“Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him. Never talked to him, though I hear he’s a good chap. Take some advice—don’t let what your father does in his private life get under your skin. He’s the only father you’ll have.”
“You disapprove of him, yet you’re taking his side. Why?”
Glessing had shrugged. “Perhaps because I’ve learned that the ‘sins’ of the father are the father’s problem, not the son’s. Perhaps because the Tai-Pan’s a better seaman than I’ll ever be and runs the best fleet of the most beautiful ships on earth—treats his seamen like they should be treated, good food, pay and quarters—when we’ve to work with what the damned Parliament gives us: no cursed money, and pressed men and gallows bait as crew. Perhaps because of Glessing’s Point—or because he’s
the Tai-Pan. Perhaps because the Sinclairs admire him. I don’t know. I don’t mind telling you that if I ever get an order to go after him, I’ll do it to the limit of the law. Even so, I hope to God he manages to outsmart that uncouth bugger Brock again. Couldn’t stand that sod as
the Tai-Pan.”
From that day Culum had seen a lot of Glessing. Between them a friendship had ripened . . .
“Today,” Culum continued to Struan, very uncomfortably, “well, when I saw you and Gordon Chen together, I asked George Glessing. He was honest enough to tell me.”
Struan stopped. “You mean it was dishonest of me na to tell you?”
“No. You don’t have to justify anything you do. To me. A father doesn’t have to justify anything to a son, does he?”
“Gordon’s a nice lad,” Robb said uneasily.
“Why did you want to know how old he was?” Struan asked.
“He’s the same age as me, isn’t he?”
“So?”
“It’s not important, Father.”
“It is. To you. Why?”
“I’d rather not—”
“Why?”
“A matter of ethics, I suppose. If we’re the same age, his mother was—isn’t the word ‘concurrent’?—with mine.”
“Aye. Concurrent would be the right word.”
“ ‘Adultery’ would be another right word, wouldn’t it?”
“One of the truths of man is that adultery’s as inevitable as death and sunrise.”
“Not according to the Commandments of God.” Culum avoided his father’s eyes. “The sale should start—now that Longstaff’s here,” he said.
“Is that why you’re so nervous? Meeting Gordon and applying Commandments to me?”
“You don’t need me, do you, Father, with Brock? I think I’ll—if you don’t mind, I’ll see everything’s ready.”
“Please yoursel’, lad. I think you should be with us. This is a rare occasion. But please yoursel’.” Struan resumed his course along the road. Culum hesitated, then caught up with him.
Queen’s Road ran due west from the valley along the shore. A mile away it passed the tents of the marines who guarded the growing number of naval stores. Beyond them a mile were the tented rows of the soldiers near Glessing’s Point, the terminus of Queen’s Road.
And above Glessing’s Point was Tai Ping Shan, connected to the shore by a quivering, never-ending line of Chinese, bowed by the weight of their possessions. The line was perpetually moving and constantly replenished from the incessant arrival of junks and sampans.
“Good day, Your Excellency,” Struan said, raising his hat as they met Longstaff and his party.
“Oh, afternoon, Dirk. Day, Robb.” Longstaff did not stop. “Aren’t you ready to begin, Culum?”
“In just a moment, Excellency.”
“Well, hurry it up. I’ve got to get on board, what?” And he added to Struan, as an insulting afterthought, “Good to have you back, Dirk.” He continued his stroll, greeting others.
“He’ll change in about three minutes,” Struan said.
“Stupid, contemptible, pox-ridden fool.” Culum’s voice was raw and soft. “Thank God this is the last day I serve him.”
Struan shook his head. “If I were you, I’d use ‘Deputy Colonial Secretary’ to my advantage.”
“How?”
“We have our power back. But it’s still his hand that signs paper into law. And his hand still has to be guided, eh?”
“I suppose—I suppose so,” Culum replied.
As the Struans approached the Brocks, a silence fell over the beach and excitement quickened.
Gorth and Nagrek Thumb were ranged alongside Brock and Liza and the girls.
Skinner began whistling tonelessly and moved closer.
Aristotle Quance hesitated in the middle of a brush stroke.
Only the very young did not feel the excitement, and were not watching and listening.
“Afternoon, ladies, gentlemen,” Struan said, doffing his hat.
“Day, Mr. Struan,” Liza Brock said blandly. “Thee knowed Tess and Lillibet, doan thee?”
“Of course. Day, ladies,” Struan said as the girls curtsied, noticing that Tess had grown considerably since he had last seen her. “Can we settle our business?” he said to Brock.
“Now’s as good a time as may be. Liza, you’n the girls, back to the ship. And, Lillibet, you be akeeping thy hands outa the sea or thee’ll catch thy death. And doan fall overboard. And thee, Tess luv, thee watch thyself and Lillibet. Run along now, and be adoing wot yor ma tells thee.”
They curtsied hastily and ran ahead of their mother, glad to be dismissed.
“Children an’ shipboard just doan mix, do they?” Brock said. “Never watch where they be agoin’. Enough to drive you barmy.”
“Aye.” Struan handed the banker’s draft to Gorth. “We’re even now, Gorth.”
“Thank you,” Gorth said. He examined it deliberately.
“Perhaps you’d like to double it.”
“How?”
“A further twenty thousand says one of our ships will beat you home.”
“Thankee. But they sayed a fool’n his money is soon split. I baint fool—or a betting man.” He looked at the draft. “This’ll come in right handy. Maybe I can buy a bitty of the knoll from me da’.”
The color of Struan’s eyes deepened. “Let’s go over to the tent,” he said, and began to lead the way.
Robb and Culum followed, and Robb was very glad that his brother was Tai-Pan of The Noble House. His old fear returned. How am I going to deal with Brock? How?
Struan stopped outside the tent and nodded to Cudahy.
“Come on, lads,” Cudahy said to the small group of waiting seamen. “On the double.”
To everyone’s astonishment the men collapsed the tent.
“Our sight drafts, if you please, Tyler.”
Brock warily took the notes out of his pocket. “Eight hundred and twenty-four thousand nicker.”
Struan gave the notes to Robb, who checked them carefully against the duplicates.
“Thank you,” Struan said. “Would you sign this?”
“Wot be this?”
“A receipt.”