“You’re our guest, Your Highness, so it’s your privilege to pick—if the stakes please you: one question—answered by the loser in private, tonight. Before God.”
“What sort of question?” Zergeyev asked slowly.
“Anything that the winner wants to know.”
The archduke was tempted, yet filled with huge misgivings. It was a monumental gamble but a worthy one. There was much he would like to learn from the Tai-Pan of The Noble House. “Done!”
“Who’s your man?”
Zergeyev pointed instantly at Bosun Grum. “I’ll put my honor on him!” And he immediately roared at the sailor, “Kill him, by God!”
The rounds mounted. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five, forty-six. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. And now the spectators were almost as exhausted as the fighters.
Finally the soldier fell. He dropped like a dead oak and the noise of his falling resounded around the beach. The sailor, drunk with pain, still flailed blindly at the air, impotently seeking the enemy. Then he too fell, equally inert. The seconds carried the men to their corners and the half minute expired and the army screamed at their man to get up and the general was pounding the ring floor, his face flushed, imploring Tinker, “Get up, get up for God’s sake, lad!” And the admiral was purple as Grum forced himself to his feet and stood reeling in his corner. “Toe the line, lad, toe the line!” And Struan was exhorting the soldier, and the archduke was shouting a paroxysm of Russian-French-English encouragement to the sailor to get to the line.
Each fighter knew that the other was beaten. Both tottered to the line and swayed, their arms and legs dead and helpless. Each lifted his arms and tried to hit But all the strength had vanished. Both fell.
Last round.
The crowd went wild, for it was obviously impossible for either fighter to leave his corner in half a minute and walk back to the line.
The bell sounded and again there was an unearthly silence. The fighters groped to their feet and hung on to the ropes and stayed reeling in their corners. The sailor whimpered and made the first agonized step with one foot toward the line. Then, after a breathless eternity, another. The soldier still was in his corner shivering and swaying and almost falling. Then his foot arched forward pathetically and there was a manic screaming—urging, willing, begging, praying, cursing, blending into a final roar of impossible excitement as both men tottered ahead inch by inch. Suddenly the soldier weaved helplessly and almost slipped, and the general nearly collapsed. Then the sailor lurched drunkenly, and the admiral closed his eyes, sweat streaming his face, and prayed.
There was pandemonium as both men toed the line and the towels flew over the ropes, and only when the ring was a welter of men jumping up and down did the fighters know for truth that the brawl was over. And only then did they allow themselves to vanish into nightmare pain, not knowing if they were victor or vanquished—or awake or dead or dreaming or alive—only knowing they had done their best.
“By St. Peter’s beard,” the archduke said, his voice hoarse and painful, his clothes soaked with sweat, “that was a fight of fights.”
Struan, also sweat-stained and exhausted, pulled out a hip flask and offered it. Zergeyev tilted it and drank deeply of the rum. Struan drank and passed it to the admiral, who gave it to the general, and they finished the flask together.
“God’s blood,” Struan croaked. “God’s Blood.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun had already dipped below the mountains, but the harbor was still bathed with gold. Ah Sam took the binoculars from her eyes and scuttled anxiously away from the spy hole in the garden wall. She ran through the piles of rocks and earth that would soon be a real garden and hurried through a door into the living room.
“Mother! Father’s boat’s near the shore,” she said. “Oh-ko, he looks very angry indeed.”
May-may stopped sewing the petticoat. “Did he come from
China Cloud or
Resting Cloud?”
“Resting Cloud. You’d better look for yourself.”
May-may snatched the binoculars and ran out into the garden and stood behind the tiny latticed window and searched the foreshore waves. She focused on Struan. He was sitting amidships in the longboat, the Lion and the Dragon fluttering aft. Ah Sam was right. He looked very angry indeed.
She closed and barred the cover to the spy window and ran back. “Tidy all this up, and make sure it’s well hidden.” And when Ah Sam carelessly scooped up the ball gown and petticoats, she pinched her cheek sharply. “Don’t crush them, you mealymouthed whore. They’re worth a fortune. Lim Din!” she shrieked. “Pour Father’s bath quickly, and make sure his clothes are laid out properly and nothing’s forgotten. Oh yes, and make sure the bath’s hot if you know what’s good for you. Put out the new cake of perfumed soap.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“And watch yourself. It looks as if Father’s anger’s in front of him!”
“Oh-ko!”
“Oh-ko indeed! Everything better be ready for Father or you’ll both get a whipping. And if anything interferes with my plan, you’ll both get thumbscrews and I’ll whip you till your eyeballs fall out. Go on with you!”
Ah Sam and Lim Din scurried away. May-may went into her bedroom and made sure that there were no signs of the ball gown. She put perfume behind her ears and composed herself. Oh dear, she thought. I don’t want him in a bad mood tonight.
Struan strode irascibly toward the gate in the high wall.
He reached for the gate handle but the door was flung open by a beaming, bowing Lim Din.
“Nice piece sunfall, heya, Mass’er?”
Struan answered with a sullen grunt.
Lim Din locked the door and bustled for the front door, where he beamed more hugely and bowed lower.
Struan automatically checked the ship’s barometer that hung on the wall in the hallway. It was set in gimbals, and the thin, glass-incased column of mercury read a comfortable fair-weather 29.8 inches.
Lim Din closed the door softly and scampered ahead of Struan, down the corridor, and opened the bedroom door. Struan went in and kicked the door shut and bolted it. Lim Din’s eyes turned upward. He took a moment to compose himself, then he evaporated into the kitchen. “Someone’s going to get a whipping,” he whispered apprehensively to Ah Sam. “As certain as death and squeeze.”
“Don’t you worry about our devil barbarian father,” Ah Sam whispered back. “I’ll bet you next week’s salary Mother will have him like a turtledove in one hour.”
“Done!”
May-may stood at the door. “What are you two lumps of dogmeat motherless slaves whispering about?” she hissed.
“Just praying that Father won’t be cross with our poor dear beautiful mother,” Ah Sam said, her eyes fluttering.
“Then hurry up, you oily-mouthed whore. For every cross word he says to me, you get a pinch!”
Struan was standing in the center of the bedroom staring at the bulky, grubby, knotted handkerchief that he had taken out of his pocket. Goddammit to hell, what do I do now? he asked himself.
After the fight he had escorted the archduke to his new quarters on
Resting Cloud. He had been relieved when Orlov had told him privately that he had had no trouble in rifling the archduke’s luggage.