China by Edward Rutherfurd (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

wants us to sign a bond that no cargo we bring to China in the future will contain any opium. Any crew found with opium is to be arrested,” Tully told him.

“It’s logical,” Trader said, “after all the trouble he’s been through to destroy this season’s opium.”

“Damned if I will,” said Tully. “For all I know, he’d use it as grounds to arrest me. Execute me as well, I daresay. He’s demanded that Elliot sign the bond as well, guaranteeing the whole thing. Elliot refuses even to look at it.”

It came as quite a surprise when, two days later, Matheson casually remarked that he had signed the bond.

“Why the devil did you do that?” Tully demanded.

“To get out of here, Odstock.”

“You intend to keep your word?”

“Certainly not.” Matheson smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, I signed the bond only under duress, so it doesn’t count.”

“Damn fellow,” Tully remarked with grudging admiration.

A few others signed. Elliot did not. Nothing more was said. Perhaps Lin didn’t need to bother. In the emperor’s eyes, which was what mattered, Lin had won already.

And now the British merchants began to leave. One day Trader saw the portrait of the former king being packed up and carried to the waterfront. On another day he watched a single merchant load forty cases of his own wine into a boat and set off downriver, guarding his precious cargo himself. Yet when Tully told him they’d be leaving the following morning, Trader suggested he should join his partner in Macao somewhat later.

“Read and some of the Americans are staying a few more days. I thought I might follow on with them,” he said. And though Tully looked a bit surprised, he didn’t object.

The truth was, John couldn’t quite bring himself to go. He had a place to stay in Macao. Tully had offered him a room in his own lodgings for the time being. That wasn’t a problem.

It was the secret prospect of bankruptcy hanging over him that held John Trader back. How could he face even the modest social life of Macao? What could he say about himself to the merchants’ wives and families that wouldn’t be a lie? The fact was, he felt more like hiding from the world than being seen in it.

If I could, I’d sooner swelter alone here in the factories all summer, he thought.

Failing that, he’d even begun to indulge in another dream. What if he absconded? He could write to his creditors, tell them to claim their loan from the government compensation, when it came; and then with good conscience he could take the cash he had in hand and disappear.

The world was a big place. Letters sent from India in the fastest ships still took months to get to England. It could take them years to find him, even if they tried.

And what would he do? Wander the world, like Read perhaps. He could pick up employment here and there. He might go to America. Who knows, he might make a fortune.

How strange: A short time ago he’d been dreaming of settling down with Agnes on a Scottish estate. Now the thought of a rootless life, without ties, almost without identity, suddenly seemed attractive. Free of obligation. Free to do what he liked. Free to find women, come to that, in any corner of the world. Many a young man’s dream.

Read seemed to like living that way. Perhaps they could travel together for a while.

Several days passed. The British were all gone now. Dr. Parker the missionary was remaining at his makeshift hospital, but the factories were closing down. Finally, Read told Trader that he, too, was off to Macao, and that he’d better come with him.

“But first, young Trader,” he added, “you’re going to join me and some friends for a day out.”

“All right,” said John. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

◦

The sun was shining on the waters of the gulf as Shi-Rong stood proudly beside Commissioner Lin to watch the destruction.

With every day that passed, his admiration for the commissioner had grown greater. It wasn’t just his moral strength, for Lin certainly lived up to his reputation for Confucian propriety. Single-handedly, without shedding blood, he had brought the barbarians to surrender. But just as impressive was his thoroughness. He was an awe-inspiring administrator.

“Stopping these barbarian drug dealers is only a first step,” he’d explained to Shi-Rong. “We must break our people’s evil habit.” The opium dens were being raided all over the province. In Guangzhou itself, there were piles of confiscated opium pipes a dozen feet high. “Even this is not enough,” Lin declared. “We must find ways to help the addicts lose their desire for the drug. They say there are medicines made with plums or willow and peach blossom that work. Make inquiries,” he ordered, “and see if you can discover what they are.” Failing that, addicts could be put in prison and denied the drug until they were cured.

Lin’s dramatic moves had already reached the ears of the court. One day, Shi-Rong saw a present arrive from Beijing. It came in a magnificent container, and he watched Lin first make the nine kowtows to the container, since it came from the royal hand, and then open it, letting out an “Ah…” of joy when he saw it.

“It is meat,” he told Shi-Rong. “Venison. You know what that means.”

The Chinese might write in ideograms, which expressed an idea rather than a sound, but in their spoken language, they made endless puns. In spoken Mandarin, the word for venison sounded the same as the word for promotion.

“Congratulations, Excellency,” Shi-Rong said quietly. “Promotion is assured.”

Lin nodded and, just that once, was too overcome to speak.

Lin’s arrangements for the destruction of twenty thousand chests of opium were a masterpiece. The site he had chosen was beside a creek that flowed into the Pearl River system. There was already a massive shed there, in which the chests of opium were stacked in long rows. Closer to the waterside, he had begun