“This is a sad day, sad. Many bad rumors. Some stupid.”
“What?”
“That we will all be intercepted on our way and killed. That Macao is to be terminated, and we’re to be thrown out of the Orient once and for all. And the usual rumors that we’ll be back in a month and trade will be better than ever. There’s even a rumor that there’s forty lacs of bullion in Canton.”
Struan kept the smile on his face. “There are na that many lacs in Kwangtung Province!”
“Of course. Stupid, but it is amusing to relate. The bullion’s supposed to have been collected by the Co-hong as a gift to placate the emperor.”
“Drivel.”
“Of course, drivel. No one would dare to have so much in one place. All the bandits in China would fall on it.”
“Take this letter and deliver it into Mr. Robb’s hands. As soon as possible,” Struan said. “Then go immediately to Macao. I want you to organize teams of building workmen. I want them on Hong Kong Island two weeks from today. Five hundred men.”
“Yes, senhor.” Vargas sighed and wondered how long he would have to keep up the pretense. We all know The Noble House is finished. Five hundred men? Why do we need men when there is no money to buy land? “It will be difficult, senhor.”
“In two weeks,” Struan repeated.
“It will be difficult to find good workmen,” Vargas said, politely. “All the traders will be competing for their services—and the emperor’s edict has revoked the treaty. Perhaps they will not agree to work on Hong Kong.”
“Good wages will change their minds. I want five hundred men. The best. Pay double wages it necessary.”
“Yes, senhor.”
“If we’ve nae money to pay for them,” Struan added with a grim smile, “Brock will pay you well. There’s nae need to worry.”
“I am not worried about my own labors,” Vargas said with great dignity, “but I am worried about the safety of the house. I would not wish The Noble House to cease.”
“Aye, I know. You’ve served me well, Vargas, and I appreciate it. You take all the clerks with you now. I’ll go with Mauss and my men.”
“Shall I lock up, or will you, senhor?”
“You do that when all your clerks are aboard.”
“Very well. Go with God, senhor.”
“And you, Vargas.”
Struan walked across the square. Around him men were hurrying to make last-minute additions to the cargoes of the heavily laden lorchas that lay the length of the wharf. Farther up the wharf he saw Brock and Gorth profanely exhorting their sailors and clerks. Some of the traders had already left, and he waved cheerily to a lorcha as it headed downstream. Across the river, the boat people were watching the exodus, clamoring to offer their sampans for tows to midstream, since the direction of the wind made departure from the dock awkward.
Struan’s lorcha was two-masted, forty feet long, and commodious. Mauss was already on the poop.
“All squared away, Tai-Pan. There’s a rumor that the Hoppo seized Ti-sen’s house. Fifty lacs of silver bullion was in it.”
“So?”
“Nothing, Tai-Pan. A rumor,
hein?” Mauss looked tired. “All my converts have disappeared.”
“They’ll be back, dinna worry. And there’ll be plenty to convert on Hong Kong,” Struan said, feeling sorry for him.
“Hong Kong is our only hope, isn’t it?”
“Aye.” Struan headed up the wharf. He saw a tall coolie emerge from the American factory and join the throng in the square. He changed direction.
“Heya, wat you Yankee dooa can?” he called out to the coolie.
“Damn you, Tai-Pan,” Cooper said from under the coolie hat. “Is my disguise so bad?”
“It’s your height, laddie.”
“Just wanted to wish you Godspeed. Don’t know when I’ll see you again. You’ve the thirty days, of course.”
“But you dinna think they’re of value?”
“I’ll find that out in thirty-odd days, won’t I?”
“In the meantime, buy eight million pounds of tea for us.”
“With what, Tai-Pan?”
“What do you usually pay for tea with?”
“We’re your agents, certainly. For the next thirty days. But I can’t buy for you without bullion.”
“Did you sell all your cotton?”
“Not yet.”
“You better sell fast, lad.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps the bottom’s out of the market.”
“If it is, there goes
Independence.”
“That’d be a pity, would it na?”
“I hope you settle with Brock somehow. And build your
Independent Cloud. I want the satisfaction of beating you myself.”
“Stand in the line, lad,” Struan said good-naturedly. “Be prepared to buy heavily and fast. I’ll send word.”
“It won’t be the same without you, Tai-Pan. If you go, we’ll all lose a little.”
“Perhaps I won’t go after all.”
“Half of me wants you out. You, more than any, have had a too huge slice of the market, too long. It’s time for free seas.”
“Free for American ships?”
“And others. But not on British terms.”
“We’ll always rule the seas, lad. We have to. You’re an agricultural country. We’re industrialists. We need the seas.”
“One day we’ll take the seas.”
“By that time perhaps we will na need the seas because we’ll rule the skies.”
Cooper chuckled. “Don’t forget about our bet.”
“That reminds me. I got a letter from Aristotle a few days ago. He asked for a loan to tide him over because ‘that delectable commission has to wait till summer because she suffers from goose pimples.’ We’ve plenty of time to run her to earth—or would it be to bed?”
“Can’t be Shevaun. She’s got ice for blood.”
“Did she say nay to you again?”
“Yes. Put in a good word for me, huh?”
“I’ll na get in the middle of that negotiation!”
Over Struan’s shoulder Cooper could see Brock and Gorth approaching. “If the Brocks never reached Hong Kong, you’d get the time you need. Wouldn’t you?”
“Are you suggesting a wee bit o’ murder?”
“That wouldn’t be a little. That would be very much, Tai-Pan. Afternoon, Mr. Brock.”
“I thort it were thee, Mr. Cooper,” Brock said breezily. “Nice of thee to see us’n off.” Then, to Struan, “Thee be off now?”
“Aye. I’ll show Gorth the stern of my ship all the way to Whampoa. Then, in
China Cloud, all the way to Hong Kong. As usual.”
“The only stern you’ll show is yors in four day when you be tossed into debtors’ prison, where you belong,” Gorth said thickly.
“All the way to Hong Kong, Gorth. But there’s nae point in having a race with you. As a seaman you’re na fit to row a boat.”
“I be better’n you, by God.”
“If it were na for your father, you’d be the laughingstock of Asia.”
“By God, you son of—”
“Hold yor tongue!” Brock barked. He knew Struan would be delighted to be called son of a bitch publicly by Gorth, for then he could challenge him to a duel. “Why bait the lad, eh?”