"No suh, at least he only told me what I was to pass on to Struan as secretly as I could."

"Jesus Christ," Norbert said, exasperated, "you'd better start from the beginning."

"He said I wasn't to tell you about my part until I'd accomplished it, until I'd done what he told me to do. I have, I'm in Malcolm Struan's confidence, so now I can tell you." Gornt sipped his champagne. "Very good wine, suh."

"Get on with it!"

"Sir Morgan told me to tell Struan a series of stories--he said it was near enough to the truth to hook Struan and through him the real tai-pan, Tess Struan. Suh, I can almost guarantee, the last of the Struan tai-pans is firmly hooked." Quickly Gornt gave him the substance of exactly what he had told Malcolm Struan. Ending it, he laughed.

"I'm to give him "the secret details" after the duel, en route to his ship."

"What're you to tell him?"

The older man listened carefully. Knowing the real details, he was fascinated to hear more of Morgan's craftiness. If Tess Struan acted on this false information, it would certainly buy Sir Morgan the extra few weeks he wanted. "But Sir Morgan," Norbert had said in Shanghai when the plan had been laid out, "it's foolproof now, you don't need extra time, I can do my part in Yokohama before Christmas."

"Yes, thee can, and will. But me an' Dad, we likes to be safer than safe, Lad, and extra time will make sure our necks be away from any ropes and our arses out of prison."

Norbert suppressed a shudder at the thought of being caught. No rope, but prison for fraud probably and Debtor's Prison a certainty. Sir Morgan's a crafty bugger all right, just like him to tell me one thing and Gornt another. He's saved me one risk, killing Struan. So it's England for me and five thousand a year but I lose the cream, the manor house and being rich. Better safe than sorry.

Norbert sighed. I was looking forward to putting a bullet into Malcolm and reaping the cream, he thought, Old Man Brock's words etched in his memory: "Norbert, there be cream in thy retirement. Thy bonus be upped by five thousand guineas a year if thee kills him, a thousand bonus for a bad wounding, thee's beached if thee's humbled."

"Morgan's clever, the plan's foolproof," he said with a smile. To make sure, testing him, added casually, "Isn't it?"

"Suh?"

"The small changes make all the difference, don't they?" He was watching him carefully.

"Sorry, suh, I don't know any details--other than what I've told you and he said to pass on to Struan."

"I'll have another Scotch--help yourself to wine," Norbert said, satisfied, then drank in silence until he had thought everything through. "You continue as if you haven't told me. Tomorrow I'll cancel the duel. Can't afford to kill or put the bugger out of action."

"Yes, suh, that was my immediate thought too."

Gornt handed him Malcolm Struan's letter, the equivalent of the one Norbert had signed. "He gave me this for you, but I suggest you don't cancel tomorrow, that might make him suspicious--and we might find out what's so important about Pearl, if he goes or if he doesn't."

"All right Edward, good idea." Norbert guffawed. "So Wednesday, young nipper Struan's on his way to disaster, eh?"

Gornt grinned. "On his merry way, suh.

Their Noble House is finished and ours begins."

"Yes." The warmth of the Scotch mixed with the warmth of the future. "Then you've decided to join us?"

"Yes, suh, if you approve. Sir Morgan said you'd have to approve."

"You keep this up and you're approved. Tonight was a good night's work, tiptop. 'night."

He bolted the door after him. Before he climbed back into the high bed he used the chamber pot and felt even better. His glass was on his side table, perched on a pile of books and magazines, still a quarter full. He settled himself against the high pillows he favored and picked up the half-opened book, City of the Saints, Burton's account of a stay among the mysterious, polygamous Mormons in Salt Lake City, Utah, another first for this, the most famous adventurer and explorer in the world, who spoke thirty or more languages, and whose exploits and idiosyncrasies were avidly followed in minutest detail.

He read a few paragraphs, then, distracted, tossed it aside. It's not as good as Pilgrimage to El-Medina and Mecca, he thought, or about discovering Lake Tanganyika.

Amongst all that Mormon snatch you'd think Burton who openly favors polygamy, which any fool knows is the right idea, would describe his conquests, he's done it enough times in other books to raise the old hackles. Some papers reported he had a baker's dozen of 'em, all at the same time, presented personally by Brigham Young, head of their "Latter-day Saints" Church and Governor of Utah. What liars!

But, my God, what a man--he's done more and seen more than any Englishman alive, makes you even prouder to be English. And with all the freedom to go where he wants, live as he wants, how he wants, what's he do but go back to England and get married to a good Englishwoman like any normal man. Of course, he left after a month and now they say he's somewhere in parts unknown, the Hindu Kush or up in the secret land on Top of the World, living with the snow giants...

He sipped more of the drink, and thought about Gornt. That young bugger's not as smart as he thinks. Anyone can work out what's aboard Pearl and why. Ketterer can keep a secret, so can Wee Willie but Michaelmas Tweet can't, nor Heavenly when he's in his cups, so I'd heard about Tess Struan's letters and that she's boxed Wee Willie, blocked the Church, blocked all ship captains, and through Ketterer the Navy--'cepting she's no power over the Navy!

And aboard Pearl is Marlowe. Marlowe could marry 'em--if Ketterer allows it.

He chuckled.

But Ketterer hates Struan's because they sold cannon to the White Lotus pirates, like us, like we've been selling cannon to any God-cursed warlord who'll buy, and will continue to do the same even if Struan's don't, and why not? They're legal and always will be. Parliament needs armament factories because armaments are great business and all governments like war--because wars are great business, and, most of all, because war covers up their own sodding incompetence.

To hell with governments.

Ketterer hates Struan's. For all his red-neck arrogance he's no fool, he would want practical results for a favor. Those he can't get--announcements from that young fool mean nothing--so he's cat-and-mousing him. Maybe he'll let Struan and his doxy go aboard, maybe he won't, but either way Marlowe won't be allowed to marry them--Ketterer wants Struan to crawl. The sod would make me crawl too if he'd a quarter of a chance and give me a hundred lashes to boot.

A large swallow of the fine whisky put him into a better humor and he laughed. So young Struan's stymied: no Pearl'-assisted marriage and back to Hong Kong, with or without his doxy, and into the sodding pit with his ma. Curious that I've got to leave the bugger alive when I'd planned to take the Old Man's cream: "... but Norbert, don't thee be a telling Morgan, he's agin any killing, he be wanting to see young Struan in't shit, his ma too! Remember, or I'll have thy guts for garters."

Must I stop the duel? I'll think about that.

Careful. I need the extra bonus.

Just like Morgan to give Gornt secret instructions and keep me in the dark. What else has he told Gornt he hasn't told me?

Never mind, Morgan's the clever one, with all of his Old Man's nerves but smooth with it, modern, no madness, and no risk--none of his Dad's brutal, merciless obsessions.

Morgan's our real tai-pan, and he'll be the tai-pan of the new Noble House. It's only taken twenty years to crush Dirk's company, the biggest that's ever been in Asia.

Satisfied he finished his drink, turned down the wick, and settled himself with a yawn. Sorry I never saw the Old Man in his heyday, or the tai-pan, old Green-eyed Devil himself, whom only the devil winds of the Great Typhoon could kill. Lucky that young fool inherited none of his qualities.