May-may was gone. And Ah Gip.
“Where Missee?”
“Doan knowa, Mass’er. Cow chillo no see my.”
He searched the whole building, but they had vanished. It was almost as though they had never been there.
CHAPTER FIVE
Struan was in the garden. It was just before midnight. There was an uneasy stillness in the air. He knew that most of the traders would be sleeping in their clothes, weapons beside them. He peered through the gate at the bannermen. Some were sleeping; others were jabbering over a fire that they had built in the square. The night was chill. There was scant movement on the river.
Struan left the gate and sauntered pensively around the garden. Where the devil was May-may? He knew that she would not casually leave the Settlement. Perhaps she had been enticed away. Perhaps—God’s blood, that was nae way to think. But he knew that the richest warlord in China would not hesitate to take her—by force if necessary—once he had seen her.
A shadow jumped over the side wall and Struan’s knife was instantly in his hand.
It was a Chinese who tremulously held out a piece of paper. He was a short, lithe man with broken teeth, his face stretched and opium-yellowed. Imprinted on the paper was Jin-qua’s chop, a private seal used only on contracts and special documents.
“Mass’er,” the Chinese said softly. “Dooa follow. Alone.”
Struan hesitated. It was dangerous to leave the protection of the Settlement and his men. Foolhardy. “No can. Jin-qua here can.”
“No can. Dooa follow.” The Chinese pointed at the chop. “Jin-qua wantshee, quick-quick.”
“Tomollow,” Struan said.
The Chinese shook his head. “Now. Quick-quick, savvy?”
Struan realized that possibly Jin-qua’s chop had fallen into other hands and that this could easily be a trap. But he dared not take Mauss or any of his men because the meeting must be very secret. And the sooner the better.
He studied the paper under the lantern and made absolutely sure that the chop was correct.
He nodded. “Can.”
The Chinese led the way to the side wall and clambered over it. Struan followed, ready for treachery. The Chinese hurried along the side wall of the factory and turned into Hog Street. Incredibly, the street was deserted. But Struan could feel eyes watching him.
At the end of Hog Street the Chinese turned east. There were two curtained sedan chairs waiting. The sedan-chair coolies were terrified. Their fear intensified when they saw Struan.
Struan got into one sedan chair, the Chinese into the other. Immediately the coolies picked up the chairs and loped along Thirteen Factory Street. They turned south into narrow, deserted alleyways unfamiliar to Struan. Soon he had lost all sense of direction. He settled back and cursed his stupidity, at the same time exulting in the expectation of danger. At length the coolies stopped in a filthy, high-walled alley strewn with rotting offal. A festering dog was foraging.
The Chinese gave the coolies some money and when they had evaporated into the darkness, he knocked on a door. It opened, and he stepped aside for Struan to enter. Struan motioned him to go first, then warily followed him into a rancid stable where another Chinese was waiting with a lantern. This man turned and walked silently across the stable through another door and did not look behind him. Now they picked their way through a huge warehouse and up rickety steps and down more steps into another warehouse. Rats scurried in the darkness.
Struan knew they were somewhere near the river for he could hear water lapping and hawsers creeking. He was ready for an instant fight, the haft of his knife in his cupped hand, the blade concealed up his sleeve.
The man with the lantern ducked under a bridge of packing cases and led the way to another half-hidden door. He knocked and then opened the door.
“Halloa, Tai-Pan,” Jin-qua said. “All same no seea longa time.”
Struan came into the room. It was another filth-strewn warehouse dimly lit with candles and cluttered with packing cases and mildewed fishing nets. “Halloa, Jin-qua,” he said, relieved. “No seea longa time.”
Jin-qua was ancient, fragile, tiny. His skin was like parchment. Thin wisps of graying beard fell to his chest. His robes were richly brocaded, and his hat jeweled. He wore thick-soled embroidered shoes and his queue was long and shiny. The nails of his little fingers were protected by jeweled sheaths.
Jin-qua nodded happily and shuffled to a corner of the warehouse and sat at a table set with food and tea.
Struan sat opposite him, his back to the wall. Jin-qua smiled. He had only three teeth. They were gold-capped. Jin-qua said something in Chinese to the man who had brought Struan, and the man left by another door.
“Tea-ah?” Jin-qua asked.
“Can.”
Jin-qua nodded to the servant who had carried the lantern, and he poured the tea and helped Jin-qua and Struan to some food. Then he moved to one side and watched Jin-qua. Struan noticed that the man was muscular and armed with a knife at his belt.
“Plees,” Jin-qua said, motioning Struan to eat.
“Thank you.”
Struan nibbled at his food and drank some tea and waited. It was necessary to let Jin-qua make the first opening.
After they had eaten in silence, Jin-qua said, “You want see my?”
“Jin-qua dooa good trade out of Canton?”
“Bis’ness good bad all same, never mind.”
“Trade stoppee now?”
“Stoppee now. Hoppo very bad mandarin. Sodjers many, many. My payee big squeezze for sodjers. Ayee yah!”
“Bad.” Struan sipped his tea. Now or never, he told himself. And now that the right moment had at last arrived, he knew that he could never sell out Hong Kong. A pox on the mandarin! While I’m alive there’ll be nae god-rotting mandarin on Hong Kong. It’ll have to be Brock. But murder’s nae way to solve bankruptcy. So Brock’s safe, because everyone expects me to remedy the problem that way. Or
is he safe? Where the hell’s May-may?
“Hear One-Eye Devil Brock have Tai-Pan by troat.”
“Hear Devil Hoppo have Co-hong by troat,” Struan said. Now that he had decided not to make a deal, he felt much better. “Ayee yah!”
“All same. Mandarin Ti-sen anger-anger have got.”
“Why so?”
“Mass’er ‘Odious Penis’ writee werry bad-bad letter.”
“Tea-ah werry number-one good-ah,” Struan said.
“Mass’er ‘Odious Penis’ dooa what Tai-Pan say, heya?”
“Sometimes can.”
“Bad when Ti-sen anger have got.”
“Bad when Mass’er Longstaff anger have got.”
“Ayee yah.” Jin-qua fastidiously picked some food and ate it, his eyes narrowing even more. “Savvy Kung Hay Fat Choy?”
“Chinese New Year? Savvy.”
“New year begin soon. Co-hong have got bad debts from old years. Good joss start new year when no debts. Tai-Pan have got plenty Co-hong paper.”
“Never mind. Can wait.” Jin-qua and the other Co-hong merchants owed Struan six hundred thousand.
“One-Eye Devil can wait?”
“Jin-qua paper can wait. Finish. Chow werry number-one good-ah.”
“Werry bad.” Jin-qua sipped his tea. “Hear Tai-Pan Supreme Lady and chillo dead. Bad joss, solly.”