crew scramble aboard China Cloud and vanish below decks. Orlov waved a final time, then he too was gone.
Struan turned and raced for the shelter of the residence. A gust clawed at him and he redoubled his efforts. He gained the threshold in driving downpour and looked back.
Horatio was running out of Happy Valley along the shore. The cloud wall covered the dockyard and Horatio began to disappear into the mist. Struan saw him stop and look up, and then the tiny figure was wafted away like a leaf.
Struan hurled the door open and shoved it closed, but before he could bar it, darkness came and a Supreme Wind burst in and tossed him deep into the foyer. It blew out all the ground-floor windows and killed three seamen. And was gone.
Struan picked himself up, astonished that he was still alive. He rushed the door, and with all his huge strength closed and barred it. The maelstrom passed the windows, sucking debris and papers and lanterns out of the residence—everything that was not nailed down.
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