Jamie went through a litany about the falling price of goods they sold and escalating price of goods they had to buy, of demands for increased danger wages for their seamen, many of whom were of English-American heritage and were being forcibly pressed aboard roving, marauding warships of both North and South. "I could go on forever, Tai-pan. Russia and France are spoiling for a fight, so Europe's a tinderbox. All over India, Moslems and Hindus are killing, murdering each other, burning crops. Whole world's crazy." He hesitated. "More urgent, the Victoria Bank wrote again about the paper they carry on us here. The notes are due..."
"I know all about that and they can rot. The Bank's Brock-controlled, they've dropped us in the sewer financing Brock's takeover of Hawaiian sugar and they're out to bankrupt us.
They can all rot, by God." Malcolm's voice had thickened. Pain was shafting from his belly. "Think I'll finish all this paperwork in case the Witch sails on the tide. Why should she turn around so fast?"
After a moment Jamie shrugged. "Don't know, but I agree: any news to do with Brock's is bad news."
The Club meeting had quickly gravitated into the usual shouting, cursing, angry mass of men, increasingly heated, with plenty of drinking, talking and no one listening, with a single theme locking them all together: "God curse all governments, all bleeding tax collectors, all fat-arsed Admirals and Generals wot don't know their poxy place, wot don't do wot they're supposed to do which is listen to the business community, do wot we bloody say and Bob's your bloody Uncle!"
"Good on yer, Lunkchurch. I proposes ..."
Whatever the man proposed was drowned in the uproar as several shouted, "Let's impeach Wee Willie...."
Exasperated, Norbert Greyforth pushed his way through the crowd from the corner of the bar where he had begun the meeting and headed for Malcolm Struan who sat beside the door, Jamie nearby.
Dmitri called out, "No conclusion, Norbert?"
"What do you expect, Dmitri? It's up to tai-pans as ever was. Come along. Jamie, would you and..." Norbert was going to needle Malcolm by calling him young Struan but he remembered Sir William's very blunt and sour threat not to provoke him in public or else.
Even more he could feel Tyler Brock's letter burning in his pocket. He looked down at Malcolm and said politely, "Would you two please join me--a private chat, eh?
Dmitri you too?"
Malcolm had expected Norbert just to pass by with a curt nod. "Certainly. Where?
Outside?"
"In my office, if it pleases you."
The three men followed him. All on guard.
"Is Ocean Witch leaving on the tide?"
Malcolm asked.
"Yes."
Dmitri said, "Why the fast turnaround, Norbert?"
"Tyler's orders." Norbert noticed the sudden shadow cross Struan's face and he smiled to himself.
His temporary office was on the ground floor while repairs were being done to the fire-ravaged upstairs. The central staircase was blackened, the roof off in places but covered temporarily with sail canvas. "Proper bugger, the fire, but there you are, happens to everyone sometime. Fortunately as I said, the safes weren't touched nor the books and warehouse." He motioned to leather easy chairs. "Make yourself comfortable."
On the sideboard were glasses and drinks, whisky, brandy, gin, vintage wine, with champagne already on ice. His Chinese Number One Boy stood waiting to serve them. Their caution increased. "What's your pleasure?"
"Champagne," Malcolm said, the others echoing him. He was feeling fine now, the elixir as always encouraging him to seem inviolate as well as deadening the pain. When all glasses were filled, Norbert jerked his thumb at the servant who bowed and left them. "Health!" They returned the toasted mildly. He sat on the edge of the desk, tall, lean and confident.
"We're safe from ears here," he said. "First, we, us'n, we represent the three biggest companies, we should jointly write a complaint to Wee Willie, not that it'll do much good, and to the Admiral--we all agree he's an impediment. No reason, Dmitri why you shouldn't have at him too, Cooper-Tillman's got a lot to lose here as well as us. At the same time we should mount a campaign, Struan's and us in Parliament to settle Japan once and for all-- either we smash the Jappos and put them in their place or we quit."
"We're not quitting Japan," Malcolm said and McFay relaxed a little.
"Nor are we," Norbert said thinly, "that's only our ploy for those miserable bastards in Parliament." He picked up a file from the immaculate desk and selected a single sheet of paper. "This's a secret dispatch from London via Ocean Witch from one of our watchdogs there, dated September 16th."
"That's damn fast," Jamie said for all of them.
"We keep abreast, Jamie. Tyler says to share part of it with you three. I'll read it: Yesterday the Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer privately agreed in the next Budget to up the tax on tea by 4 pence the pound, a penny a pint on beer, shilling on all brandy and imported wines, doubling the tax on tobacco..." They all gasped.
"... doubling the import tax on cotton ..."
"Goddamn!" Dmitri exploded. "That's crazy! That and tobacco are the only cash crops we've got in the South! They do that what happens to our war and what happens to your goddam Lancashire mills?"
"We don't have cotton mills though Struan's have. There's more: To muzzle certain powerful factions on both sides of the House they're going to order all our opium plantations in Bengal torched and tea pl--"
"Jesus Christ!" Struan was aghast, Jamie purple and Dmitri in shock. "Then how do we trade in China for God's sake?
Opium to silver to..."
"Parliament don't give a tinker's fart for our Heavenly Triangle," Norbert said grimly, "or Asia, or China, or trade, only staying in office. They want to replant with tea." He replaced the paper in the folder and sat back on the desk, knowing full well the others would dearly love to know the veracity of the document, and what else was in it. "The Old Man said to tell you we've an informant close to the P.m.'s office, his whispers always been true in the past, and that's the God's truth. He says rightly we've got to get this bloody pair out, fast. Dmitri you've got to pressure them from your side. Tyler says whatever's necessary we'll do and asks you to do the same. Agreed?"
Dmitri said, "Agreed. Jesu, I can't believe it."
"I do." Struan raised his glass, wondering where Tyler Brock's trap was. "May they burn in Hell."
Solemnly they drank with him. Norbert refilled their glasses. His face had hardened to focus on Struan. "Next: we're all party to our duel. I don't need seconds and we agreed Wednesday dawn. Sorry, I'm on Ocean Witch tonight, sorry, Tyler's orders--so Wednesday's off. I sugg--"
"Why put it off, there's light enough now." The words were out before Malcolm could stop them and he was pleased that he had reacted so quickly and firmly though suddenly his brain seemed stretched. The silence intensified. Jamie had blanched.
"Not now." Eyes glinting and hiding his amusement, Norbert turned to Jamie and Dmitri, the formal seconds. "I suggest we postpone, gentleman's agreement, till I get back, about three weeks, eh? Then it'll be next day, whenever."
Jamie said, "That's a better idea, Tai-pan. Yes?"
After a moment the tightness in Struan's head seeped away. "Fine," he said, neither pleased nor disappointed but content that he had thrown down the gauntlet again. He did not notice Jamie and Dmitri cover their relief. They finished their drinks and left.
When he was quite alone, Norbert took out Tyler Brock's letter and reread it, his palms sweaty. The first part dealt with their spy's information.
The letter ended: "Get thy arse aboard Ocean Witch and leave on first tide, just thee no other passengers mind. Bring thy inner books, the Jappo gold-mining contract, and all bullion in thy control. We's to meet in Shanghai, secret--that's Witch's first port of call though manifest says direct Hong Kong-- Morgan, me and thee, fast as possible and secret, no one to be wiser. When thee returns to Yokohama, mayhaps thy bed'll be in godrotting Malcolm Struan's room, ay, with his doxie's tongue fawning all over thee if that's thy pleasure--soon she be for sale too.
We's just heard her Dad's fled Bangkok, like Hong Kong, more fraud and swindles, Frog officials this time. They be catching him, trying him and then the guillotine--Frogs bain't like our lily piss-arsed Peelers. Missus sends best wishes."
KYOTO Sunday, 16th November: Well after dark, Yoshi and his guard, muffled and disguised in nondescript clothes as ordinary soldiers, wearily picked their way through the deserted streets of the sleeping, ancient capital where Emperors and the Imperial court had lived for centuries.
The city had been constructed in Chinese fashion with straight streets, the cross streets at right angles, with the sprawling, Forbidden Palace and grounds central to it.
Only the roofs could be seen behind its tall walls --six Gates in the walls. Yoshi avoided it carefully, wanting to elude Ogama's patrols and samurai guarding the Gates, and when he arrived, unheralded, at the Shogunate barrack complex, he went to his own quarters and soon sank gratefully into a steaming bath that could easily hold eight.
"How many fighters do I have in Kyoto, Akeda?" he asked, the aches of his days of forced march beginning to seep away.