Struan ducked out of the dining room and ran quickly upstairs. From the landing he saw Vargas come into the foyer, make a final check and leave. Struan heard the key turn in the door. He relaxed, and climbed a narrow staircase to the loft. He eased his way past old packing cases and walked cautiously toward the front of the building.
“Hello, Tai-Pan,” May-may said. She was dressed in her verminous Hoklo trousers and padded jacket, but she had not dirtied her face. She was kneeling on a cushion behind some packing cases. Ah Gip got up and bowed and then squatted down again near the small bundle of clothes and cooking utensils. May-may indicated another cushion that was opposite her, and the backgammon board that was set up. “We play, same stakes, heya?”
“Just a moment, lassie.”
There was a skylight in the loft and another in the front wall. Struan could scan the whole square clearly and safely. People were still milling and cursing and making last-minute changes. “Did you notice me?”
“Oh, yes, very,” she said. “But we watch from top of you. Down level perhaps no one saw. Wat for did Brock hit his son, heya?”
“I did na know he did.”
“Yes. Two times. Wat for such blows! We laughed till we choke. The son almost hit back. I hope they fight-kill each other—then no money to pay back. I still think you fantastical crazy na just to pay pirate to assassination him.” She sat on the cushion, then knelt again with an oath.
“What’s the matter?”
“My bum, she is still sore.”
“
It is still sore,” he said.
“She. That was joke. Ayee yah, this time I beat you to hell and make back all my dolla.” She added innocently, “How much I owe? Fourteen tousand?”
“You remember very well.”
He sat down and picked up the dice cup. “Four games. Then sleep. We’ve a long night ahead.” He threw the dice and she cursed.
“What joss you have! Double six, double six, a pox on double six!” She threw the dice and equaled him and slammed the cup down and whooped, “Good dear sweet double six!”
“Keep your voice down, or we will na play.”
“We’re safe, Tai-Pan. Throw. My joss is good today!”
“Let’s hope it’s very good,” he said. “And tomorrow.”
“Ayee yah tomorrow, Tai-Pan! Today. Today is what counts.” She threw again. Another double six. “Dear sweet dice, I adore you.” Then she frowned. “What for does ‘adore’ mean?”
“Love.”
“And ‘love’?”
Struan’s eyes crinkled and he shook a finger at her. “I’m na going to get into that argument again.” Once he had tried to explain what love meant. But there was no Chinese word for the European concept of love.
The grandfather clock began to sound eleven. Struan shifted wearily at his post beside the wall skylight. May-may was curled up asleep, Ah Gip slumped against a mildewed packing case. A few hours ago he had dropped off to sleep for a moment, but his dreams were bizarre and mixed with reality. He had been aboard
China Cloud, lying crushed under a weight of bullion. Jin-qua had come into the room and eased the bullion off him, and had taken it all in exchange for a coffin and twenty golden guineas, and then he was no longer on his ship but ashore in the Great House on the knoll. Winifred brought him three eggs and he was eating breakfast and May-may had said, behind him, “God’s blood, how can you eat the unborn children of a hen?” He had turned around and seen that she was wearing no clothes and she was achingly beautiful. Winifred had said, “Was Mother as beautiful without clothes on?” and he had replied, “Yes, but in a different way,” and he had awakened suddenly.
Dreaming of his family had saddened him. I’ll have to go home soon, he had thought. I dinna ken even where they’re buried.
He stretched and watched the movement on the river, and thought about Ronalda and May-may. They’re different, very different—were different. I loved them both equally. Ronalda would have enjoyed London and a fine mansion there and taking the waters in the season at Brighton or Bath. She’d have been a perfect hostess for all the dinners and balls. But now I’m alone.
Will I take May-may home with me? Perhaps. As Tai-tai? Impossible. Because that would cast me out from those I must use.
He stopped musing and concentrated on the square. It was deserted. Just before nightfall the bannermen had left. Now there was only the dull moonlight and blurred shadows, and this emptiness felt eerie and cruel to Struan.
He wanted to sleep. You canna sleep now, he told himself. Aye, but I’m tired.
He stood and stretched, and settled himself once more. The chimes rang the quarter-hour and then the half, and he decided to wake May-may and Ah Gip in a quarter of an hour. There’s nae hurry, he thought. He did not allow himself to speculate about what would happen if the lorcha from Jin-qua did not arrive. His fingers were touching the four half coins in his pocket and he wondered again about Jin-qua. What favors and when?
He partially understood Jin-qua’s motives now. Ti-sen’s disgrace had clarified them. Obviously there would be war. Obviously the British would win it. Obviously trade would begin again. But never under the Eight Regulations. So the Co-hong would lose its monopoly and it would be every man for himself. Hence the thirty-year trade span: Jin-qua simply had been cementing his business relationship for the next three decades. That was the Chinese way, he thought: na to worry about immediate profit, but profit over years and years.
Aye, but what’s really in Jin-qua’s mind? Why buy land in Hong Kong? Why train a son in “barbarian” ways and to what calculated end? And what will the four favors be? And now that you’ve agreed and promised, how are you going to implement them? How can you ensure that Robb and Culum fulfill the bargain?
Struan began to contemplate that. He mulled a dozen possibilities before arriving at an answer. He hated what he knew he had to do. Then, having decided, he turned his thoughts to other problems.
What to do about Brock? And Gorth? For a moment on the wharf he had been ready to go after Gorth. One more word, and he would have had to challenge him openly. Honor would have forced—and allowed—him to humble Gorth. By a knife in the gut. Or by the lash.
And Culum. What’s he been up to? Why hasn’t he written? Aye, and Robb, too. And what mischief’s Longstaff done?
The chimes sounded eleven o’clock. Struan awakened May-may. She yawned and stretched luxuriously, like a cat. Ah Gip had been up the instant Struan had moved, and she was already collecting the bundles.
“The lorcha is come?” May-may asked.
“Nay. But we can move downstairs and be ready.”
May-may whispered to Ah Gip, who unpinned May-may’s hair and brushed it vigorously. May-may closed her eyes and enjoyed it. Then Ah Gip braided the hair as a Hoklo would, and bound it with a piece of red ribbon and let it fall down her back.
May-may rubbed her hands in the dust and dirtied her face. “Wat I do for you, Tai-Pan. This filth dirt will destroy the perfection of beauty skin. I will need much bullion to repair. How much, heya?”
“Get along with you!”
He led the way carefully downstairs into the dining room and, motioning them to sit patiently, went to the window. The square was still deserted. There were oil lights in the massed sampans of the floating villages. Dogs barked from time to time and firecrackers sounded and quarreling voices were raised and hushed, and sometimes there were happy voices—and the ever-present