Read Online The Hills of Singapore by Dawn Farnham - Free Book Online Page A

sugar plantations had failed for the poor soil. The nutmeg trees had survived for a while but a disease had wiped them out. They were left with no alternative but to cooperate with the Chinese merchants who provided money for the gambier and pepper farmers and vitally, all the Chinese labourers.
    The entire source of income for the town of Singapore came from the revenue farms and the taxes on the houses and properties of the town, in particular the opium farm, which supplied over fifty percent of government revenue and depended on the addictions of the labourers themselves. These farms were profitable undertakings, but there was a great rivalry for this profit between the Hokkien and the Teochew which could spill into violence.
    â€œI’m bringing Min back to Singapore. Old Khoo is exchanging two of his brothels for the idiot son’s debts. I need you to make it good with the kongsi .”
    Qian poured more rice wine, and Zhen raised his glass and drank. They trusted each other absolutely and preferred to do business together wherever possible. They had first met on the road to Amoy, on the road to the port and the junk which would take them to Singapore. Qian, physically weak, had found a protector and friend in Zhen, and Zhen had liked Qian for his resemblance to his youngest brother. Zhen’s second daughter, Lian, was already promised to Ah Soon, Qian’s first son. United, they would have one of the greatest merchant houses in all the South Seas and share grandchildren. These networks of marriages and alliances formed the basis of the Chinese business empires.
    â€œMin still loves you, you know,” Qian said.
    Zhen shrugged. “What can I answer? Whores love anyone who is kind to them.” He poured more wine.
    Qian frowned. Zhen was being unkind. He did not think of Min like that. She had been sold into prostitution as a child. Zhen had been her patron in his early days in Singapore. When she had been beaten and left for dead by an English sailor, Zhen had saved her life, seen her cared for and placed in the care of Qian when he had become a wealthy man overnight. Qian had bought her out of the whorehouse in Singapore and set her up in business in Malacca.
    In a hard world, she had been lucky; she knew it and so did they. They had fallen together and now she was able, at least, to live a life over which she had some control. Zhen’s words had been thoughtless. He did not want anyone to love him but Xia Lou Mah Crow, that was the truth. Not his own wife, not Min. Qian knew that Zhen would like all these other women to leave him alone.
    And now she was here in Singapore, this woman he loved to desperation, wanting the impossible. Wanting, in effect, for her to agree to be his concubine. Qian despaired for his friend. He no longer felt like laughing. They both drank, and Qian brought out the wei qi board and began to talk of home.

7
    Government House had not changed. It stood square and solid on Bukit Larangan, looking down benevolently on the town, as it always had. The original building had been made of rough planks, Venetian shutters and an attap roof. Over the years it had been rebuilt in hardier materials, brick and tile, and this was the building before whose portals her phaeton now drew to a halt. Charlotte thought this house reflected in every way the unpretentious and simple origins of the town itself. It seemed to grow as the town grew, improving in construction and size to reflect the energy of the spreading streets around its feet.
    The hill itself was wreathed in myth. She knew that the first Resident, William Farquhar, had taken a party of men and cut a path to its top against all the terrified and tremulous agitation and advice of the Malay inhabitants. Haunted, they said, that was certain: haunted by the ghosts of past kings and no one should set foot on it. The remains had been revealed of the foundations of a large palace and there was a grave. The holy keramat of Iskandar