Then Struan remembered that Wilf Tillman was alive. He hastened to the Cooper-Tillman opium hulk.
And all the while Struan was questioning the doctors, Gordon Chen had returned to Tai Ping Shan and had sent for the ten Triad leaders under him. Then they had gone to their own headquarters and had sent for the ten leaders under them. Word spread with incredible speed that a certain bark of a certain tree was to be found. By sampan, by junk, word filtered out across the harbor to Wowloon, soon to reach hamlets and villages and towns and cities. Up the coast, down the coast, inland. Soon all the Chinese of Hong Kong—Triads and non-Triads—knew that a rare bark was being sought. They did not know by whom or for what reason: only that a great reward had been offered. And this knowledge fell into the ears of the anti-Triad agents of the mandarins. They too began to seek the bark, and not only for the reward; they knew that a portion of bark might perhaps be used as a lure to unmask the leaders of the Triad.
“Sorry to arrive uninvited, Wilf. I—” Struan stopped, alarmed by the sight of Tillman.
Tillman was propped on a sweat-stained pillow, his face skeletal—the color of unwashed ancient linen—the whites of his eyes filth-yellowed. “Come in,” he said, his voice hardly perceptible. And then Struan saw that Tillman, whose teeth had been fine and strong and white, was now toothless.
“What happened to your teeth?”
“The calomel. It affects some people . . .” Tillman’s voice trailed off dully. And his eyes took on a curious luster. “I’ve been expecting you. The answer’s no!”
“What?”
“No. A simple no.” Tillman’s voice grew stronger. “I’m her guardian and she’ll never marry you.”
“I did na come here to ask for her. I just came to see how you were and how the malaria—”
“I don’t believe you.” Tillman’s voice rose hysterically. “You’re just hoping I’ll die!”
“That’s ridiculous! Why should I want you dead?”
Tillman weakly lifted the handbell that was on the rancid coverlet and rang it. The door opened and a big Negro, Tillman’s slave, came in barefoot.
“Jebidiah, ask Mass’er Cooper and Missee to come here at once.”
Jebidiah nodded and closed the door.
“Still peddling humans, Wilf?”
“Jebidiah’s content as he is, goddam you! You’ve your way and we’ve ours, you pox-ridden swine!”
“The pox on your ways, you damned blackbirder.” Struan’s second ship was etched on his memory, and occasionally he still had nightmares that he was aboard again. With his share of Trafalgar’s prize money he had bought himself out of the navy and had signed as cabin boy on an English merchantman that plied the Atlantic. It was only when far out to sea that he discovered she was an illicit slave trader, sailing down to Dakar for slaves and then across the lower Atlantic and the doldrums to Savannah, the men, women and children crushed belowdecks like maggots. Their dying cries and whimpers filling his ears, the stench choking him, week after week after week. He a lad of eight, and helpless. He had deserted at Savannah. This was the only ship that he had deserted in his life.
“You’re worse than the slavers,” he said, his voice raw. “You just buy the flesh and put ’em on the block and take the profit. I’ve seen a slave market.”
“We treat them well!” Tillman shrieked. “They’re only savages and we give them a good life. We do!” His face twitched as he lay back and fought for strength, desperate with envy of Struan’s vitality and health, and feeling near death. “You’ll not benefit by my death, God curse you for eternity!”
Struan turned for the door.
“You’d better wait. What I have to say concerns you.”
“Nothing you could say would concern me!”
“You call me blackbirder? How’d you get your mistress, you goddam hypocrite?”
The door flung open and Cooper rushed in. “Oh, hello, Tai-Pan! I didn’t know you were aboard.”
“Hello, Jeff,” Struan said, hardly able to control his temper.
Cooper glanced at Tillman. “What’s up, Wilf?”
“Nothing. I wanted to see you and my niece.”
Shevaun came in, and stopped in surprise. “Hello, Tai-Pan. Are you all right, Uncle?”
“No, child. I feel very bad.”
“What’s the matter, Wilf?” Cooper asked.
Tillman coughed weakly. “The Tai-Pan came ‘visiting.’ I thought this a perfect time to settle an important matter. I’m due for another fever attack tomorrow and I think . . . well,”—the limp eyes turned on Shevaun—“I’m proud to tell you that Jeff has formally asked for your hand in marriage and I have accepted gladly.”
Shevaun blanched. “I don’t want to marry yet.”
“I’ve considered everything very carefully—”
“I
won’t!”
Tillman pulled himself up on one elbow with a great effort. “Now, you will listen to me!” he shrieked, strengthened by his anger. “I’m your legal guardian. For months I’ve been corresponding with your father. My brother has formally approved the match if I formally decide that it’s to your advantage. And I’ve decided it is. So—”
“Well, I haven’t, Uncle. It’s the nineteenth century, not the Middle Ages. I don’t want to marry yet.”
“I’m not concerned with your wishes, and you’re quite right, it is the nineteenth century. You
are betrothed. You
will be married. Your father’s hope and mine was that during your visit here Jeff would favor you. He has.” Tillman lay back exhaustedly. “It is a most pleasing match. And that’s the end to it.”
Cooper walked over to Shevaun. “Shevaun, darling. You know how I feel. I had no idea that Wilf was . . . I’d hoped that, well. . .”
She backed away from him and her eyes found Struan. “Tai-Pan! Tell my uncle. Tell him he can’t do this—he can’t betroth me—tell him he can’t!”
“How old are you, Shevaun?” Struan asked.
“Nineteen.”
“If your father approves and your uncle approves, you’ve nae option.” He looked at Tillman. “I suppose you have it in writing?”
Tillman motioned at a desk. “The letter’s there. Though it’s none of your goddam business.”
“That’s the law, Shevaun. You’re a minor and bound to do what your father wants.” Struan sadly turned for the door but Shevaun stopped him.
“Do you know why I’m being sold?” she burst out.
“Hold your tongue, girl!” Tillman cried. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here, and it’s time you learned manners and respect for your elders and betters.”
“I’m sold for shares,” she said bitterly. “In Cooper-Tillman.”
“That’s not so!” Tillman said, his face ghastly.
“Shevaun, you’re overwrought,” Cooper began unhappily. “It’s just the suddenness and—”
Struan started to pass her, but she held on to him. “Wait, Tai-Pan. It’s a deal. I know how a politician’s mind works. Politics is an expensive business.”
“Hold your tongue!” Tillman shouted, then whimpered with pain and collapsed back into the bed.