James clavell

"Great," he said, his voice throaty. He did not look at her. When they stopped he got out and went to her side and opened the door. She locked the car and they went to the elevator. Bartlett felt the pulse in his neck throbbing.

Two Chinese caterers carrying trays of canapes got in with them and asked for the Asian Properties flat. "It's on the fifth floor," she said, and after the caterers had got out Bartlett said, "Asian Proper-ties're the landlords here?"

"Yes," she said. "They're also the original builders." She hesitated. "Jason Plumm and Quillan are good friends. Quillan still owns the penthouse though he sublet it when we broke up."

Bartlett put his arm around her. "I'm glad you did."

"So'm I." Her smile was tender and her wide-eyed innocence tore at him. "Now I am."

They reached the eighth floor and he noticed her fingers tremble slightly as she put the key into her lock. "Come in, Linc. Tea, coffee, beer or a cocktail?" She slipped off her shoes and looked up at him. His heart was pounding and his senses reached out to feel whether the apartment was empty. "We're alone," she said simply.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

She shrugged a little shrug. "It's only some things."

He put his hands on her waist. "Orlanda..."

"I know, my darling."

Her voice was husky and it sent a tremor through him. When he kissed her, her lips welcomed him, her loins soft and unresisting. His hands traced her. He felt her nipples harden and the throb of her heart equal his. Then her hands left his neck and pressed against his chest but this time he held her against him, his kiss more urgent. The pressure of her hands ceased and once more the hands slid around his neck, her loins closer now. They broke from the kiss but held each other.

"I love you, Linc."

"I love you, Orlanda," he replied, and the sudden truth of it consumed him. Again they kissed, her hands tender but strong, his own hands wandering and in their wake, fire. For him and for her. More of her weight rested on his arms as her knees weakened and he lifted her easily and carried her through the open door into the bedroom. The gossamer curtains that hung from the ceiling to form the four-poster moved gently in the cool sweet breeze from the open windows.

The coverlet was soft and down-filled.

"Be kind to me, my darling," she whispered huskily. "Oh how I love you."

From the stern of the Sea Witch, Casey waved good-bye to Dunstan Barre, Plumm and Pugmire who stood on the wharf, Hong Kong side, where they had just been dropped, the late afternoon pleasant but still overcast. The boat was heading back across the harbour again—Peter Marlowe and the girls had already been dropped off at Kowloon—Gornt having persuaded her to stay on board for the extra trip. "I've got to come back to Kowloon again," he had told her. "I've an appointment at the Nine Dragons. Keep me company. Please?"

"Why not?" she had agreed happily, in no hurry, still in plenty of time to change for the cocktail party to which Plumm had invited her this afternoon. She had decided to postpone her dinner with Lando Mata for one day next week.

On the way back from Sha Tin this afternoon she had dozed part of the time, wrapped up warm against a stiff breeze, curled up on the wide, comfortable cushions that circled the stem, the other guests scattered, sometimes Gornt there at the conn, tall, strong and captain of the ship, Peter Marlowe alone in a deck chair dozing at the bow. Later they had had tea and cakes, he and Casey and Barre. During tea, Pugmire and Plumm had appeared, tousled and content, their girls in tow.

"Sleep well?" Gornt had asked with a smile.

"Very," Plumm had said.

I'll bet, she had thought, watching him and his girl, liking her—big, dark eyes, svelte, a happy soul called Wei-wei who stayed with him like his shadow.

Earlier, when she and Gornt had been alone on deck, he had told her that none of these were casual friends, all of them special.

"Does everyone here have a mistress?"

"Good lord no. But, well, sorry, but men and women age differently and after a certain age it's difficult. Bluntly, pillowing and love and marriage aren't the same."

"There's no such thing as faithfulness?"

"Of course. Absolutely. For a woman it means one thing, for a man another."

Casey had sighed. "That's terrible. Terrible and so unfair."

"Yes. But only if you wish it to be."

"That's not right! Think. of the millions of women who work and slave all their lives, looking after the man, scrubbing and cleaning and nowadays helping to support their children, to be shoved aside just because they're old."

"You can't blame men, that's the way society is."

"And who runs society? Men! Jesus, Quillan, you've got to admit men are responsible!"

"I already agree it's unfair, but it's unfair on men too. What about the millions of men who work themselves to death to provide—that jolly word—to provide the money for others to spend, mostly women. Face it, Ciranoush, men have to go on working until they are dead, to support others, and more than frequently at the end of their lives, a hacking, shrewish wife—look at Pug's wife for God's sake! I could point out fifty who are unnecessarily fat, ugly and stink—literally. Then there's the other neat little female trick of the women who use their sex to trap, get pregnant to ensnare, then cry havoc and scream for a highly paid divorce. What about Linc Bartlett, eh? What sort of a wringer did that wonderful wife of his put him through, eh?"

"You know about that?"

"Of course. You ran a tape on me, I ran one on both of you. Are your divorce laws fair? Fifty percent of everything and then the poor bloody American male has to go to court to decide what proportion of his fifty percent he can retain."

"It's true Linc's wife and her attorney almost put him away. But not every wife's like that. But God, we're not chattel and most women need protection. Women throughout the world still get a raw deal."

"I've never known a real woman to get a raw deal," he said. "I mean a woman like you or Orlanda who understands what femininity means." Suddenly he had beamed at her. "Of course, en route she has to give us poor weak bastards what we want to stay healthy."

She had laughed with him, also wanting to change the subject—too difficult to solve now.

"Ah, Quillan, you're one of the bad ones all right."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

Will there be a next week?

"What's going to happen tomorrow, Quillan? At the stock market?"

"Tomorrow can take care of tomorrow," he had said, the wind whipping him.

"Seriously?"

"I will win or I will not win." Gornt shrugged. "Either way I'm covered. Tomorrow I buy. With joss I have him by the shorts."

"And then?"

He had laughed. "Have you any doubt? I take him over, lock, stock and box at the races."

"Ah, you really want that, don't you?"

"Oh yes. Oh yes, that represents victory. He and his forebears have kept me and mine out. Of course I want that."

I wonder if I could make a deal with Ian, she had thought absently. Wonder if I could get the tai-pan to allow Quillan a box, his own box, and help make him a steward. Crazy for these two to be like bulls in a china shop—-there's more than enough room for both. Ian owes me a favour if Murtagh delivers.

Her heart fluttered and she wondered what had happened with Murtagh and the bank, and if the answer was yes, what Quillan would do.

And where is Linc? Is he with Orlanda, in her arms, dreaming the afternoon away?

She curled up again on the stern and closed her eyes. The salt air and the throb of the engines and the motion through the sea put her to sleep. Her sleep was dreamless, womblike, and in a few minutes she awoke refreshed. Gornt was sitting opposite her now, watching her. They were alone again, the Cantonese captain at the wheel.

"You have a nice sleeping face," he said.
"Thank you." She moved and rested on one elbow. "You're a strange man. Part devil, part prince, compassionate one minute, ruthless the next. That was a wonderful thing you did for Peter."

He just smiled and waited, his eyes strangely and pleasantly challenging.

"Linc's... I think Linc's smitten with Orlanda," she said without thinking and saw a shadow go over him.

"Oh?"

He laughed softly and she felt his dominance. "Ah, Ciranoush, you're the strange one. I don—"

"Will you call me Casey? Please? Ciranoush is not right."

"But I don't like Casey. May I use Kamalian?"

"Casey."

"What about Ciranoush today, Casey tomorrow, Kamalian for Tuesday dinner? That's when we close the deal. Eh?"

Her guards came up without thinking. "That's up to Linc."

"You're not tai-pan of Par-Con?"

"No. No, I'll never be that."

He laughed. Then he said, "Then let's make it Ciranoush today, Casey tomorrow and the hell with Tuesday?"

"All right!" she said, warmed by him.

"Good. Now as to Orlanda and Linc," he said, his voice gentle. "That's up to them and I never discuss the affairs of others with others, even a lady. Never. That's not playing the game. If you're asking if I've some devious plot, using her against Linc or you and Par-Con, that's ridiculous." Again he smiled. "I've always noticed that ladies manipulate men, not the other way around."

"Dreamer!"

"One question deserves another: Are you and Linc lovers?"

"No. Not in the conventional sense, but yes I love him."

"Ah, then are you going to marry?"

"Perhaps." Again she shifted and she saw his eyes move over her. Her hands pulled the blanket closer around her, her heart beating nicely, very conscious of him as she knew he was conscious of her. "But I don't discuss my affairs with another man," she said with a smile. "That's not playing the game either."

Gornt reached out and touched her lightly. "I agree, Ciranoush."

The Sea Witch came out of the breakwater into the harbour waves, Kowloon ahead. She sat up and turned to watch the Island and the Peak, most of it cloud covered. "It's so beautiful."

"The south coast of Hong Kong's grand around Shek-O, Repulse Bay. I've a place at Shek-O. Would you like to see the boat now?"

"Yes, yes I'd like that."

He took her forward first. The cabins were neat, no sign of having been used. Each had shower stalls and a toilet. A small general cabin served them all. "We're rather popular with ladies at the moment because they can shower to their hearts content. The water shortage does have advantages."

"I'll bet," she said, carried along by his joviality.

Aft, separate from the rest of the boat, was the master cabin. Big double bed. Neat, tidy and inviting.

Her heart was sounding loud in her ears now, and when he casually closed the cabin door and put his hand on her waist she did not back off. He came closer. She had never kissed a man with a beard before. Gornt's body was hard against hers and it felt good to her, her breath picking up tempo, his lips firm and cigar tasting. Most of her whispered: Go, let go, and most of her said, No, don't, and all of her felt sensual in his arms, too good.

What about Linc?

The question barreled into her mind like never before and all at once her mind cleared and, carried along by his sensuality, she knew for the first time with absolute clarity that it was Linc she wanted, not Par-Con or power if that had to be the choice. Yes, it's Linc, just Linc, and tonight I'll cancel our deal. Tonight I'll offer to cancel.

"Now's not the time," she whispered, her voice throaty.

"What?"

"No, not now. We can't, sorry. " She reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, talking through the kisses, "Not now, my dear, sorry, but we can't, not now. Tuesday, perhaps Tuesday..."

It would have been good for him, she thought strangely.

Her heart was pounding as she rested against him, waiting, re-couping, confident in a moment—with warmth and gentleness and the promise of next week—he would say, "Let's go back on deck."

Then all at once she felt his arms tighten around her and before she knew what was happening she was on the bed, his kisses strong and his hands wandering. She began to fight back but he caught her hands expertly and stretched her out with his great strength and lay across her, his loins pinioning her, making her helpless. At leisure he kissed her and his passion and her heat mingled with her fury and fear and want. As much as she struggled, she could not move.

The heat grew. In a moment he shifted his grip. Instantly she swept to the attack, wanting more though now she was preparing to fight seriously. Again his grip on her hands tightened. She felt herself swamped, wanting to be overpowered, not wanting it, his passion strong, loins hard, the bed soft. And then, as abruptly as he had begun, he released her and rolled away with a laugh.

"Let's have a drink!" he said without rancour.

She was gasping for breath. "You bastard!"

"I'm not actually. I'm very legitimate." Gornt propped himself on an elbow, his eyes crinkling. "But you, Ciranoush, you're a liar."

"Go to hell!"

His voice was calm and genially taunting. "I will, soon enough. Far be it for me to ask a lady to prove such a thing."

She threw herself at him, her nails hacking for his face, furious that he was so controlled when she was not. Easily he caught her hands and held her. "Gently gently catchee monkeeee," he said even more genially. "Calm down, Ciranoush. Remember, we're both over twenty-one, I've already seen you almost naked, and if I really wanted to rape you I'm afraid it wouldn't be much of a contest. You could scream bloody murder and my crew wouldn't hear a thing."

"You're a goddamn lou—"

"Stop!" Gornt kept his smile but she stopped, sensing danger. "The tumble was not to frighten, just to amuse," he said gently. "A prank, nothing more. Truly." He released her and she scrambled off the bed, her breathing still heavy.

Angrily she walked over to the mirror and pushed her hair back into place, then saw him in the mirror, still lying casually on the bed watching her, and she whirled, "You're a black-eyed bastard!"

Gornt let out a bellow of laughter, infectious, belly-shaking, and, all at once, seeing the foolishness of it all, she began to laugh too. In a moment they were both aching with laughter, he spread out on the bed and Casey leaning against the sea chest.

On deck, as good friends, they drank some champagne that was already opened in a silver bucket, the silent, obsequious steward serving them, then going away.

At the dock in Kowloon, she kissed him again. "Thanks for a lovely time. Tuesday, if not before!" She went ashore and waved the ship good-bye a long time, then hurried home.

Spectacles Wu was also hurrying home. He was tired and anxious and filled with dread. The way up through the maze of dwellings and hovels in the resettlement area high above Aberdeen was difficult, slippery and dangerous, mud and mess everywhere, and he was breathing hard from the climb. The runoff in the concrete storm drain had overflowed its banks many times in many places, the flood shoving structures aside and spreading more havoc. Smoke hung over many of the wrecked dwellings, some still smouldering from the fires that had spread so quickly when the slides began. He skirted the deep slide where Fifth Niece had almost perished the day before yesterday, a hundred or more hovels wrecked by new slides in the same area.

The candy shop had vanished and the old woman with it. "Where is she?" he asked.

The scavenger shrugged and continued to sift through wreckage, seeking good wood or good cardboard or corrugated iron.

"How is it above?" he asked.

"As below," the man said in halting Cantonese. "Some good, some bad. Joss."

Wu thanked him. He was barefoot, carrying his shoes to protect them and now he left the storm drain and forced his way over some of the debris wreckage to find the path that meandered upward. From where he was he could not see his area though it seemed there were no slides there. Armstrong had allowed him to come home to check when the radio news had again reported bad slides in this part of the resettlement area. "But be back as quickly as you can. Another interrogation's scheduled for seven o'clock."

"Oh yes, I'll be back," he muttered out loud.

The sessions had been very tiring but for him good, with much praise from Armstrong and the chief of SI, his place in SI assured now, transfer and training to begin next week. He had had little sleep, partially because the session hours bore no relationship to day or night, and partially because of his wish to succeed. The client was shifting from English to Ning-tok dialect to Cantonese and back again and it had been hard to follow all the ramblings. It was only when his fingers had touched the wonderful, rare roll of bills in his pocket, his winnings at the races, that a lightness had taken hold and carried him through the difficult hours. Again he touched them to reassure himself, blessing his joss, as he climbed the narrow pathway, the path at times a rickety bridge over small ravines, climbing steadily. People passed by, going down, and others were following going up, the noise of hammers and rebuilding, reroofing all over the mountainside.

His area was a hundred yards ahead now, around this corner, and he turned it and stopped. His area was no more, just a deep scar in the earth, the piled-up avalanche of mud and debris two hundred feet below. No dwellings where there had been hundreds.

Numbly he climbed, skirting the treacherous slide, and went to the nearest hovel, banging on the door. An old woman opened it suspiciously.

"Excuse me, Honoured Lady, I'm Wu Cho-tam's son from Ning-tok____"

The woman, One Tooth Yang, stared at him blankly, then started speaking but Wu did not understand her language so he thanked her and went off, remembering that this was one of the areas settled by the Yang, some of the northern foreigners who came from Shanghai.

Closer to the top of the slide he stopped and knocked on another door.

"Excuse me, Honoured Sir, but what happened? I'm Wu Cho-tam's son from Ning-tok and my family were there." He pointed at the scar.

"It happened in the night, Honourable Wu," the man told him, speaking a Cantonese dialect he could understand. "It was like the sound of the old Canton express train and then a rumbling from the earth, then screams then some fires came. It happened the same last year over there. Ah yes, the fires began quickly but the rains doused them. Dew neh loh moh but the night was very bad." The neighbour was an old man with no teeth and his mouth split into a grimace. "Bless all gods you weren't sleeping there, heya?" He shut the door.

Wu looked back at the scar, then picked his way down the hill. At length he found one of the elders of his area who was also from Ning-tok.

"Ah, Spectacles Wu, Policeman Wu! Several of your family are there." His gnarled old finger pointed above. "There, in the house of your cousin, Wu Wam-pak."

"How many were lost, Honourable Sir?"

"Fornicate all mud slides how do I know? Am I keeper of the mountainside? There are dozens missing."

Spectacles Wu thanked him. When he found the hut, Ninth Uncle was there, Grandmother, Sixth Uncle's wife and their four children, Third Uncle's wife and baby. Fifth Uncle had a broken arm, now in a crude splint.

"And the rest of us?" he asked. Seven were missing.

"In the earth," grandmother said. "Here's tea, Spectacles Wu."

"Thank you, Honoured Grandmother. And Grandfather?"

"He went to the Void before the slide. He went to the Void in the night, before the slide."

"Joss. And Fifth Niece."

"Gone. Vanished, somewhere."

"Could she still be alive?"

"Perhaps. Sixth Uncle's searching for her now, below, and the others, even though she's a useless mouth. But what about my sons, and their sons, and theirs?"

"Joss," Wu said sadly, not cursing the gods or blessing them. Gods make mistakes. "We will light joss sticks for them that they may be reborn safely, if there is rebirth. Joss." He sat down on a broken crate. "Ninth Uncle, our factory, was the factory damaged?"

"No, thank all gods." The man was numbed. He had lost his wife and three children, somehow scrambling out of the sea of mud that had swallowed them all. "The factory is undamaged."

"Good." All the papers and research materials for Freedom Fighter were there—along with the old typewriter and ancient Gestetner copying machine. "Very good. Now, Fifth Uncle, tomorrow you will buy a plastic-making machine. From now on we'll make our own flowers. Sixth Uncle will help you and we will begin again."

The man spat disgustedly, "How can we pay, eh? How can we start? How can we..." He stopped and stared. They all gasped, Spectacles Wu had brought out the roll of bills. "Ayeeyah, Honoured Younger Brother, I can see that at long last you have seen the wisdom of joining the Snake!"

"How wise!" the others chorused proudly. "All gods bless Younger Brother!"

The young man said nothing. He knew they would not believe him if he said otherwise, so he let them believe. "Tomorrow begin looking for a good secondhand machine. You can pay only $900," he told the older man, knowing that 1,500 was available if necessary. Then he went outside and arranged with their cousin, the owner of this hut, to lease them a corner until they could rebuild, haggling over the price until it was correct. Satisfied that he had done what he could for the Wu clan, he left them and plodded downhill back to headquarters, his heart weeping, his whole soul wanting to shriek at the gods for their unfairness, or carelessness, for taking so many of them away, taking Fifth Niece who but a day or so ago was given back her life in another slide.

Don't be a fool, he ordered himself. Joss is joss. You have wealth in your pocket, a vast future with SI, Freedom Fighter to manufacture, and the time of dying is up to the gods.

Poor little Fifth Niece. So pretty, so sweet.

"Gods are gods," he muttered wearily, echoing the last words he remembered her ever saying, then put her out of his mind.

As always when she saw the Hag's knife stuck through the heart of her father's portrait a shudder went through her. Dew neh loh moh, she thought, now there was a wild one, her with the unquenchable demon in her Jade Gate, ever secretly bemoaning the loss of the tai-pan, her husband's father, bemoaning her fate that she had married the weakling son and not the father, never to be bedded by the father, her Jade Gate unquenchable because of that.