Like it or not, he told himself, his stomach twisting, there’s your kingdom. If you’ve the strength. And the guts to take it.
Suddenly he was very frightened.
At dawn Orlov turned out all hands and had the immaculate ship holystoned and cleaned. At two bells he sent the signal and went below.
“Morning. Two bells.” Orlov said to the bolted door.
“Morning, Cap’n,” Struan said, opening the door. “Come in.” He wore a green silk brocade dressing gown, and nothing underneath. Cold or hot, Struan slept naked. “Order breakfast for me. And ask Mr. Robb and Culum to join me in half an hour.”
“It’s ordered.”
“Where’s Wolfgang?”
“Aloft.”
“And the Chinese lad?”
“With him. Following him around like a dog.” Orlov handed Struan a neatly written list. “These boats came alongside last night or this morning, asking for you. Your brother’s wife sent a boat to ask for him to go aboard as soon as possible. Captain Glessing asked for your son—Sinclair and his sister asked for him too. She asked for you, so she’s on your list. There were a signal from the flagship. ‘Your son to go aboard the soonest.’ Cap’n Glessing cursed like a gutter rat when I sent him away.”
“Thank you.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Aye?”
“Morning, sorr!” the seaman said. “Signal from the
White Witch: ‘With pleasure.’ ”
“Thank you, signalman.”
The man hurried away. Struan handed Orlov a bank draft for one thousand guineas. “With our compliments, Captain.”
Orlov read the amount. He blinked and read it again. “That’s princely. Princely.” He handed it back. “I was only doing my job.”
“Na’ with that amount of bullion. Take it. You’ve earned it.”
Orlov hesitated, then put it in his pocket. He unthonged the fighting iron and thoughtfully placed it in the rack with the others. “Your son,” he said at length, “best watch him. There’s bad trouble ahead for him.”
“Eh?” Struan’s eyes snapped away from the list.
“Yes.” Orlov rubbed the stubble of his beard.
“What’s this? More of your devil witchcraft?”
“More of my second sight, yes.”
“What trouble?” Struan knew from long experience that Orlov did not forecast lightly. Too many times the strange little man had been right.
“I don’t know.” A sudden smile lit his face. “When he’s Tai-Pan he thinks he’s going to take away my ship.”
“Then you’ll have to earn his respect, change his mind, else you lose her.”
Orlov grinned. “Yes. And I will, never fear.” Then the smile faded. “But he’ll take over on a bad day. There’ll be blood on his hands.”
After a pause Struan said, “Whose? Mine?”
Orlov shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’ll be much trouble to you. Of that I’m sure.”
“What son is na?”
“You’re right there.” Orlov thought of his family in Narvik, of his own two sons, fine strapping men of twenty. Both of them hated him, despised him, even though he adored them and adored his wife Leka, a Laplander. They had been happy until the sons turned her against him. “Yes,” he said, feeling very tired, “you’re right. As usual.”
“Best get some sleep,” Struan said. “I’ll need you at eight bells.”
Orlov left.
For a long time Struan stared into space. What trouble? Whose blood? Why a “bad day”? Then he turned his mind away from the unanswerable, content to think about today, perhaps tomorrow. “You’re becoming more Chinese every day,” he said aloud. He smiled and perused the list again. Gorth Brock. Miss Tillman. Quance. Gordon Chen. Skinner. Bosun McKay. McKay?
“Steward!” he called out.
“Yus, sorr.” The steward set the hot water on the cabinet beside the shaving gear.
“Send word to Mr.Cudahy. If Bosun McKay comes alongside, bring him aboard.”
“Yus, sorr.” The steward vanished.
Struan stood by the cabin windows. He could see the pulsating mass that was the Chinese settlement of Tai Ping Shan. But his mind was elsewhere: Why did Shevaun Tillman come alongside? Now there’s a beddable queen if ever there was one. I wonder if she’s a virgin. Surely she is! Has to be. Would you bed her if you knew she was? Without marrying her? Nay. I would na bed her then. A man needs virginity but twice in his life. Once with his wife, and once in the prime of life with a young mistress chosen with great care. When the man has learned the knowledge of patience, and compassion, and can painlessly transmute girl into woman.
Of course Shevaun’s a virgin; you’re thinking like a fool. But the sparkle behind her eyes and the waggle of her buttocks promise well for her husband, eh? She’d make an interesting mistress. Do you want to marry Shevaun? Or just bed her?
If you were Chinese, you could have many wives openly. And they’d all live in peace under the same roof. Struan chuckled. I’d like to see Shevaun and May-may together under the same roof. Who’d win that battle? For battle it would be, hellcats both of them.
“Hello, Father.” Culum stood in the doorway.
“You sleep well, laddie?”
“All right, thank you.” Culum had had bad dreams: Orlov mixed with the knoll and prophesying poverty again. Oh God, don’t let us lose again. Help me to do that which I must do. “By the way, if we’re to be hosts at the ball, should we invite a partner?”
“Mary Sinclair?”
Culum tried unsuccessfully to be offhand. “Yes.”
Struan told himself that he had better find a girl for his son and quickly. “Perhaps, as we’re hosts, it would be better if we just welcomed everyone without favor. There’re twenty-odd young ladies for you to cast your eye on.”
“Orlov said there was a message from the flagship. For me to come aboard. Can I leave now? I want to see Longstaff about the final details of the land sale. I’d like this job to be well done.”
“Aye,” Struan said after a pause. “I would na’ fire Orlov if I was you.”
Culum flushed. “Oh, he told you, did he? I don’t like him. He makes my flesh crawl.”
“Accept him as the finest captain afloat—be patient with him. He could be a valuable ally.”
“He says he has second sight.”
“He has. Sometimes. Many people have. ‘Blood on your hands’ could mean anything or nothing. Dinna worry, laddie.”
“I won’t, Father. Can I go aboard the flagship now?”
“Aye. As soon as Brock’s left.”
“You don’t think I can keep a still tongue in my head?”
“Some men have a knack of extracting information just by looking at a face. Orlov for one. Brock for another. You’ve changed since you saw the bullion.”
“No I haven’t.”
Struan picked up his shaving brush. “Breakfast’ll be served in twenty minutes or so.”
“How have I changed?”
“There’s a great difference between a young lad who knows he’s bankrupt, and a young lad who knows he’s not. You’ve a wind under your tail, lad, and you can see it from four cables.” Struan began lathering his face. “Have you ever had a mistress, Culum?”
“No,” Culum answered uneasily. “I’ve been to a whorehouse, if that’s what you mean. Why?”