“So I seed. Aft cannon and bow cannon, but no swivels.” A taut silence. “Five days an’ thy notes be due. Right?”
“Aye.”
“Be thee ameeting them?”
“In five days you’ll find out.”
“Forty or fifty lacs o’ bullion be many tons o’ silver.”
“I imagine they would.”
“I ask’t Gorth, Now, wot would old Dirk do if he’d some bad joss? Gorth sayed, He’d try to change it. Yus, says I, but how? Borrow, says he. Ah, says I, borrow it is. But where? Then, Dirk lad, I thort of Jin-qua and Ti-sen. Ti-sen be finished, so it be Jin-qua.” He ruminated a moment. “There be two women aboard. I be glad to give ’em passage to Whampoa or Macao. Wheresomever thee says.”
“They’ve passage already.”
“Yus. But this old wreck might sink. I doan like the thort of women drowning when it baint necessary.”
“We will na sink, Tyler.”
Brock stretched again and shouted to his lorcha for a longboat. Then he shook his head sadly. “Well, lad, I just wanted to offer the women passage. An’ thee, of course. This tub feel very unseaworthy. Uncommon unseaworthy.”
“Plenty of pirates in these waters. If any ship comes too close, I’ll use my cannon.”
“That be wise, Dirk. But if in the blackness o’ night I suddenly be seein’ a ship ahead and was taking avoiding action, an’ that ship were so impertinent as to fire a cannon at me, well, lad, thee would do wot I would do. Presume they be pirate and blow her out of the water. Right?”
“If you were still alive after the first shot.”
“Yus. ’Tis a cruel world we be livin’ in. Baint wise to fire cannon.”
The longboat pulled alongside.
“Thank’ee kindly, Dirk. Better fly thy flag while thee has one. Then godrotting mistakes be not happening. Beg pardon for the grapples. See thee in Hong Kong.”
Brock slipped over the side of the lorcha and stood in the longboat. He waved derisively and was rowed smartly away.
“Wat for One-Eye Mass’er wantshee?” Wung asked shakily. The crew was horror-struck by Brock’s lorcha.
“What you think, heya? You doo all same I say, not deaded can,” Struan said curtly. “All sail, plenty quick-quick. Kill see-fire, heya!”
Taking heart, they doused the lanterns and fled before the wind.
When Brock swung aboard his own lorcha, he glared into the darkness. He could not pick Struan’s lorcha out of the many that sailed, ghostlike, south downstream.
“You see her?” he asked Gorth.
“Yes, Da’.”
“I be going below. If thee happen to ram a lorcha, that be bad. Terrible bad.”
“The bullion’s aboard?”
“Bullion, Gorth?” Brock said, with mock surprise. “I doan know wot thee mean.” He lowered his voice. “If thee needs help, call me. But no cannons, mind, not less he fires at us’n. We baint going to pirate him. We’ve plenty of enemies who’d be happy to mark us’s pirates.”
“Sleep well, Da’,” Gorth said.
For three hours Struan wove in and out of the river traffic, backing, then changing course, skirting the sandbanks dangerously, always making certain that there were boats between him and Brock’s lorcha, which dogged his heels relentlessly. Now they were coming out of the south channel looping around the small island, into the main river once more. He knew that there would be more room to maneuver, but that would help Brock more than him.
Once in the south channel, Brock could bear off to windward nicely, then assault him when he was on the lee tack. Struan would have no wind to swing with and would be struck amidships. A direct or a glancing blow with the iron probe would gut him and sink him like a stone. Since his cannon were set solid into the prow and stern, he could not shift them amidships to protect himself. If he had his own crew it would be different; he would heave to until light, certain that his men could use their weapons to thwart any attempt to get close. But he was dubious about the Chinese crew, and about the ancient Chinese muskets which were likely to blow up in your face when you pulled the trigger. And Brock was right too. If he fired first in the darkness, Brock had the right to fire back. One deft broadside would blow them sky-high.
He looked up at the sky for the thousandth time. He desperately needed a sudden storm and rain, or clouds that would hide the moon. But there were no signs of storm or rain or cloud.
He peered aft and saw the lorcha gaining on them. It was a hundred yards astern and reaching to windward, tacking nearer to the wind than they, gaining way.
Struan ransacked his brains for a feasible plan. He knew he could escape easily if he lightened the ship by throwing the bullion overboard. Half a mile ahead the river was going to fork again, around Whampoa Island. If he took the north channel he would be safer, for most of the river traffic used that channel and he might be able to avoid a ram. But then he would never be able to escape long enough to sail the length of Whampoa and then around it to rendezvous with
China Cloud far up the south side. He was forced to use the south channel.
He could see no way out of the trap. Dawn would come in two or three hours, and he would be lost. Somehow he had to escape in darkness and hide, and then slip down to his rendezvous. But how?
In the darkness ahead he could see the river fork, glinting silver, around Whampoa Island. Then he noticed Ah Gip at the gangway. She beckoned to him. Astern, Brock’s lorcha was well away, still bearing up to windward, readying to run before the wind if he took the south channel, or still be to windward of him if he took the north channel.
He pointed at a small pagoda on the south bank, giving the helmsman a bearing. “Savvy?”
“Savvy, Mass’er!”
“Savvy plenty good!” Struan drew his finger across his throat. He hastened below.
May-may was very sick. The stench of fish and the closeness of the cabin and the heeling of the boat had made her almost helpless with nausea. But she still held on to the musket. Struan picked her up and began to carry her on deck.
“No,” May-may said weakly. “I ask for you because of Ah Gip.”
“What about her?”
“I send her forward, secret. To listen to crew.” May-may retched and held on. When her spasm had passed she said, “She heard a man talking to another. They talking about the bullion. I think they all know.”
“Aye,” Struan said. “I’m sure they do.” He patted Ah Gip’s shoulder. “You plenty big pay soon can.”
“Ayee yah,” Ah Gip said. “Wat for pay, heya?”
“Brock is still on our heels?” May-may asked.
“Aye.”
“Maybe lightning bolt will strike him.”
“Aye, maybe. Ah Gip, make chow Missee can! Soup. Savvy? Soup.”
Ah Gip nodded. “Doan soop. Tea-ah gooda!”
“Soup!”
“Tea-ah.”
“Oh, never mind,” Struan said irritably, knowing that it would be tea however many times he said soup.
He carried May-may on deck and set her on the keg of powder. Wung and the helmsman and the crew did not look at her. But Struan knew they were acutely conscious of her, and she added to the tension on the deck. Then he remembered what she had said about a lightning bolt and this triggered a plan. His worry left him and he laughed aloud.
“Wat for ha-ha, heya?” May-may said, breathing the sea air deeply, her stomach beginning to settle.