Noble House

"It's terminated," Dunross said at once.
"Whatever you say," the old man muttered, but his neck was purple.
"I think you'd be more useful to Struan's as deputy chairman of the First Central Bank of Edinburgh."
Struan looked up sharply. "What?"
"That's one of our appointments, isn't it?"
"Yes," Alastair Struan said. "Why that?"
"I'm going to need help. Struan's goes public next year."
Both men stared at him, astounded. "What!"
"We're going publ—
"We've been a private company for 132 years!" the old man roared. "Jesus bloody Christ I've told you a hundred times that's our strength, with no god-cursed stockholders or outsiders prying into our private affairs!" His face was flushed and he fought to control his anger. "Don't you ever listen?"
"All the time. Very carefully," Dunross said in an unemotional voice. "The only way we can survive is to go public . . . that's the only way we can get the capital we need."
"Talk to him, Phillip—get some sense into him."
Nervously the compradore said, "How will this affect the House of Chen?"
"Our formal compradore system is ended from tonight." He saw
Phillip Chen's face go white but he continued, "I have a plan for you—in writing. It changes nothing, and everything. Officially you'll still be compradore, unofficially we'll operate differently. The major change is that instead of making about a million a year, in ten years your share will bring you 20, in fifteen years about 30."
"Impossible!" Alastair Struan burst out.
"Our net worth today's about 20 million U.S. In ten years it'll be 200 million and in fifteen, with joss, it'll be 400 million—and our yearly turnover approaching a billion."
"You've gone mad," Struan said.
"No. The Noble House is going international—the days of being solely a Hong Kong trading company are gone forever."
"Remember your oath, by God! We're Hong Kong based!"
"I won't forget. Next: What responsibility do I inherit from Dirk Struan?"
"It's all in the safe. Written down in a sealed envelope marked The Legacy.' Also the Hag's 'Instructions to future tai-pans.' "
"Where's the safe?"
"Behind the painting in the Great House. In the study." Sourly Alastair Struan pointed to an envelope beside the clock on the mantelpiece. "That contains the special key—and the present combination. You will of course change it. Put the figures into one of the tai-pan's private safety deposit boxes at the bank, in case of accidents. Give Phillip one of the two keys."
Phillip Chen said, "By our rules, while you're alive, the bank is obliged to refuse me permission to open it."
"Next: Tyler Brock and his sons—those bastards were obliterated almost a hundred years ago."
"Aye, the legitimate male line was. But Dirk Struan was vindictive and his vengeance reaches out from his grave. There's an up-to-date list of Tyler Brock's descendents, also in the safe. It makes interesting reading, eh Phillip?"
"Yes, yes it does."
"The Rothwells and the Tomms, Yadegar and his brood, you know about. But Tusker's on the list though he doesn't know it, Jason Plumm, Lord Depford-Smyth and, most of all, Quillan Gornt."
"Impossible!"
"Not only is Gornt tai-pan of Rothwell-Gornt, our main enemy, but he's also a secret, direct male descendent of Morgan Brock— direct though illegitimate. He's the last of the Brocks."
"But he's always claimed his great-grandfather was Edward Gornt, the American China Trader."
"He comes from Edward Gornt all right. But Sir Morgan Brock was really Edward's father and Kristian Gornt his mother. She was an American from Virginia. Of course it was kept secret—society wasn't any more forgiving then than now. When Sir Morgan became tai-pan of Brock's in 1859, he fetched this illegitimate son of his out of Virginia, bought him a partnership in the old American trading firm of Rothwell and Company in Shanghai, and then he and Edward bided their time to destroy us. They almost did— certainly they caused the death of Culum Struan. But then Lochlin and Hag Struan broke Sir Morgan and smashed Brock and Sons. Edward Gornt never forgave us; his descendents never will either —I'd wager they too have a pact with their founder."
"Does he know we know?"
"I don't know. But he's enemy. His genealogy's in the safe, with all the others. My grandfather was the one who discovered it, quite by chance, during the Boxer Rebellion in '99. The list is interesting, Ian, very. One particular person for you. The head of—
A sudden violent gust shook the building. One of the ivory bric-a-brac on the marble table toppled over. Nervously Phillip Chen stood it up. They all stared at the windows, watching their reflections twist nauseatingly as the gusts stretched the huge panes of glass.
"Tai-fun!" Phillip muttered, sweat beading him.
"Yes." They waited breathlessly for the "Devil Wind" to cease. These sudden squalls came haphazardly from all points of the compass, sometimes gusting to a hundred and fifty knots. In their wake was always devastation.
The violence passed. Dunross went over to the barometer, checked it and tapped it. 980.3.
"Still falling," he said.
"Christ!"
Dunross squinted at the windows. Now the rain streaks were almost horizontal. "Lasting Cloud is due to dock tomorrow night."
"Yes, but now she'll be hove to somewhere off the Philippines. Captain Moffatt's too canny to get caught," Struan said.
"I don't agree. Moffatt likes hitting schedules. This typhoon's unscheduled. You … he should have been ordered." Dunross sipped his wine thoughtfully. "Lasting Cloud better not get caught."
Phillip Chen heard the undercurrent of fury. "Why?"
"We've our new computer aboard and two million pounds worth of jet engines. Uninsured—at least the engines are." Dunross glanced at Alastair Struan.
Defensively the old man said, "It was that or lose the contract. The engines are consigned to Canton. You know we can't insure them, Phillip, since they're going to Red China." Then he added irritably, "They're, er, they're South American owned and there're no export restrictions from South America to China. Even so, no one's willing to insure them."
After a pause Phillip Chen said, "I thought the new computer was coming in March."
"It was but I managed to jump it forward," Alastair said.
"Who's carrying the paper on the engines?" Phillip Chen asked.
"We are."
"That's a lot of risk." Phillip Chen was very uneasy. "Don't you agree, Ian?"
Dunross said nothing.
"It was that or lose the contract," Alastair Struan said, even more irritably. "We stand to double our money, Phillip. We need the money. But more than that the Chinese need the engines; they made that more than clear when I was in Canton last month. And we need China—they made that clear too."
"Yes, but 12 million, that's … a lot of risk in one ship," Phillip Chen insisted.
Dunross said, "Anything we can do to take business away from the Soviets is to our advantage. Besides, it's done. You were saying, Alastair, there's someone on the list I should know about? The head of?"
"Marlborough Motors."
"Ah," Dunross said with sudden grim delight. "I've detested those sods for years. Father and son."
"I know."
"So the Nikklins're descendents of Tyler Brock? Well it won't be long before we can wipe them off the list. Good, very good. Do they know they're on Dirk Struan's oblit list?"
"I don't think so."
"That's even better."