As Struan ran for the stairs, he came across the crushed body of the young lieutenant. He stopped, but another gust drove him back and snatched the body away, and then Struan was fighting out of the suction up the stairs to safety.
As the gale hit from the south, the White Witch pitched drunkenly. She heeled on her beam ends and swung on the fore hawsers, by some miracle righted herself, and, trembling, pointed into the wind. Brock picked up Lillibet and Liza and put them back in the bunk. He shouted encouragement, but they could not hear, and all of them held on desperately for their lives.
Water sluiced down the gangway and began crashing against the barred cabin door, seeping under it. A Devil Wind slammed into the ship. There was a thundercrack and the ship shuddered, and Brock knew that an anchor hawser had parted.
——
Aboard Boston Princess, Shevaun was holding her hands over her ears to try to shut out the shrieking of the winds as they assaulted the ship. Cooper felt the last hawser go. He shouted to Shevaun to hold on, but she did not hear him. He reeled over to her and held her against a stanchion with the limit of his strength.
The vessel lurched. Her port gunnel gasped out of the sea and took more water, and she began to drown. The storm gloated over her and flung her into the Russian ship.
In the main cabin of the huge brigantine a glass-fronted cabinet shattered, scattering bottles, crystal and cutlery, and Zergeyev hung on and cursed and said a prayer. As his ship settled back, her nose to wind, he kicked the debris from under his feet, said another prayer and poured another brandy.
A pox on Asia, he thought. I wish I were home. The pox on the devil storm. The pox on the British. The pox on this foul island. The pox on everything. The pox on Prince Tergin for sending me out here. The pox on Alaska—and on emigration. And on the Americas and Americans. But bless Shevaun.
Yes, he told himself as the ship reeled again and shrieked under the tempest’s violence. And bless Mother Russia and her sanctity, and her place in history. Prince Tergin’s plan is marvelous and correct, of course it is, and I’ll help it come to pass. Yes. Curse that damned bullet and the damned pain. No more riding over the limitless plains. That’s finished. Now I’m forced to forget the playing. Face yourself, Alexi! The bullet was luck—what’s the word the Tai-Pan uses?—ah yes, joss. The bullet was joss. Good joss. Now I can turn all my energies to the service of Russia.
What to do? Leave Hong Kong now. It’s finished. The stupid Lord Cunnington has throttled Britain and given us the key to Asia. Good. Make a trade deal with the Tai-Pan or with Brock, and then leave as soon as possible and go on to Alaska. Make arrangements for the tribes. Then go home. No, better—go on to Washington. Look and listen and think, and do what you were born to do—serve Mother Russia to the ends of the earth. Her earth.
Zergeyev felt the pain in his hip and for the first time enjoyed it. Very good joss, he thought. So it’s decided. We leave if we survive.
But what about Shevaun? Ah, there’s a girl worth thinking about, by the cross. Valuable politically, eh? And physically. But not good enough to marry even though her father’s a senator. But perhaps she is. Perhaps that would be a very wise move. Consider it, Alexi. We’re going to need leaders for Russian America. The continent will be split into principalities. Intermarriage has always been a form of conquest, eh? Perhaps you could hurry the day.
By St. Peter, I’d like her for a mistress. How could I arrange that? Would she? Why not? Stupid fool, Cooper. Damned annoying that she’s betrothed. Pity. She said she didn’t love him.
The typhoon was at its height, but the ring of mountains still deflected most of its violence from the harbor.
Boston Princess was floundering in mid-harbor, one gunnel awash, taking the seas heavily. Cooper knew that the end was near, and he held Shevaun and shouted that all would be well.
The ship sank deeper in the water and rushed at Kowloon. Then she beached heavily. The rocks gutted her, and the waves rushed into her holds, and then a Supreme Wind lifted her out of the havoc and thrust her on her side above the surf.
Now that the gale blew from the south, it soared over the mountain range toward the mainland. And in the funnel that Happy Valley formed it increased its impossible force. It bore down on The Noble House, seeking its weak spot.
Struan was cradling May-may in his arms in the relatively safe suite on the north side. A lantern flickered nervously and cast bizarre, dancing shadows. Beyond the shattered windows, in the lee of the shrieking rain-soaked gale, there was only darkness. Ah Sam was kneeling on the floor and Yin-hsi nestled close to Struan for protection.
May-may turned and put her lips near Struan’s ear and shouted, “Tai-Pan, I’m displeasurably unhappy with all this noise.”
He laughed and held her tighter and she put her arms around his neck. He knew that nothing would touch them now. The worst was past.
“Three or four more hours, and it’ll be gone, lassie.”
“Stinky storm. Did I tell you it was a dragon? A seamonster dragon?”
“Aye.”
“God’s blood!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I forgot to take the last dungtasting-poison-cinchona cup. Today’s the last day, never mind.”
“You’ll take it in a few hours, never mind!”
“Yes, Husband!” May-may felt very happy and very healthy. She played with the long hair at the nape of Struan’s neck. “I hope the children are all right.”
“Aye. Dinna worry, Chen Sheng will look after them.”
“When we go, heya? I’m fantastical urgent about marriage.”
“Three months. Definitely before Christmas.”
“I think you should take another barbarian wife as Third Sister.” He laughed.
“Very important have lots of sons. Dinna laugh, by God!”
“Maybe you’ve a good thought, lassie,” he said. “Perhaps I should have three barbarians. Then there’s you and Yin-hsi. I think it’s terrifical important we should get another Chinese sister before we leave.”
“Huh! If your activity thus far with Second Sister’s any signal, we take lovers, by God!” Then she kissed his ear and shouted, “I’m very gracious pleased my joss gave me you, Tai-Pan!”
A cannonade of Supreme Winds blew the windows in on the south side and the whole building shifted as though in an earthquake. The nails in the roof screamed against an untoward pull, and then a devil gust peeled off the roof and hurled it into the sea.
Struan felt Yin-hsi surge away into the maelstrom above. He grabbed for her, but she had vanished.
Struan and May-may held each other tightly.
“Dinna give up, Tai-tai!”
“Never! I love you, Husband.”
And the Supreme Winds fell on them.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The sun rose bravely and spread warmth over the shattered town and the safe harbor.
Culum found his father in the havoc of the residence. Struan was crumpled in a corner of the north suite, and in his arms was a small, gaunt Chinese girl. Culum wondered how his father could have loved her, for to him she was not beautiful.
But they were not made obscene by death. Their faces were calm, as if they were asleep.
Culum left the room and went down the broken staircase, and outside into the gentle east breeze.
Tess was waiting. And when she saw him shake his head helplessly, her eyes too filled with tears and she held his hand. They walked out of Happy Valley by Queen’s Road, seeing nothing.
The new township was in ruins, with debris scattered everywhere. But, here and there, buildings were still standing, some mere shells, others damaged only slightly. The foreshore was alive with people hurrying to and fro, or standing still in groups surveying the wreckage of their dwellings or business houses. Many were supervising gangs of coolies, salvaging their sodden possessions or making repairs. Sedan-chair coolies were plying their trade. So were the beggars. Patrols of soldiers had been placed at strategic points again
st the inevitable looting. But, strangely, there were very few looters.
Sampans and junks were fishing in the calm harbor among the flotsam of broken boats. Others were arriving, bringing new settlers. And the procession of Chinese from the shore up to Tai Ping Shan had begun again.
Smoke hung over the hillside. There were a few fires amid the wreckage of hovels. But beneath the smoke was the hum of industry. Restaurants, tea and food shops and street vendors were doing business again while the inhabitants—hammering, sawing, digging, chattering—patched up their homes or began to rebuild, blessing their joss they were alive.
“Look, Culum luv,” Tess said. They were near the dockyard.
Culum was numb, his brain hardly functioning. He looked where she was pointing. On a slight hillside their almost-finished home was roofless and tilted off the foundations.
“Oh dear,” she said. “What’re we going to do?”
He did not answer. Her fear magnified as she sensed his panic. “Come on, luv. Let’s—let’s go to the hotel, then—then aboard White Witch. Come on, luv.”
Skinner hurried up to them. His face was grimy, his clothes ripped and filthy.
“Excuse me, Mr. Culum. Where’s the Tai-Pan?”
“What?”
“The Tai-Pan. Do you know where he is? I’ve got to see him immediately.”
Culum did not answer, so Tess said, “He’s—he’s dead.”
“Eh?”
“He’s dead, Mr. Skinner. We—my—Culum saw him. He’s dead. In’t factory.”
“Oh God, no!” Skinner said, his voice thick. Just my cursed joss!
He mumbled condolences and went back to his printing shop and his demolished press. “You’re publisher-owner!” he shouted. “Of what? You’ve no press and no money to buy another, and now the Tai-Pan’s dead, so you can’t borrow from him, so you own nothing and you’re busted! Busted! What the hell’re you going to do?” He kicked the rubble, careless of his coolies who stood to one side, waiting patiently. “Why the hell did he have to die at a time like this?”
He ranted on for a few minutes and then sat on a high stool. “What’re you going to do? Get yourself together! Think!”
Well, he told himself, the first thing is to bring out the paper. Special edition. How? Handpress. “Yes, handpress,” he repeated aloud. “You’ve the labor and you can do that. Then what?”
He noticed the coolies watching him. Then you keep your mouth shut, he cautioned himself. You get out a paper then go to that helpless young idiot Culum and talk him into putting up money for the new press. You can twist him easily. Yes. And you keep your mouth shut.
Blore came in. His face was lifeless.
“Morning,” he said. “What a bloody mess! The stands’ve vanished, and the paddock. Everything. Lost four horses—the gelding too, dammit to hell!”
“The Tai-Pan’s dead.”
“Oh God!” Blore leaned against the shattered doorway. “That tears it. Oh well, thought it was too good to last.”
“Eh?”
“Hong Kong—the Jockey Club—everything. This puts the coffin on everything. Stands to reason. The colony’s a disaster. This new bugger Whalen’ll take one look and laugh himself silly. No hope now, without the Tai-Pan. Dammit, I liked him.”
“He put you up to seeing me, didn’t he? Giving me the dispatch?”
“No,” Blore said. The Tai-Pan had sworn him to secrecy. A secret was a secret. “Poor chap. Glad in a way he didn’t live to see the end of the colony.”
Skinner took him by the arm and pointed to the harbor. “What’s out there?”
“Eh? The harbor, for God’s sake.”
“That’s the trouble with people. They don’t use their heads or their eyes. The fleet’s safe—all the merchantmen! We lost one frigate aground, and she’ll be repaired and floated in a week. Resting Cloud the same. Boston Princess gutted on Kowloon. But that’s all. Don’t you understand? The worst typhoon in history put Hong Kong to the test—and she came out of it with all flags flying, by God. The typhoon was huge joss. You think the admiral won’t understand? You think even that clot-headed Cunnington doesn’t know our might rests with the fleet—whatever that dumb-brained general thinks? Sea power, by God!”
“Good Lord. You really think so?”
Skinner had already gone back inside and was shoving debris out of his way. He sat down and found a quill and ink and paper and began scribbling. “You really think so?”
“If I were you, I’d start making plans for the new stands. You want me to print that you’re having a meet as scheduled?”
“Absolutely. Oh, jolly good! Yes.” Blore thought a moment. “We ought to start a custom—I know, we’ll have a special race. Biggest prize money of the year—last race of the season. We’ll call it the Tai-Pan Stakes.”
“Good. You’ll read it tonight!”
Blore watched Skinner writing. “Are you doing his obituary?”
Skinner opened a drawer and pushed a sheaf of papers toward him. “Wrote it a few days ago. Read it. Then you can help me on the handpress.”
Culum and Tess were still standing where Skinner had left them.
“Come on, luv,” Tess said, tugging his arm, anguished.
With an effort Culum concentrated. “Why don’t you go aboard White Witch? I’m—I’m sure they’re anxious to—to know you’re safe. I’ll come aboard later. Let me alone for a while, will you, dear? I’ve—well, just let me alone.”
“Oh Culum, what’re we going to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
He saw her looking up at him and then she had gone. He walked on toward Glessing’s Point, not hearing and not seeing, time ceasing to exist for him. Oh God in heaven, what do I do?
“Mr. Struan?”
Culum felt a tug on his arm and came out of his daze. He noticed that the sun was high in the sky and that he was leaning against the shattered flagpole at Glessing’s Point. The master-at-arms was looking down at him.
“His Excellency’s compliments, Mr. Struan. Would you kindly step aboard?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Culum said, feeling drained and dull-witted. He allowed the master-at-arms to guide him to the waiting cutter. He climbed the gangway on the flagship and then went below.
“My dear Culum,” Longstaff said, “terrible news. Terrible. Port?”
“No. No, thank you, Your Excellency.”
“Sit down. Yes, terrible. Shocking. As soon as I heard the news I sent for you to give you my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m leaving with the tide tomorrow. The new plenipotentiary sent word by Monsey that he’s in Macao.” Damn Whalen! Why the devil didn’t he wait? Damn the typhoon! Damn Dirk! Damn everything! “You’ve met Monsey haven’t you?”
“No—no, sir.”
“No matter. ’Pon me word, damned annoying. Monsey was in the residence and not a scratch. Yes, terrible. No accounting for joss.” He took snuff and sneezed. “Did you hear that Horatio was killed too?”
“No—no, sir. The last—I thought he was at Macao.”
Damned fool, what did he have to get killed for? Complicates everything. “Oh, by the way, your father had some documents for me. Have to have them before I leave.”
Culum searched his memory. The effort exhausted him even more. “He didn’t mention them to me, Your Excellency. I don’t know anything about them.”
“Well, I’m sure he kept them in a safe place,” Longstaff said, delighted that Culum was not privy to them. “A safe, Culum, that’s where they’d be. Where’s his private safe?”
“I—I don’t know, sir. I’ll ask Vargas.”
“Come on, Culum, pull yourself together. Life goes on. The dead must bury their dead and all that sort of thing. Mustn’t give up, what? Where’s his safe? Think! In the residence? Aboard Resting Cloud?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I suggest you look, and very quickly.” Longstaff’s voice sharpened. “This is of
paramount importance. And keep this entirely to yourself. You understand the punishment for treason?”
“Yes—yes, of course,” Culum answered, frightened by Longstaff.
“Good. And don’t forget you’re still deputy colonial secretary and under a solemn oath to the Crown. I put the papers in your father’s hands for safekeeping. Highly secret diplomatic documents concerning a ‘friendly power.’ Maps, documents in Russian with English translations. Find them. Report back aboard the instant you have them. Report back aboard at sunset in any event. If you can’t do the job, I’ll do it myself. Oh yes, and I’ll be consigning some seeds to you. They’ll be arriving in a few days. You will redirect them to me and treat the matter with equal secrecy. Orderly!” he called out.
The door opened instantly. “Yessir!”
“Show Mr. Culum ashore!”
Culum went back to the longboat in panic. He hurried to Resting Cloud. She was in the middle of the sampan village, almost upright. Soldiers had been posted against looters. He clambered aboard and went below.
Lim Din was standing guard with a cleaver, outside Struan’s quarters.
“Mass’er dead?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Lim Din made no reply. Nor did his expression change. “When Tai-Pan hav paper—important paper—where putshee?” Culum asked.
“Heya?”
“Paper—put safe. Safe hav? Safe box?”
Lim Din motioned him inside and showed him the safe in the bulkhead of Struan’s bedroom. “This piece?”
“Key-ah?”
“Key-ah no hav. Tai-Pan hav, never mind.”
Where would he have the key? Culum asked himself in desperation. On him! On him, of course! I’ll have to … would Vargas have a duplicate? Oh God in heaven, help me. There’ll be—well, a funeral and coffin. Where do I—and … and what about the girl, the Chinese girl? Can she be buried with him? No, that’s not right. Does he have a family by her? Didn’t he say that he had? Where are they? In the ruins? Think, Culum! Wake up, for God’s sake! What about the ships? And money? Did he leave a will? Forget that, that’s not important now—none of it is. You’ve got to find the secret papers. What did Longstaff say? Maps and a Russian document?
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