“Mr. Cudahy, search him!”
“Now, it be a flag o’ truce and I ain’t armed, that be the truth. You’ve me oath, so help me!” Scragger said, the picture of innocence.
“So you’ll be searched anyway!”
Scragger submitted to the search. “Be you satisfied, Tai-Pan?”
“For the moment.”
“Then let’s below. Alone. Like I asked.”
Struan checked the priming of his pistol and motioned Scragger down the gangway. “Rest of you stay on deck.”
To Struan’s amazement, Scragger proceeded through the ship with the familiarity of one who had been aboard before. Reaching the cabin, he plopped to the sea chair and stretched out his legs contentedly. “I’d like to wet me whistle afore I starts, if it please you. Rowin’ be thirsty work.”
“Rum?”
“Brandy. Ah, brandy! An’ if you’ve a keg to spare, I’ll be mighty favorable inclined.”
“To do what?”
“To be patient.” Scragger’s eyes were steely. “You be like wot I thort you be like.”
“You said you were late o’ London Town?”
“Yus, that I did. A long time ago. Ah, thankee,” Scragger said, accepting the tankard of fine brandy. He sniffed it lovingly, then gulped it down and sighed and brushed his greasy whiskers. “Ah, brandy, brandy! Only thing wrong with me present post be the lack of brandy. Does me heart good.”
Struan refilled the tankard.
“Thankee, Tai-Pan.”
Struan toyed with his pistol. “What part of London are you from?”
“Shoreditch, matey. That were where I were brung up.”
“What’s your Christian name?”
“Dick. Why?”
Struan shrugged. “Now get to the point,” he said. He planned to write by the next mail to find out if Dick Scragger was the name of a descendant of his great-aunt.
“That I will, Tai-Pan, that I will. Wu Fang Choi wants to talk to you. Alone. Now.”
“What about?”
“I didn’t askt him and ’ee didn’t tell me. ‘Go get the Tai-Pan,’ says he. So here I am.” He emptied the tankard, then smirked. “You’ve bullion aboard, so the rumor says. Eh?”
“Tell him I’ll see him here. He can come aboard alone and unarmed.”
Scragger roared with laughter and scratched unconsciously at the lice that infested him. “Now, you knows he baint about t’ do that, Tai-Pan, any more’n you’d go aboard alone his ship wivout protection like. You seed the boy aboard my junk?”
“Aye.”
“It be his youngest son. He be hostage. You’re to go aboard, armed if you likes, an’ the boy stays here.”
“And the boy turns out to be just a dressed-up coolie’s son and I get chopped!”
“Oh no,” Scragger said, pained. “You’ve me oath, by God, and ’is. We baint a scalawag bunch o’ pirates. We’ve three thousand ships in our fleets and rule these coasts as you rightly knowed. You’ve me oath, by God. An’ his.”
Struan noticed the white scars on Scragger’s wrists and knew there would be more on his ankles. “Why’re you, an Englishman, with him?”
“Why indeed, matey? Why indeed?” Scragger replied, rising. “Can I helps meself to more grog? Thank you kindly.” He brought the bottle back to the desk and settled himself again. “There be upwards of fifty of us Limeys through ‘is fleet. And fifteen or so others, Americans mostly, an’ one Frenchy. Captains, cannon makers, gunners, mates. I were a bosun’s mate by trade,” he continued expansively, inspired by the brandy. “Ten year or more ago I were shipwrecked on some islands north. The dirty little heathen bastards catched me for slave, Japaners they were. They sold me to some other heathen bastards, but I escaped and fell in with Wu Fang. He offer me a berth when he knowed I were a bosun’s mate and could do most things aboard.” He drained the tankard, belched, and refilled it. “Now, do we go or doan we?”
“Why do you na stay aboard now? I can blow a path through Wu Fang right smartly.”
“Thank you, matey, but I likes it where I be.”
“How long were you a convict?”
Scragger’s tankard stopped in midair and his expression became guarded. “Long enough, matey.” He looked at the wrist scars. “The iron marks, hey? Aye, the marks be still with me after twelve year.”
“Where’d you escape from? Botany Bay?”
“Aye, Botany Bay it were,” Scragger said, amiable once more. “Fifteen year transportation I got when just a lad, leastways when I were younger. Twenty-five abouts. How old be you?”
“Old enough.”
“I’ve never knowed for sure. Maybe I’m thirty-five or forty-five. Yus. Fifteen year for striking a muck-pissed mate on a muck-pissed frigate.”
“You were lucky you were na hanged.”
“Yus, that I were.” Scragger happily belched again. “I likes talking to you, Tai-Pan. It be a change from me mates. Yus, transported from Blighty I were. Nine month at sea chained along o’ four hundred other poor devils an’ the same of women or thereabouts. Chained belowdecks we were. Nine months or more. Water an’ hardtack an’ no beef. That’s no way to treat a man, no way at all. A hundred of us lived to reach port. We mutinied in the port o’ Sydney and broke our chains. Killed all the muck-ficked jailers. Then into the bush for a year, then I found me a ship. A merchantman.” Scragger chuckled malevolently. “Leastways, we fed on merchantmen.” He gazed into the depths of his tankard and his smile disappeared. “Yus, gallows bait, that what we all be, God curse all piss-arsed peelers,” he snarled. For a moment he fell silent, lost in his memories. “But I were shipwrecked like I said, and the rest.”
Struan lit a cheroot. “Why serve a mad-dog pirate scum like Wu Fang?”
“I’ll tell you, matey. I’m free like the wind. I got three wives an’ all the food I can eat, an’ pay, an’ I be captain of a ship. He treats me better’n my God-cursed kin. God-cursed kin! Yus. I be gallows bait to they. But to Wu Fang I baint, an’ where else and how else could the likes o’ me have wives an’ food and loot and no peelers an’ no gallows, eh? Course I be wiv him—or any wot gives me that.” He got up. “Now be you acomin’ like he asked or do we have to board you?”
“Board me, Captain Scragger. But first finish your brandy. It’ll be the last you taste on this earth.”
“We be having more’n a hundred ships again’ you.”
“You must think me a right proper fool. Wu Fang’d never venture personally into these waters. Never. Na with our warships just the other side of Hong Kong. Wu Fang’s na wi’ your fleet.”
“You be right proper smart, Tai-Pan,” Scragger cackled. “I were warned. Yus. Wu Fang baint with us but his chief admiral be. Wu Kwok, his eldest son. An’ the boy be ’is. That be the truth.”
“Truth wears many faces, Scragger,” Struan said. “Now get to hell off my ship. The flag o’ truce is for your vessel only. I’ll show you what I think of your godrotting pirate fleet.”
“That you will, Tai-Pan, given ’arf a chance. Oh yus, I forgot,” he said and pulled out a small leather bag that was thonged around his neck. He took out a folded piece of paper and pushed it across the desk. “I were to give you this,” he said, his face twisting derisively.