Robb slumped in his chair. At length he said. “God damn the bankers. I’m sorry. It’s my fault—and I’m sorry I said . . . sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, lad.”
Robb tried in vain to think. “What can we do?”
“I dinna ken. Will you na do this, Robb? Give me a couple of months. We’ll send Sarah and the children off by the first ship. The sooner the better, then they’ll miss the typhoon season.”
“Maybe I can arrange a loan somehow. We’ve got to pay the sight drafts. We’ll lose the ships—everything.” Robb forced his mind away from Sarah. “But how in the little time we have?” His fingers twisted nervously. “The mail packet came in yesterday. Nothing of importance for us. No news from home. Perhaps others know about the run on our bank. We bought a little stock in Brock’s bank to keep an eye on it. Perhaps he knows about the run on ours. Is that why he wants to see you?”
“Perhaps. In any case, he’ll be on our necks right smartly, if he finds out. If he did na start it himsel’. He’ll buy up our paper and ruin us.”
“Why?” Culum asked.
“Because I’ll ruin him if I get half a chance.”
Culum wanted to ask why, and to tell them that he, too, was going home on the next ship. But his father looked so gaunt and Robb was so morose. Tomorrow he would tell him.
“I’ve got to get a few hours’ sleep,” Struan said. “I’m going ashore. You and Sarah go back to
Resting Cloud, eh? Perry’s ordered off by sundown. I beached him.”
“Who’s going to take his place?”
“I dinna ken,” Struan said as he went out. “Send word to Brock I’ll see him ashore at sundown.”
CHAPTER THREE
Struan had slept little. The food on the table was untouched. He stared through the tent door at the ships riding at anchor. The sun was dying and a blurred moon was low on the horizon. Huge masses of cumulus dominated the sky. The wind brought the promise of storm.
Ti-sen, his mind kept repeating to him. Ti-sen. He’s the only one to save you. Aye, but that’s treachery to all you believe in, all you’ve worked for.
McKay came in with a lighted lantern and set it on the table. The tent was spacious and comfortable; there were carpets on the stony soil.
“Brock’s longboat’s coming ashore, sorr.”
“Take the men and move out of hearing, McKay.”
“Yes, sorr.”
“Has word come they’ve found Ramsey yet?”
“No, sorr.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, sorr.”
Struan nodded absently. “Tomorrow put all our spies to work to find out where he is.”
“Beggin’ yor pardon, sorr, I already spread the word, sorr.” McKay tried to cover his anxiety. “If he’s aboard it’s someone’s devilment.” Then he added, “I feel bad about Cap’n Perry, sorr.”
Struan’s eyes were suddenly hard. “I’ll give you fifteen days to prove I was right about Isaac. Fifteen days, or you’re beached with him.”
“Yes, sorr.” McKay felt a barb soar from his testicles into his guts and cursed himself for opening his mouth. Will you never learn, you stupid fool?
Brock’s footsteps were heavy on the beach. He stood at the tent doorway. “Permission to come aboard, Dirk?”
“Aye, Tyler.”
McKay went out. Brock sat at the table, and Struan poured him a large brandy.
“It were bad to lose yor family. I knowed how it feel. I lost two wives in childbirth, the kids too. Bad.”
“Aye.”
“Not much of a berth,” Brock said, taking in the tent.
“Hungry?” Struan indicated the food.
“Thank you kindly.” Brock took a chicken, ripped it in two and tore off half the white meat. He wore a big emerald, set in gold, on his little finger. “Seems that the joss of The Noble House be runned out.”
“ ‘Joss’ is a big word.”
Brock laughed. “Come now, Dirk. A company be havin’ to have bullion to support its credit. Even Noble House.”
“Aye.”
“I spend a lot of time, Dirk, and a lot of brass, checking on thee.” Brock picked the other half of the breast off the chicken and devoured it. “You’ve a good cook. Tell him I’ll give him a job.”
“He likes the one he has.”
“No brass, no job, my fine muckel. No bank, no credit—no ships, no nothin’!” Brock split another chicken. “Be thee keepin’ the champagne? This be special occasion, I’ll be bound.”
Struan opened the bottle neatly and filled clean glasses for Brock and himself.
“Chilled just right, lad. Just right.” Brock smacked his lips. “Twenty-five thousand be no much for a million, be it?”
Struan said nothing. His face was impassive.
“Sixpence on the pound, they sayed. I got a letter in the mail packet yesterday. I lost ten thousand nicker. Bad. Very bad of the bank to gamble with their customers’ money.” Brock chuckled. “I ‘happened’ to run into that bugger Skinner. He thort it were bad too. He be writing a article—headlines, I’ll be bound. An’ quite right.”
He cut a piece of apple pie and ate with gusto. “Oh yes, by the way, I own eight hundred thousand of Struan and Company’s sight drafts. I been buying the last six months against such a time. Leastways my son Morgan an’ our agents in London Town has.”
“A good investment, Tyler. Very good.”
“Yes. Skinner thort so too, Dirk lad. He were mighty shocked at yor bad joss, but I tol’ him I’d keep the names of yor ships. Bad joss to change names. But they’ll improve under my flag.”
“You’ve got to get them first.”
“In thirty days I have them, lad. That’s when the drafts be due. That be common knowledge too. So thee’ll get no credit in the Orient. Thee be finished, lad.”
“Perhaps I’ll wreck my ships before I let you take them.”
“Not you, Dirk. I know thee better. Others would, but not thee. We’s both alike in that. Ships be special. Better’n any doxy.” He finished his champagne. Struan refilled the glass.
Brock belched. “Beg pardon.” Then he sipped again. “Champagne be proper belch water, baint it?”
“Did you start the run on the bank?”
“No. If I’d a thort of it I would’ve, long since. That be a right clever idea. Fancy thee getting caught with thy balls in the noose.”
“If it was deliberate I’ll find out.”
“It were deliberate, lad.”
“Who was it?”
“Morgan,” Brock said. “I’ve to hand it to him—the young nipper be growed up. Yes. My boy be the one, and I’m mortal proud.” He scratched contentedly at the lice that were a way of life. “So thee be broke, Dirk. After all these years. Finished.”
“A lot can happen in thirty days.”
“Yes, it can. I heared yor son’s in charge of the land sale.”
“Aye. But it’ll be fair. The highest bidder gets the land. We dinna cheat, Tyler. Others do. We’ve nae need.”
“Damn yor eyes!” Brock bellowed. “You be saying I cheat?”
“You cheat all the time,” Struan said, flaring. “You cheat your men and cheat your ships and that’s what’ll destroy you. You can’t build forever wi’ the lash.”