The rounds mounted. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five, forty-six. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. And now the spectators were almost as exhausted as the fighters.
Finally the soldier fell. He dropped like a dead oak and the noise of his falling resounded around the beach. The sailor, drunk with pain, still flailed blindly at the air, impotently seeking the enemy. Then he too fell, equally inert. The seconds carried the men to their corners and the half minute expired and the army screamed at their man to get up and the general was pounding the ring floor, his face flushed, imploring Tinker, “Get up, get up for God’s sake, lad!” And the admiral was purple as Grum forced himself to his feet and stood reeling in his corner. “Toe the line, lad, toe the line!” And Struan was exhorting the soldier, and the archduke was shouting a paroxysm of Russian-French-English encouragement to the sailor to get to the line.
Each fighter knew that the other was beaten. Both tottered to the line and swayed, their arms and legs dead and helpless. Each lifted his arms and tried to hit But all the strength had vanished. Both fell.
Last round.
The crowd went wild, for it was obviously impossible for either fighter to leave his corner in half a minute and walk back to the line.
The bell sounded and again there was an unearthly silence. The fighters groped to their feet and hung on to the ropes and stayed reeling in their corners. The sailor whimpered and made the first agonized step with one foot toward the line. Then, after a breathless eternity, another. The soldier still was in his corner shivering and swaying and almost falling. Then his foot arched forward pathetically and there was a manic screaming—urging, willing, begging, praying, cursing, blending into a final roar of impossible excitement as both men tottered ahead inch by inch. Suddenly the soldier weaved helplessly and almost slipped, and the general nearly collapsed. Then the sailor lurched drunkenly, and the admiral closed his eyes, sweat streaming his face, and prayed.
There was pandemonium as both men toed the line and the towels flew over the ropes, and only when the ring was a welter of men jumping up and down did the fighters know for truth that the brawl was over. And only then did they allow themselves to vanish into nightmare pain, not knowing if they were victor or vanquished—or awake or dead or dreaming or alive—only knowing they had done their best.
“By St. Peter’s beard,” the archduke said, his voice hoarse and painful, his clothes soaked with sweat, “that was a fight of fights.”
Struan, also sweat-stained and exhausted, pulled out a hip flask and offered it. Zergeyev tilted it and drank deeply of the rum. Struan drank and passed it to the admiral, who gave it to the general, and they finished the flask together.
“God’s blood,” Struan croaked. “God’s Blood.”
The sun had already dipped below the mountains, but the harbor was still bathed with gold. Ah Sam took the binoculars from her eyes and scuttled anxiously away from the spy hole in the garden wall. She ran through the piles of rocks and earth that would soon be a real garden and hurried through a door into the living room.
“Mother! Father’s boat’s near the shore,” she said. “Oh-ko, he looks very angry indeed.”
May-may stopped sewing the petticoat. “Did he come from
China Cloud
or
Resting Cloud
?”
“Resting Cloud.
You’d better look for yourself.”
May-may snatched the binoculars and ran out into the garden and stood behind the tiny latticed window and searched the foreshore waves. She focused on Struan. He was sitting amidships in the longboat, the Lion and the Dragon fluttering aft. Ah Sam was right. He looked very angry indeed.
She closed and barred the cover to the spy window and ran back. “Tidy all this up, and make sure it’s well hidden.” And when Ah Sam carelessly scooped up the ball gown and petticoats, she pinched her cheek sharply. “Don’t crush them, you mealymouthed whore. They’re worth a fortune. Lim Din!” she shrieked. “Pour Father’s bath quickly, and make sure his clothes are laid out properly and nothing’s forgotten. Oh yes, and make sure the bath’s hot if you know what’s good for you. Put out the new cake of perfumed soap.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“And watch yourself. It looks as if Father’s anger’s in front of him!”
“Oh-ko!”
“Oh-ko indeed! Everything better be ready for Father or you’ll both get a whipping. And if anything interferes with my plan, you’ll both get thumbscrews and I’ll whip you till your eyeballs fall out. Go on with you!”
Ah Sam and Lim Din scurried away. May-may went into her bedroom and made sure that there were no signs of the ball gown. She put perfume behind her ears and composed herself. Oh dear, she thought. I don’t want him in a bad mood tonight.
Struan strode irascibly toward the gate in the high wall.
He reached for the gate handle but the door was flung open by a beaming, bowing Lim Din.
“Nice piece sunfall, heya, Mass’er?”
Struan answered with a sullen grunt.
Lim Din locked the door and bustled for the front door, where he beamed more hugely and bowed lower.
Struan automatically checked the ship’s barometer that hung on the wall in the hallway. It was set in gimbals, and the thin, glass-incased column of mercury read a comfortable fair-weather 29.8 inches.
Lim Din closed the door softly and scampered ahead of Struan, down the corridor, and opened the bedroom door. Struan went in and kicked the door shut and bolted it. Lim Din’s eyes turned upward. He took a moment to compose himself, then he evaporated into the kitchen. “Someone’s going to get a whipping,” he whispered apprehensively to Ah Sam. “As certain as death and squeeze.”
“Don’t you worry about our devil barbarian father,” Ah Sam whispered back. “I’ll bet you next week’s salary Mother will have him like a turtledove in one hour.”
“Done!”
May-may stood at the door. “What are you two lumps of dogmeat motherless slaves whispering about?” she hissed.
“Just praying that Father won’t be cross with our poor dear beautiful mother,” Ah Sam said, her eyes fluttering.
“Then hurry up, you oily-mouthed whore. For every cross word he says to me, you get a pinch!”
Struan was standing in the center of the bedroom staring at the bulky, grubby, knotted handkerchief that he had taken out of his pocket. Goddammit to hell, what do I do now? he asked himself.
After the fight he had escorted the archduke to his new quarters on
Resting Cloud.
He had been relieved when Orlov had told him privately that he had had no trouble in rifling the archduke’s luggage.
“But there weren’t any papers,” Orlov had said. “There was a small strongbox, but you said not to break anything, so I left it as it was. I’d plenty of time—the men kept the servants busy.”
“Thank you. No word of this, now.”
“Do you take me for a fool!” Orlov had said, his dignity offended. “By the way, Mrs. Quance and the five children are settled on the small hulk. I said Quance was in Macao and due to arrive on the noon tide tomorrow. Had a job avoiding her cursed questions. She’d pester an answer out of a barnacle.”
Struan had left Orlov and had gone to the boys’ cabin. They were clean now and had new clothes. Wolfgang was still with them and they were not afraid of him. Struan had told them that tomorrow they would be going with him to Canton, where he would put them on a ship for England.
“Yor ’Onor,” the little English boy had said as he had turned to go, “could I be a seeing you? Privy like?”
“Aye,” Struan had said, and he had taken the boy into another cabin.
“Me dad said I were to give you this’n, Yor Worship, an’ not t’tell nobody, not Mr. Wu Pak or’n even Bert.” Fred’s fingers trembled as he undid the cloth bundle that was still attached to the stick and laid the cloth open. It contained a small knife and a rag dog and a bulky knotted kerchief. He passed over the kerchief nervously and, to Struan’s astonishment, turned his back and closed his eyes.
“What’re you doing, Fred?”
“Me dad sayed I weren’t t’look and to turn me back, Yor Worship. An’ not to see,” Fred replied, his eyes tight shut.
Struan untied the kerchief, and gawked at the contents: ruby earrings, diamond pendants, rings studded with diamonds, a big emerald brooch and many broken, twisted gold belt buckles, heavy with diamonds and sapphires. Forty to fifty thousand pounds’ worth. Pirate loot. “What did he want me to do with this?”
“Can I open me eyes, Yor Worship? I be not to see.”
Struan knotted the kerchief and put it into his frock-coat pocket. “Aye. Now, what did your dad want me to do with it?”
“He sayed it were me—I forgits the word. It were, it were somethin’ like ‘mittance’ or ‘ritance.’ ” Fred’s eyes filled with tears. “I beed a good boy, Yor Worship, but I forgits.”
Struan squatted down and held him firmly and gently. “No need to cry, lad. Let’s think. Was it ‘inheritance’?”
The boy stared up at Struan as though he were a magician. “Yus. ‘Ritance.’ How’d’yer knowed?”
“No need to cry. You’re a man. Men dinna cry.”
“What’s a ‘ritance’?”
“It’s a gift, usually money, from a father to a son.”
Fred mulled that a long time. Then he said, “Why’d me dad sayed not to tell bruvver Bert?”
“I dinna ken.”
“Wot, Yor Worship?”
“Perhaps because he wanted you to have it and not Bert.”
“Can a ‘ritance’ be for lots of sons?”
“Aye.”
“Can me bruwer Bert an’ me share a ‘ritance’ if we gets one?”
“Aye. If you have one.”
“Oh good,” the boy said, drying his tears. “Bruvver Bert’s me best friend.”
“Where did you and your dad live?” Struan asked.
“In a house. Wiv Bert’s mum.”
“Where was the house, lad?”
“Near the sea. Near the ships.”
“Did the place ever have a name?”
“Oh yus, it were called ‘Port.’ We was livin’ at a house in Port,” the boy said proudly. “Me dad sayed I were to tell you everythin’, truthful.”
“Let’s go back now, eh? Unless there’s anything else.”
“Oh yus.” Fred quickly tied up the bundle. “Me dad sayed to tie it up like before. Secret like. And not to tell. I be ready, Yor Worship.”
Struan opened the kerchief again. God’s death, what do I do with this treasure? Throw it away? I canna do that. Find the owners? How? They might be Spanish, French, American or English. An’ how do I explain how I got the jewels?
He went over to the huge four-poster bed and pushed it away from the wall. He noticed that his new evening clothes were laid out meticulously. He knelt down beside the bed. An iron strongbox was cemented into the floor. He unlocked the box and deposited the bundle with his private papers. The Bible that contained the other three half coins caught his eye and he swore. He relocked the box and moved the bed back in place and walked to the door.
“Lim Din!”
Lim Din appeared immediately, glassy-eyed and beaming.
“Bath plenty quick!”
“Bath all ready, Mass’er! Never mind!”
“Tea!”
Lim Din vanished. Struan crossed the bedroom to the special room that had been set aside solely for the bath and for the toilet. Robb had laughed when he had seen the plans. Even so, Struan had insisted that the innovation be built exactly as he had planned it.
The high copper bath was set on a low platform, and a drain led from it through the wall and into a deep rock-filled pit that had been dug in the garden. Above the bath a holed iron bucket was suspended from the beams. A pipe led into the bucket from the freshwater tank on the roof. There was a cock on the pipe. The toilet was an enclosed cabinet with a movable lid and removable bucket for the night soil.
The bath was already filled with hot water. Struan stripped off his sweat-sour clothes and stepped into the bath gratefully. He lay back and soaked.
The bedroom door opened and May-may came in. Ah Sam followed her, carrying a tray with tea and hot dim sum, Lim Din close behind. They all walked into the bathroom and Struan closed his eyes in quiet exasperation; no amount of explaining and chastizing had made Ah Sam understand that she could not come into the bathroom while he was having a bath.
“Hello, Tai-Pan,” May-may said with a glorious smile. All his irritation faded. “We’re having tea together,” she added.
“Good,” he said.
Lim Din picked up the soiled clothes and vanished. Ah Sam set down the tray merrily, for she knew she had won her bet. She said something to May-may in Cantonese, which caused May-may to laugh, and Ah Sam giggled and ran out of the bathroom and closed the door.
“What the devil did she say?”
“Woman’s talk!”
He lifted up the sponge to throw it, and May-may said hurriedly, “She said you were a mighty built of a mans.”
“Why for the love of God, will Ah Sam na understand a bath is a private matter?”
“Ah Sam’s very private, never mind. Wat for you’re shy, hey? She’s lots of pride in you. You’ve nothing to be shy of.” She took off her robe and stepped into the bath and sat at the other end. Then she poured the tea and offered it.
‘Thanks.” He drank the tea and then reached over and ate one of the dim sum.
“The fight was good?” she asked. She noticed the well-healed scars that her teeth had made in his forearm, and hid a smile.
“Excellent.”
“Why were you angry?”
“Nae reason. These are good,” he said, eating another of the pastries. Then he smiled at her. “You’re beautiful and I canna think of a nicer way to have tea.”
“You’re beautiful too.”
“Is the house feng-shuied?”
“When is the dress judging?”
“Midnight. Why?”
She shrugged. “Half before midnight, will you come back here?”
“Why?”
“I like to see my man. Take him away from that cow-busumed weevil mouth.” Her foot slid under the water. Struan recoiled at the intimate attack and almost dropped his tea. “Will you na do that and be careful, by God.” He intercepted her hand and laughed. “Now be a good girl.”
“Yes, Tai-Pan. If you’re likewise careful.” May-may smiled sweetly and let her hand rest quiet in his. “You dinna stare at me like you did at that devil womans, even though I’ve no clotheses on. What’s wrong with my busums?”