“Quite right,” Masterson said, blowing his nose with his fingers. “What’s the point of throwing a valuable Christian to the wolves? That damned bunch of scallawags is whipped to a frenzy and in no mood to be preached at. Lord protect us! Goddamme, Tai-Pan, I told you there’d be an attack.”
“The hell you did!” Roach called from across the room.
“Who the devil asked your opinion, by God? Having a quiet talk to the Tai-Pan and Reverend Mauss,” Masterson shouted back. Then to Mauss, “Why not say a prayer for us, eh? After all, we’re the Christians, by God!” He bustled over to the window. “Can’t a fellow see what’s going on, eh?”
Mauss wiped the sweat off his brow. Oh Lord God and sweet Jesus, Thine only begotten Son, give me Thy peace. Send me disciples and missionaries so that I may lay down Thy burden. And I bless Thee for sending me the Tai-Pan who is my conscience and who sees me as I am. “Thank you, Tai-Pan.”
The door was flung open and more traders poured into the room. All were armed. “What the devil’s going on? What’s amiss?”
“Nobody knows,” Roach said. “One moment it was peaceful; the next, they started to arrive.”
“I bet we never see poor old Eliksen again. Poor devil’s probably had his throat cut already,” Masterson said, malevolently priming his musket. “We’ll die in our beds tonight.”
“Oh, shut up, for the love of God,” Roach said.
“You’re a harbinger of sweetness and comfort, ain’t you?” Vivien, a bull-like trader, glowered down on Master-son. “Why don’t you pee in your hat?”
The other traders roared, and then Gorth shouldered his way to the door. “I’ll take my bullyboys and blow ’em to hell!”
“No!” Struan’s voice was a lash. A hush fell. “They’re doing us nae harm yet. What’s the matter, Gorth? Are you frightened of a few men cursing you?”
Gorth reddened and started toward Struan, but Brock moved in the way. “Get thee below,” he ordered. “Stand guard in the garden and the first Chinese wot come in, blow his bloody head off!”
Gorth controlled his rage with an effort and walked out. Everyone started talking again.
“Baint proper to bait the lad, Dirk.” Brock poured a tankard of ale and drank it thirstily. “He might be handing thee thy head.”
“He might. And he might be taught a few manners.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Struan,” Rumajee interrupted, his nervousness overcoming his politeness. “Are there guards at the back entrance?”
“Aye. Three of my men. They can hold that against an army of this rabble.”
There was a burst of arguing among the traders and then Roach said, “I’m with Gorth. I say we should fight our way out instantly.”
“We will. If necessary,” Struan said.
“Yus,” Brock said. “Askin’ for trouble to do it now. We waits and keeps our guard up till light. Mayhaps they be gone by then.”
“And if they’re not? Eh? That’s what I’d like to know!”
“Then we spill a lot of blood. I snuck three of my men onto our lorcha and put her in midstream. There be a ten-pounder aboard.”
Struan laughed. “I think Mr. Brock deserves a vote of confidence.”
“By God, Mr. Brock, you’re right smart,” Masterson said. “Three cheers for Mr. Brock!”
They cheered and Brock grinned. “Thank’ee kindly, lads. Now, best to get some sleep. We be safe enough.”
“
Gott im Himmel! Look!” Mauss was pointing out the window, his eyes bulging.
A lantern procession with gongs and drums was pouring out of Hog Street into the square. Bannermen with flails preceded it, hacking a path through the mob. At the head of the procession was a man of vast girth. His clothes were rich but he was barefoot and hatless, and he staggered under the weight of chains.
“God’s death!” Struan said. “That’s Ti-sen!”
The procession wound into the center of the square and halted. All the Co-hong merchants except Jin-qua were in the procession. All had their ceremonial rank buttons removed from their hats, and they stood quaking. The mob began to jeer and hiss. Then the chief bannerman, a tall, black-bearded warrior, banged a huge gong and the mob fell silent once more.
An open sedan chair with mounted bannermen in front and behind was carried into the square. Seated on the chair, in full ceremonial gray-and-scarlet dress, was Hi’pia-kho, the imperial Hoppo. He was a squat, obese Manchu mandarin, almost neckless, and in his hand was the imperial fan of his office. The fan was ivory and studded with jade.
The Hoppo’s chair was put down in the center of the square and the chief bannerman screamed out an order. Everyone in the square kowtowed three times and then got up again.
The Hoppo unrolled a paper and, under the light of a lantern held by a guard, began to read in a high-pitched voice.
“Wot’s he asaying?” Brock asked Mauss.
“Look, there’s old How-qua,” Masterson said with a chuckle. “He’s bloody well shaking in—”
“Please. Quiet. I can’t hear,
hein?” Mauss said. He craned out the window. They all listened.
“It’s an emperor’s edict,” Mauss said, quickly. “ ‘And the traitor Ti-sen, our late cousin, shall immediately be put in chains and sent to our capital under sentence of death and . . .’—I can’t hear,
hein? Wait a moment—‘and the contemptible treaty called the Convention of Chuenpi, that he signed without our authority, is revoked. The barbarians are ordered out of our kingdom and out of Canton and out of Hong Kong under pain of immediate and lingering death and—’ ”
“I don’t believe it,” Roach scoffed.
“Shut thy face! How can Wolfgang be hearing?”
Mauss listened intently to the eerie high-pitched voice cutting the brooding silence. “We’re ordered out,” he said. “And we’ve to pay an indemnity for all the trouble we’ve caused. No trade except under the Eight Regulations. Queen Victoria’s ordered to present herself at Canton in mourning—something about . . . it sounded like rewards are on our heads and—‘as a symbol of our displeasure, the criminal Ti-sen will be scourged publicly and all his property is forfeit. Fear this and tremblingly obey!’ ”
The chief bannerman approached Ti-sen and gestured at the ground with his flail. Ti-sen, chalk-white, knelt down and the chief bannerman raised his flail and brought it crashing down on Ti-sen’s back. Again and again and again. There was no sound in the square but for the slash of the whip. Ti-sen fell forward on his face and the bannerman continued to scourge him.
“I don’t believe it,” Masterson said.
“It’s impossible,” Mauss said.
“If they’ll do this to Ti-sen—by the Cross, they’ll kill us all.”
“Nonsense! We can take the whole of China—any time.”
Brock started guffawing.
“What’s so funny,
hein?” Mauss asked impatiently.
“This mean war again,” Brock said. “Good, says I.” He glanced at Struan, mocking him. “I told thee, lad. This be wot thee gets for making a soft treaty with the scum.”
“It’s a ruse of some kind,” Struan said calmly. But inwardly he was stunned by what was happening. “Ti-sen’s the richest man in China. The emperor’s got a whipping boy, a scapegoat. And all Ti-sen’s wealth. It’s a matter of face. The emperor’s saving face.”