He looked covertly at Mauss. He respected him for being a merciless teacher and was grateful to him for forcing him to be the best student in the school. But he despised him for his filth, for his stench and for his cruelty.
Gordon Chen had liked the mission school and liked learning and liked being one of the children. But one day he had discovered he was different from the other children. In front of them, Mauss had told him what “bastard” and “illegitimate” and “half-caste” meant. Gordon Chen had fled home in horror. And he had seen his mother clearly for the first time and had despised her for being Chinese.
Then he had learned from her, through his tears, that it was good to be even part Chinese, for the Chinese were the purest race on earth. And he had learned that the Tai-Pan was his father.
“But why do we live here, then? Why is Chen Sheng ‘Father’?”
“Barbarians have only one wife and they don’t marry Chinese, my son,” Kai-sung explained.
“Why?”
“It is their custom. A stupid one. But that is the way they are.”
“I hate the Tai-Pan! I hate him! I hate him!” he had burst out.
His mother had hit him across the face, savagely. She had never struck him before. “Get down on your knees and beg forgiveness!” she had said in rage. “The Tai-Pan is your father. He gave you life. He is my god. He bought me for himself, then blessed me by selling me to Chen Sheng as
wife. Why should Chen Sheng take a woman with an impure two-year-old son as
wife when he could buy a thousand virgins if it wasn’t because the Tai-Pan wanted it so? Why should the Tai-Pan give me property if he didn’t love us? Why should the rent come to me and not to Chen Sheng if the Tai-Pan didn’t order it so? Why should Chen Sheng treat me so well, even in old age, if it wasn’t for the Tai-Pan’s perpetual favo? Why does Chen Sheng treat you like a son, you ungrateful halfwit, if it wasn’t for the Tai-Pan? Go to the temple and kowtow and beg forgiveness. The Tai-Pan gave you life. So love him and honor him and bless him like I do. And if you ever say that again, I’ll turn my face from you forever!”
Gordon Chen smiled to himself. How right Mother was, and how wrong and stupid I was. But not as stupid as the mandarins and the cursed emperor to try to stop the sale of opium. Any fool knows that without it there’s no bullion for teas and silks.
Once he had asked his mother how it was made, but she did not know, nor did anyone in the house. The next day he had asked Mauss, who had told him that opium was the sap—the tears—of a ripened poppy seedpod. “The opium farmer makes a delicate cut in the pod, and from this cut a tear of white liquid seeps,
hein? The tear hardens in a few hours and changes from white to dark brown. Then you scrape off the tear and save it and make a new, delicate cut. Then scrape off the new tear and make a new cut. You collect the tears together and mold them into a ball—ten pounds is the usual weight. The best opium comes from Bengal in British India,
hein? Or from Malwa. Where’s Malwa, boy?”
“Portuguese India, sir!”
“It
was Portuguese, but now it belongs to the East India Company. They took it to complete their world monopoly of all opium and thus ruin the Portuguese opium traders here in Macao. You make too many mistakes, boy, so get the whip,
hein?”
Gordon Chen remembered how he had hated opium that day. But now he blessed it. And he thanked his joss for his father and for Hong Kong. Hong Kong was going to make him rich. Very rich.
“Fortunes are going to be made here,” he said to Horatio.
“Some of the traders will prosper,” Horatio said absently, staring at the approaching longboat. “A few. Trading’s a devilish tricky business.”
“Always thinking of money, Gordon,
hein?” Mauss’s voice was rough. “Better you think of your immortal soul and salvation, boy. Money’s not important.”
“Of course, sir.” Gordon Chen hid his amusement at the man’s stupidity.
“The Tai-Pan looks like a mighty prince come to claim his kingdom,” Horatio said, almost to himself.
Mauss looked back at Struan. “Isn’t he,
hein?”
The longboat was in the foreshore waves.
“Oars ho!” the bosun shouted, and the crew shipped the oars and slipped over the side and dragged the boat smartly above the surf.
Struan hesitated. Then he leaped off the prow. The moment his seaboots touched the shore he knew that the island was going to be the death of him.
“Good sweet Christ!”
Robb was beside him and saw the sudden pallor. “What’s amiss, Dirk?”
“Nothing.” Struan forced a smile. “Nothing, laddie.” He brushed the sea spray off his forehead and strode up the beach toward the flagpole. By the blood of Christ, he thought, I’ve sweated and planned years to get you, Island, and you’re not going to beat me now. No, by God.
Robb watched him and his slight limp. His foot must be paining him, he thought. He wondered what the ache of half a foot was like. It had happened on the only smuggling voyage Robb had made. In saving Robb’s life when he had been helpless and paralyzed with fear, Struan had been fallen on by the pirates. A musket ball had carried away the outside of his anklebone and two small toes. When the attack had been beaten off, the ship’s doctor had cauterized the wounds and had poured molten pitch over them. Robb could still smell the stench of the burning flesh. But for me, he thought, it would never have happened.
He followed Struan up the beach, consumed with self-disgust.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Struan said as he joined some of the merchants near the flagpole. “Beautiful morning, by God.”
“It be cold, Dirk,” Brock said. “And it be right mannerly of thee to be so prompt.”
“I’m early. His Excellency’s not ashore yet, and the signal gun’s not been fired.”
“Yes, an’ a hour an’ a half late, an’ all arranged twixt you and that weakgutted lackey, I’ll be bound.”
“I’ll thank you, Mr. Brock, not to refer to His Excellency in those terms,” Captain Glessing sputtered.
“An’ I’ll thank you to keep yor opinions to yorself. I’m not in the navy and baint under yor command.” Brock spat neatly. “Better you think about the war yo’re not fighting.”
Glessing’s hand tightened on his sword. “I never thought I’d see the day when the Royal Navy was called on to protect smugglers and pirates. That’s what you are.” He looked across at Struan. “All of you.”
There was a sudden hush and Struan laughed. “His Excellency does na agree with you.”
“We’ve Acts of Parliament, by God, the Navigation Acts. One of them says, ‘Any unlicensed armed ship can be taken as prize by any nation’s navy.’ Is your fleet licensed?”