“Four points t’ starboard!”
“Aye, aye, sorr,” the helmsman sang.
Struan adroitly conned the lorcha alongside
Resting Cloud. He pulled on a shirt and went aboard.
“Morning,” Captain Orlov said. He knew the Tai-Pan too well to ask where he had been.
“Morning. You’re flying ‘Zenith.’ Why?”
“Your son’s orders.”
“Where is he?”
“Ashore.”
“Please fetch him aboard.”
“He was sent for when you came into harbor.”
“Then why is he na here?”
“Can I have my ship back now? By Thor, Green Eyes, I’m mortal tired of being a captain-flunky. Let me be a tea captain or an opium captain, or let me take her into Arctic waters. I know fifty places to get a cargo of furs—more bellygutting bullion for your coffers. That’s not much to ask.”
“I need you here.” Struan grinned and years dropped from him.
“You can laugh, by Odin’s foreskin!” Orlov’s face twisted with his own smile. “You’ve been to sea and I’ve been stuck on an anchored hulk. You look like a god, Green Eyes. Did you have storm? Typhoon? And why’s my mains’l changed, and the foreroyal, crossjack, the flying jib? There’re new halyards and stays and clew lines all over. Why, eh? Did you tear the heart out of my beauty just to clean your soul?”
“What kind of furs, Captain?”
“Seal, sable, mink—you name them and I’ll find them—just so long as I can say to any, ‘Get to Hades off my ship,’ even you.”
“In October you sail north. Alone. Does that satisfy you? Furs for China, eh?”
Orlov peered up at Struan and knew at once that he would never sail north in October. A little shudder ran through him and he hated the second sight that plagued him. What’s going to happen to me twixt June and October? “Can I have my ship now? Yes or no, by God? October’s a bad month and far off. Can I have my ship now, yes or no?”
“Aye.”
Orlov shinned over the side and stamped onto the quarterdeck. “Let go the forehawser,” he shouted, then waved to Struan and laughed uproariously.
China Cloud fell away from the mother ship and snaked daintily for her storm mooring off Happy Valley.
Struan went below to May-may’s quarters. She was deeply asleep. He told Ah Sam not to awaken her; he would come back later. Then he went to the deck above, to his own private quarters, and bathed and shaved and put on fresh clothes. Lim Din brought him eggs and fruit and tea.
The cabin door opened and Culum hurried in. “Where’ve you been?” he began with a rush. “There’re a thousand things that need to be done and the land sale’s this afternoon. You might have told me before you disappeared. The whole place’s in turmoil and—”
“Do you na knock on doors, Culum?”
“Of course, but I was in a hurry. I’m sorry.”
“Sit down. What thousand things?” Struan asked. “I thought you could manage everything.”
“You’re Tai-Pan, I’m not,” Culum said.
“Aye. But say I’d na come back today, what would you have done?”
Culum hesitated. “Gone to the land sale. Bought land.”
“Did you make a deal with Brock on which lots we would na bid against each other on?”
Culum was unsettled by his father’s eyes. “Well, in a way. I made a tentative arrangement. Subject to your approval.” He took out a map and laid it on the desk. The site of the new town surrounded Glessing’s Point, two miles west of Happy Valley. Level building space was cramped by the surrounding mountains and barely half a mile wide and half a mile deep from the shore. Tai Ping Shan overlooked the site and blocked expansion eastward.
“These are all the lots. I picked 8 and 9. Gorth said they wanted 14 and 21.”
“Did you check this with Tyler?”
“Yes.”
Struan glanced at the map. “Why pick two lots next to each other?”
“Well, I don’t know anything about land or factories or wharves, so I asked George Glessing. And Vargas. Then privately, Gordon Chen. And—”
“Why Gordon?”
“I don’t know. Just that I thought it was a good idea. He seems to be very smart.”
“Go on.”
“Well, they all agreed 8, 9, 10, 14 and 21 were the best of the marine lots. Gordon suggested two together in case we wanted to expand, then one wharf would service two factories. At Glessing’s suggestion I had Captain Orlov privately plumb the depth offshore. He said there’s good rock bottom, but the shelf is shallow. We’ll have to reclaim land from the sea and put our wharf well out.”
“Which suburban lots did you pick?” Culum nervously pointed them out. “Gordon thought we should bid on this property here. It’s—well, it’s a hill, and—well, I think it would be a fine place for the Great House.”
Struan got up and went to the stern windows and looked through the binoculars at the hill. It was west of Tai Ping Shan on the other side of the site. “We’d have to build a road up there, eh?”
“Vargas said if we could buy suburban lots 9A and 15B we’d have an—I think he called it an ‘easement,’ something like that, and that would protect our property. Later we could build on them and rent if we wished. Or resell later.”
“Have you discussed this with Brock?”
“No.”
“Gorth?”
“No.”
“Tess?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“No reason. I like talking to her. We talk about lots of things.”
“It’s dangerous to talk to her about a matter like this. Like it or na, you’ve put her to a test.”
“What?”
“If Gorth or Brock bid for 9A and 15B, you know she canna be trusted. Without the smaller lots the hill’s an extreme gamble.”
“She’d never say anything,” Culum said belligerently. “It was private, between ourselves. Perhaps the Brocks have had the same idea. It won’t prove anything if they do bid against us.”
Struan studied him. Then he said, “Drink or tea?”
“Tea, thank you.” The palms of Culum’s hands felt clammy. He wondered if Tess had indeed talked to Brock or to Gorth. “Where did you go?”
“What other things need decisions?”
Culum collected his thoughts with an effort. “There’s a lot of mail, both for you and Uncle Robb. I didn’t know what to do about it, so I put it all in the safe. Then Vargas and Chen Sheng estimated our Happy Valley costs and I—well—I signed for the bullion. Longstaff’s paid everyone, like you said. I signed for it and counted it. And yesterday a man arrived from England on Zergeyev’s ship. Roger Blore. He said he picked her up in Singapore. He wants to see you urgently. He won’t tell me what he wants but, well—anyway I put him on the small hulk. Who is he?”
“I dinna ken, lad,” Struan said thoughtfully. He rang the bell on the desk and the steward came in. Struan ordered a cutter sent for Blore.
“What else, lad?”
“Orders for building materials and ships’ supplies are piling up. We have to order new stocks of opium—a thousand things.”
Struan played with his mug of tea. “Has Brock given you an answer yet?”