had learned from her father and from the tutors he had brought in to teach her. He had wanted her to learn to read it too, so as to read to him from Chinese books which he could not understand. She and her Javanese mother had lived separately from his wives in a peaceful kampong amongst the Malays and it was his pleasure to visit them and watch whilst the old scholar made her write out the characters. In consequence of her quick intelligence and many years of such tutoring she had become proficient and she read to him from The Dream of Red Mansions and The Romance of the Three Kingdoms . He had given her the Chinese name of Jia Wen, though he rarely used it, and he liked her to dress as her mother had.
She had grown up in this unusual way, surrounded by Malays and their religion amongst a group of Javanese women who taught her beauty secrets and graceful dance and obedience, especially to her father.
She felt a small quiver of excitement. Her father had talked only briefly to her of this man. She knew her father loved her and trusted him absolutely. If this man was to be chosen for her, she very much wanted to see him. Cheng kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Zhen looked about him. The house was richly decorated with an eclectic mix of Chinese and English elements. Two large Venetian mirrors adorned the walls of the reception room above a Chinese table, which held an ornate French clock.
Cheng entered and Zhen bowed low to him as befitted a young man to an elder. Here they were not in the kongsi.
‘Thank you for honouring me.’
A servant brought tea and the two men discussed trivial things for a while.
‘Hong has been to visit me, to pay his respects.’
Cheng pursed his lips and waited.
‘He would not reveal what he intends to bid but I got the impression he wants to win. What you have said strikes me as correct. I believe he is involved in smuggling chandu into Riau, perhaps into Singapore. I have heard he has a headquarters on one of the islands in the Lingga Archipelago and runs chandu from there throughout the region.’
‘How does he obtain the raw opium?’
Zhen shrugged. ‘Doubtless piracy. Junks from China deliver their cargoes of coolies and leave here empty and scour the region. The British cannot stop them. The law does not permit it. As an important coolie broker, the captains of these ships need him. He finances them, they waylay the opium ships from India as they leave the Straits of Malacca and rob them. The chandu is easy to make on any of a thousand islands and everyone gets rich. Who can prove he is behind it?’
Cheng shook his head. ‘The man is a thief and a pirate.’
Zhen glanced at Cheng. We are all thieves, he thought. We take the goods of the native populations for as low as we can, abuse their labour, make addicts of them and go about our business. Only a fine line separated himself, Cheng and Hong. But Hong was a pedlar of human flesh, flesh like his own and others he cared for, and Zhen disliked him.
‘If you could prove it, the British would prosecute him for piracy and interfering in the legitimate activities of the revenue farmers.’
‘Prove it? How?’
‘That is not my problem. But I imagine it worries him somewhat so that is why he wishes to be the legitimate farmer. Otherwise he would just carry on as usual.’
‘It worries him. Yes. So he is vulnerable in some way.’
‘Seems like it. There are junk captains involved, and then there are the Penghulu, the island headmen, who all have to get a share. The Malays and Chinese rarely get on for long. Perhaps there’s been a problem. Only takes one disgruntled or jealous Penghulu to take to piracy himself. Murder the crew of the junk in some isolated river mouth, sink it, decide to keep all the opium to his own account and what can Hong do? He can’t police the islands which the Penghulu controls. He needs the cooperation of a lot of uncontrollable people over a wide area. You see?’
‘Yes, yes. You’re
She had grown up in this unusual way, surrounded by Malays and their religion amongst a group of Javanese women who taught her beauty secrets and graceful dance and obedience, especially to her father.
She felt a small quiver of excitement. Her father had talked only briefly to her of this man. She knew her father loved her and trusted him absolutely. If this man was to be chosen for her, she very much wanted to see him. Cheng kissed his daughter’s cheek.
Zhen looked about him. The house was richly decorated with an eclectic mix of Chinese and English elements. Two large Venetian mirrors adorned the walls of the reception room above a Chinese table, which held an ornate French clock.
Cheng entered and Zhen bowed low to him as befitted a young man to an elder. Here they were not in the kongsi.
‘Thank you for honouring me.’
A servant brought tea and the two men discussed trivial things for a while.
‘Hong has been to visit me, to pay his respects.’
Cheng pursed his lips and waited.
‘He would not reveal what he intends to bid but I got the impression he wants to win. What you have said strikes me as correct. I believe he is involved in smuggling chandu into Riau, perhaps into Singapore. I have heard he has a headquarters on one of the islands in the Lingga Archipelago and runs chandu from there throughout the region.’
‘How does he obtain the raw opium?’
Zhen shrugged. ‘Doubtless piracy. Junks from China deliver their cargoes of coolies and leave here empty and scour the region. The British cannot stop them. The law does not permit it. As an important coolie broker, the captains of these ships need him. He finances them, they waylay the opium ships from India as they leave the Straits of Malacca and rob them. The chandu is easy to make on any of a thousand islands and everyone gets rich. Who can prove he is behind it?’
Cheng shook his head. ‘The man is a thief and a pirate.’
Zhen glanced at Cheng. We are all thieves, he thought. We take the goods of the native populations for as low as we can, abuse their labour, make addicts of them and go about our business. Only a fine line separated himself, Cheng and Hong. But Hong was a pedlar of human flesh, flesh like his own and others he cared for, and Zhen disliked him.
‘If you could prove it, the British would prosecute him for piracy and interfering in the legitimate activities of the revenue farmers.’
‘Prove it? How?’
‘That is not my problem. But I imagine it worries him somewhat so that is why he wishes to be the legitimate farmer. Otherwise he would just carry on as usual.’
‘It worries him. Yes. So he is vulnerable in some way.’
‘Seems like it. There are junk captains involved, and then there are the Penghulu, the island headmen, who all have to get a share. The Malays and Chinese rarely get on for long. Perhaps there’s been a problem. Only takes one disgruntled or jealous Penghulu to take to piracy himself. Murder the crew of the junk in some isolated river mouth, sink it, decide to keep all the opium to his own account and what can Hong do? He can’t police the islands which the Penghulu controls. He needs the cooperation of a lot of uncontrollable people over a wide area. You see?’
‘Yes, yes. You’re
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