CAPRICORN CHRONICLES
David de Haviland

Volume I

COAST OF TEARS


Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 David de Haviland

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. 


This e-book was originally published in June 2011 on Smashwords.com under the title SHELL WIDOWS. Cover design by John Miles: john@onlinemarketizing.com 
New cover by Rita Toews: r.toews@shaw.ca 

COAST OF TEARS is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events,locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


David de Haviland both welcomes and appreciates honest reviews by his readers.



FOR
RHONDA

COAST OF TEARS

Prologue   – The major’s discovery
Chapter 1 – Aboard the Princess
Chapter 2 – Namaga 
Chapter 3 – The syndicate
Chapter 4 – The survey 
Chapter 5  - The compound   
Chapter 6  -  Andrew’s challenge
Chapter 7  -  Bull’s ghost
Chapter 8  -  Innuendo
Chapter 9  -  Mumbo jumbo
Chapter 10 - The People of the River
Chapter 11 – Aboard the SS Michelle
Chapter 12 – Rescue in the swamp
Chapter 13 – Henry’s warning
Chapter 14 – Nigel schemes 
Chapter 15 – Spirit of the finch
Chapter 16  - Karakara
Chapter 17 – Jiriga and the major
Chapter 18 – Horror on the jetty
Chapter 19 – Andrew’s ultimatum
Chapter 20 – Stairway to the moon
Chapter 21 – The Gadgeri in pursuit
Chapter 22 – Jiriga reports
Chapter 23 – Peewee’s tale
Chapter 24 – An early obituary
Chapter 25 – The divers’ graveyard
Chapter 26 – Whisper Bay magic
Chapter 27 – A fateful festival
Chapter 28 – A witch in the rainforest
Chapter 29 – Nuggets and pearls
Chapter 30 – Andrew makes a deal
Chapter 31 – Henry manipulates
Chapter 32 – Adelaide acts
Chapter 33 – The major wakes up
Chapter 34 – Fair exchange
Chapter 35 – The wreck
Chapter 36 – The storm brews
Chapter 37 – The sea claims
Chapter 38 – The wind destroys
Chapter 39 – The major and the shell widow
Chapter 40 – The spirits are avenged
Epilogue      - Or are they?




Book One
Prologue
Her sails spread wing-on-wing, the lugger entered the sound to make for the pearling settlement.  The black pennant flapping at her fore-mast  was clearly visible against a sky turning crimson with the approach of sunset. The moment folks in the settlement glimpsed this harbinger of grim news, they set aside what they were doing to hurry down to the quay.
The ever-swelling crowd was comprised mostly of women. As they gathered on the quay an  aura of tension settled over them while they watched and waited and worried if it was their father or brother or uncle or son who was the cause of the black pennant—and how he met his fate. 
In these latitudes night comes on swiftly. The sky deepened and darkened and soon, only the lanterns aboard the lugger were visible. 
On a knoll overlooking the strip of beach that abutted the waterfront an ancient squatted, his chant to the Ancestors floating on the tropic night air. He wore a faded sari about his bony hips and in the light of the rising moon his bald head looked like a skull
A peculiar clicking of the tongue issued suddenly from the deeper darkness about the knoll. His chant came to an abrupt end.
‘What brings you here?’ he demanded.
The spirit-woman stepped from behind a tree.
‘You said you would rid us of the gardeeya,’ she rasped. 
‘They are many,’ he pointed out. 
‘Find others to help you.’
‘Like who?’
‘The men at Three Mile.’
He spat in disgust. ‘They trade their wives and daughters with the gardeeya for a mouthful of rum. They will not lift a finger.’
‘What of the prisoners in the compound?’
‘They have no stomach.'
‘You must use whatever the spirits send your way!’
‘The spirits have no interest in an old man whose only wish is to die.’ 
His lament earned a sharp rebuke.The spirit- woman snapped, ‘Before you can join the Ancestors, you must make amends for what you brought down on us.’ 
‘I was merely a boy,’ he protested.
‘It was you who showed the gardeeya where to find water. Without it, they could not have stayed and inflicted their evil magic on us. They must be punished. I have done my share. You must finish what I have begun.’
She pointed at the lugger down on the moonlit sound now approaching the quay.
Its arrival was greeted with a tense silence. Neither the skipper nor his crew wanted  to be the first to break the grim news.  And no woman on the quay wanted to hear she had become yet another shell widow in this pearling settlement on the wild Kimberley Coast.
The coast of tears.


*****

Part One
Chapter 1
Frederick entered the telegraph station at Port Darwin to find it deserted. The chatter of a Morse key issuing from the inner office assured him there was an operator on duty. He rang the hand-bell on the counter. While waiting for someone to respond, Frederick removed the wide-brim hat and contemplated his reflection in the mirror that was over the inner doorway. 
Beneath the line where his hat usually rested the face was tanned from constant exposure to the sun. The tan emphasized the penetrating gaze from his tawny eyes. His thick copper mane matched the recently trimmed moustache and goatee. Despite the cloying humidity, Frederick’s khaki shirt and trousers were immaculate. His boots boasted a high shine and his erect posture betrayed Frederick’s military past. 
The key operator emerged from within. ‘I should have known it was you,’ he grumbled. ‘Who else in Darwin would show his face here at sparrow fart on a Sunday morning?’
‘Is there any word yet on the Capricorn Maiden?’
The key-operator shook his head.
‘But she was due weeks ago.’
‘So you keep reminding me, major. I do have a message for you.’
Frederick read the cable from Henry de Longe whose instructions were terse and explicit. VITAL YOU JOIN SURVEY PARTY BEFORE IT HEADS INLAND FROM NAMAGA.
‘I would like to send a reply.’
‘Forms are on the table over there.’
Filling in the London address where the cable was to be sent, Frederick wrote, ‘WILL PROCEED NAMAGA ASAP STOP PLEASE CONVEY MY FONDEST REGARDS TO ADELAIDE SIGNATURE CARNIVON.’
Frederick handed the key operator twenty pounds and waited while his change was scraped from a drawer beneath the counter.
‘See you tomorrow, major.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ Frederick vowed silently. 
Henry had cabled Frederick back in early November to proceed to Port Darwin where a package containing appropriate documents and more detailed instructions were awaiting his collection upon arrival. The cable said Frederick would require enough camels and an extra saddle for a companion to assist in his attempt to map a route from Western Australia's Kimberley coast to the Overland Telegraph line in the Northern Territory.
Frederick was not happy about having some unknown companion foisted upon him but had little choice since the financier was funding his coming expedition. As promised, the package was at the post office when he arrived in Darwin after his long trek from Alice Springs. That was back in December. It was now January. Thankfully, the wet season had yet to begin but Frederick was growing axious. The moment the rain began he would not be able to go anywhere. Damned if he was going to wait another day in Port Darwin for a vessel now weeks overdue.
****
This early in the day there were only a handful of Chinese merchants up and about to glimpse what, to them, must have been a strange procession: a tall white man riding in the vanguard of five burdened camels as they plodded in single file along deserted thoroughfares on their way down the hill to the harbour. 
Frederick spotted a vessel berthed at the wharf. The sign ‘For Charter’ hung from a rail. Tethering his camels under a banyan tree he went to investigate.
 Paddle wheels jutted prominently to either side of the craft. The wisp of smoke issuing from the chimney pipe implied somebody was aboard. On the lower deck he could see cords of wood stacked convenient to the furnace. Irish Princess was daubed on the blunt bow.  
‘Top of the morning to ye.’
The Irish lilt came from the man in the wheelhouse peering over the top of his newspaper.
‘I saw your sign,’ Frederick told him. ‘Would you be willing to take me out to those vessels anchored in the harbour? I’d pay for your services, of course.’
‘There’s a dinghy over there. You can row yourself.‘
‘I was hoping you'd ferry me around so I can find a skipper to take me where I wish to go.’
’Why would ye be asking one of them when I’m right here?’
‘Because I have to travel some four hundred miles by sea and my camels will be coming with me.’
Blue eyes, bright and shrewd beneath the bosun’s cap, flicked from Frederick to his camels. ‘You must be that explorer fellow.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I’ve been reading about you in this rag.’ The Irishman raised the newspaper and let it fall again. ‘Lord Fred, is it not?’
Frederick blinked. ‘Lord who?’
‘The photo doesn’t do you justice.’
‘What photo?’
‘Right here on the front page. The ramp’s out so come aboard. Maybe we can work something out. Where is it you’re wanting to go?’
Frederick removed the wide-brim hat but still had to duck his head to enter the wheelhouse. ‘A pearling settlement on the Kimberley coast,’ he answered.
‘That’s a lot of coast.  Would it be near the depot at Cambridge Gulf?’
‘If you would just ferry me out to a vessel that can take me there – ‘
‘You won’t find any skipper willing to make the trip this time of year.’
‘Why not?’
‘T’is cyclone season. That’s why all those vessels you’re looking at are riding their anchors in harbour. You’re fortunate I’m here.’
‘If it’s too risky for them,’ Frederick challenged, ‘what chance does this paddle-barge —‘
‘She wasn’t designed for the open sea,’ the Irishman granted. ‘When I brought her across the Arafura she pitched and tossed like a cork. But she has her advantages.’
‘She does?’
‘With her shallow draft and flat bottom my Princess can run for shelter where no one else would dare to go.’
‘I see no room for my camels.’
‘Sure and there’s plenty in the open hold up for’ard. Would there be fodder in those sacks they’re carrying?
Frederick nodded.
‘So bring them aboard!’
‘Right now?’
‘The tide’s at the full. We’d be wise to leave while it’s going out.’
‘What about provisions?’
‘I have all we need: firewood, food, and drinking water. I’ll stoke the furnace while you get your camels. By the way, folks call me Paddy.’
The Irishman shot down the steps to the after-deck.
Since the newspaper was right there on the chart table, Frederick could not resist drawing it toward him. The photo on the front page was taken the morning he left Alice Springs nursing a blinding hangover. Frederick winced. The caption beneath was even worse: Lord of the Vast Unknown. The article began by mentioning the man in the photo was the son of an English lord who arrived in these colonies two years ago with a contingent of camels and handlers from Afghanistan.
‘With his Ghans and dromedaries, Lord Fred has hauled supplies and ventured on expeditions into remote parts of the Northern Territory. Now he is about to launch another expedition into unmapped terrain where the natives are reputed to be hostile.  When I asked why he was willing to risk his life on so dangerous an enterprise he said he merely wants to see what is out there. His frivolous answer left this journalist wondering over the true purpose of a trek that courts disaster—even for our Lord of the Vast Unknown’. 
Paddy returned to the wheelhouse.
‘What the hell are you waiting for?’
Frederick flung the newspaper aside in disgust.
Abdul, Sinbad, Samantha, Diogenes and Aphrodite crossed the ramp without fuss to settle themselves in the forward hold. Their feed, packs and the equipment stowed, Frederick helped secure the ramp. Then, at Paddy’s bidding, he released the spring-line. Two sharp blasts from the hooter announced the Irish Princess was leaving the wharf.
****
‘You said the place is about four hundred miles from Port Darwin?’
‘That is what I was told,’ Frederick answered.
‘What’s it called?’
‘Namaga.‘
‘It isn’t marked on the chart.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘See for yourself.’’
Frederick’s eye went first to the Mariners Warning that stated shoals, reefs and the phenomenal tides in these waters rendered them hazardous to navigate. The chart was incomplete and traced only portions of the coastline extending south from Port Darwin. The depot at Cambridge Gulf was marked. So was the settlement much further south, at Roebuck Bay. Namaga was not marked anywhere.
Paddy tapped the chart with a callused finger. ‘It must be somewhere between Cambridge Gulf and Roebuck Bay.’
Frederick stared at the Irishman. ‘Are you telling me you don’t have the slightest notion where we are going?’
‘All we have to do is follow the coast until we find the place. It’s simple.’  
‘Simple? I’m the one who’s simple—for bringing my camels on a paddle-barge operated by an Irishman taking me where it plainly states his vessel should not go.’ 
Paddy wagged his head in mock dismay. ‘When I read about you in that newspaper I said to myself, now there’s a man after my own heart. He goes where angels fear to tread and to hell with them who say he can’t. Would I be willing to make this trip if I didn’t think I could get you there?’
Frederick told himself to relax. After all, the Irishman had brought the paddle-barge across the Arafura Sea. He went to check how the camels were faring. Finding them content, he paused on the for’ard deck to admire the charming display of ibises and herons stalking along the mudflats fingering out from shore.
‘We’ll anchor before nightfall,’ Paddy said, when Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. ‘What do you fancy for a meal?’
‘What do we have?’
‘Rice.’
‘And?’
‘And more rice. How do you like your rice?”
‘With curry. And onions.’
‘The curry is in the jar over the sink. The onions are hanging at the galley window. The galley is below.’
‘You expect me to cook?’
‘There’s only the two of us and one has to take care of the incidentals.’
‘In short, you are the captain and I am the crew.’
Slipping a leather thong over the helm to hold the Princess on course, Paddy led Frederick down the steep ladder to the galley. Frederick eyed the stove warily. ‘I’m not much of a cook.’
‘By the time we get to where we’re going,’ Paddy assured, ‘I’m confident you’ll have come up with a splendid recipe for curried rice.’
‘If we have any rice left by then,’ Frederick quipped.
‘T’is a dry sense of humour you have, Lord Fred.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Sure, and what else should I be calling you?’
‘My name is Frederick.’
‘That’s too much of a mouthful. The curry is in that cupboard level with your chin.’
As Frederick pulled open the cupboard door, the Irish Princess juddered to a halt. Plates, pots, pannikins and cooking utensils tumbled to the floor. Paddy shot aloft to disengage paddles thrashing uselessly in shallow water. Frederick scooted up the ladder after him.
‘What happened?’
‘We’ve run aground.’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘Me?’ Frederick took a deep breath. ‘You’re the captain of this –‘
‘I’m glad you remembered that, boyo.’
‘Are we just going to sit on this mud bank?’
‘Sure and why not? The paddles are fine. Your camels are fine. The tide will lift us off the mud when it comes in again. And I doubt we’ll find another opportunity like this until we get to where we’re going.’
‘I am not about to scrape barnacles off the hull if that is what you have in mind.’
‘Now that you mention it,’ Paddy observed, ‘she could use a good scrape. What I was thinking was,’ he grinned, ‘we could break out a bottle.’
‘What bottle?’
‘One of those I heard clinking in your bag.’
‘Did anyone ever tell you – ‘
‘Many times, Major Carnivon.’
Frederick stiffened. ‘I don’t recall telling you my surname. Nor, that I was a major.’
‘You did not,’ Paddy acknowledged. ‘But gossip travels faster in Port Darwin than any cable from overseas. Like the one from the Capricorn Maiden you were waiting for but never arrived.  Am I right?’
****
Frederick restored order to the galley, fixed a passable meal on the gimballed stove and opened a bottle of whisky. The dishes dealt with, he eased back in the seat behind the chart table. The tide raised the paddle-barge—as Paddy said it would. The Irish Princess chugged on over a glassy sea. 
At the helm, Paddy asked, ‘So what is this expedition you’re going on, major?’
‘Have you heard of a man called Henry de Longe?’
‘That’s like asking if I’ve heard of the Bank of England.’
‘He is wealthy,’ Frederick conceded.
Paddy roared with laughter. ‘Now there’s an understatement if ever I heard one. De Longe has companies all over the world!  Del Mining, Del Pastoral, Del Haulage, Del Foundries…’
‘He’s paying me to map a stock route inland from the Kimberley coast.’
Paddy turned his head to contemplate the dark smudge that was the coast a mile or so to port. ‘Inland to where?’ he asked.
‘The Overland Telegraph line.’
‘I hear the blacks are mighty savage, inland.’
Frederick sipped some whisky. ‘Utter nonsense. The blacks I have encountered in the Australian bush were far less savage than many white men it has been my misfortune to meet.’ 
Paddy conceded, ‘According to that article in the paper, you’ve trekked over more than enough so you must know what you’re doing. But you wouldn’t get me risking a spear in the gut in that wild country. And you’re doing it to map a stock route?’ Paddy wagged his in disbelief. 
There was, of course, more to Frederick’s forthcoming expedition than that. Fearing too much whisky might loosen his tongue, he returned the bottle to his saddle bag. The former major in Her Majesty’s Expeditionary Forces had learned from harsh experience when to keep his mouth shut. And, to be very careful where he placed his trust.
****
The whirlpool struck while Frederick was in the toilet. About to buckle his belt, he flew head first through the doorway and landed face down on the deck. The camels complained loudly while the Irish Princess whirled around and around at a giddy rate.
‘Get up here!’ Paddy shouted from the wheelhouse.
Clutching trousers about his waist, Frederick made it to the upper deck just as the whirlpool skittered away. Paddy greeted him with a roar of laughter. Frederick was not amused. ‘We’re lucky we’re still afloat.’
‘That we are, major. They say whirlpools in these waters suck vessels under.’
‘Then what do you find so funny?’
‘Your face,’ Paddy laughed, ‘when you flew out of the shit house.’
Frederick looked down at the swinging toilet door and he, too, burst into laughter.
When he was not stoking the furnace or occupied in the galley, Frederick filled in the passing of the days by reading the volume of Shakespeare he had acquired in Port Darwin, or sitting at the chart table jotting entries in his journal. He was penning an entry the morning Paddy spotted the splendid schooner. 
‘Now that,’ Paddy declared, ‘is a glorious sight.’
The Irishman’s gaze was fixed on the majestic display of sail some three nautical miles to seaward. The schooner was on a parallel course to their own and overhauling them rapidly. When sails billowed suddenly from her masts, Paddy announced, 'She's changing course.' Moments later, the sleek vessel was reaching to westward. ' I need to check the chart.'
Frederick put his journal away so Paddy could make use of the table.
‘That ship is swift and pretty but she can’t risk the shoals.’ Paddy stabbed his finger at the hazards that were marked. ‘My Princess can and will.’ He slapped the helm with pride. But his envious gaze lingered on the magnificent vessel until she was finally gone from view.
It seemed that Frederick was always in the midst of some mundane activity when the unexpected occurred. The following day he was hanging out his laundry on the foredeck when he saw the rock that scarcely broke the sea's mirror surface. He shouted a warning. Paddy responded instantly, water broiling under them as he reversed the paddles to bring the Irish Princess to a halt. Since this maritime hazard  was not shown on Paddy’s chart, he took bearings on the mainland to fix its position. Frederick made a note of them in his journal.
Adverse tides and currents had impeded the paddle-barge’s rate of progress. Anxious to get to Namaga before the survey party headed inland, Frederick insisted they bypass Cambridge Gulf and press on directly to their destination. The thin veil of overcast now visible to the north was worrying. The wet season might be upon them at any moment. Paddy too, was becoming apprehensive about the weather. And soon, he would have to replenish the diminishing stack of firewood on the after-deck. To save fuel and shorten their voyage, he decided to make directly for the tip of a cape to the south instead of hugging the coast.
As the sun dipped beyond the empty horizon the paddle-barge pitched and rolled over deep swells beyond sight of land. The motion would have driven Frederick from the galley when they began the voyage but now, it scarcely troubled him. He made coffee on the gimballed stove and delivered two pannikins safely to the wheel-house without spilling a drop. 
Paddy grimaced at what he tasted. ‘Christ, what did you make it with? Dish water?’ He tossed the coffee overboard. ‘Take the helm. Wake me only if you must.’
****
Paddy sat up with a start.  ‘What the hell is that stink?’
Frederick could also smell the stench. He peered into the night. 
‘There’s a boat of some kind out there.’
Paddy swung off the bunk to reach for his telescope.
On the open boat a mast had been jury-rigged to carry a patch of sail. The sea glittering in the bright moonlight, it was difficult to focus on whoever was at the tiller. The others in the boat looked as if they were fast asleep. Paddy yanked the hooter. Two sharp blasts failed to gain any response. 
‘Perhaps they can’t see us?’ Frederick ventured.
‘On a clear night like this?’ 
‘Can we get to them? They might need help.’
‘Toss some more logs in the furnace.’
Frederick hurried below. Paddy pushed the paddle-barge to full speed but the fitful breeze kept whisking the boat away. Exasperated, he cried, ‘Why doesn’t that fellow at the helm heave to?’
Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. ‘Can’t we go any faster?’
‘We’re at full speed now.’
The breeze died as suddenly as it had sprung up, allowing Paddy to approach the craft.
‘Oh, Jaysus.’
The man at the tiller stared back at them through unseeing eyes, a spear protruding from his hassock. Young blacks lay sprawled about the coffin that was in the whaleboat. They too, had been speared. Their attire—shorts and shirts—implying the young men were the priest’s acolytes. The stench overpowering, Paddy began closing windows.
‘I’ll check the boat,’ Frederick volunteered.
‘What the hell for?’
‘We can’t just leave them to drift.’
‘Why not?’ Paddy demanded. ‘There’s nobody in these waters but us.’
‘The man is a priest!’
‘So? I’m not about to tow that stench ashore to give him a Christian burial. Let the sea have the dead. It can have the boat too.’
‘At least allow me to make sure all of them really are dead before we push on.’
‘You must be joking!’
Frederick’s tone turned icy. ‘I do not make jokes about men’s lives.’
Muttering under his breath, Paddy brought the paddle-barge alongside. ‘I’m staying right here in the wheelhouse.’
Frederick clambered into the whaleboat and what he saw confirmed Paddy’s surmise: they were all very, very, dead. The priest, he noticed, was lashed to the tiller. All that remained of limbs dangling over the side were their stumps. Sharks had taken the rest. 
‘Water!’
The cry whipped Frederick around to eye the only place it could have come from—the coffin. The lid slightly ajar, he inched it up to peer inside. A pair of eyes blinked up at Frederick. He jumped, swallowed, and got a grip on himself. ‘You’ll have water soon. Understand?’ He was rewarded with a weak nod. ‘Good. First, I have to get you out of there.’
Paddy poked his head out the wheelhouse door. ‘What the hell’s keeping you?’
‘I’ll be there in a minute!’
One shoulder holding the lid open, Frederick reached down with both hands to gain a grip on the coffin’s occupant. As he heaved, their combined weight tilted the boat. As it capsized, both Frederick and the man he was heaving from the coffin were tumbled into the sea.
‘Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, what are you playing at?’ Paddy shouted from the wheelhouse. ‘This is no place for a dip. There are sharks in these waters.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? Throw me a line.’
Paddy scampered to the deck and hurled a line. With his free hand, Frederick grabbed the end that fell in reach. ‘Haul me in.’
Paddy obliged and gaped when Frederick heaved the young black up on deck.
'Where the hell did he come from?'
Scrambling out of the sea, Frederick panted,  ‘He was in the coffin.’
The Irishman rolled his eyes.
****
The mission black said his name was Timothy. He did not know his age. Frederick put it between twenty and twenty-five. Timothy intoned grace in perfect English when they sat down to lunch in the wheelhouse. He was wearing the khaki shirt and trousers Frederick had provided. Having slept the clock around, he had yet to inform his rescuers what had occurred on the boat.  They watched and waited with growing impatience while Timothy consumed yet another helping. Frederick's patience snapped when there was no curried rice left on the plate.
'So what happened?' he demanded.
‘There was magic in the coffin… bad magic.‘
 The bad magic was a sick woman who staggered into the mission and died. The priest wanted to bury her immediately but Timothy cautioned him the evil spirit that caused her sickness would frighten away those who came to the mission to learn about Jesus. 'I told Father Dietz, the evil spirit can not travel over water so the woman  must be buried on an island. So we put the coffin in the boat.'
‘Then what happened?’ Frederick urged.
The whale-boat had been loaned to the mission to collect mail and supplies from passing ships.Neither the missionary nor his acolytes knew anything about sailing nor  how to make good use of the sail they rigged. Pushed on by a powerful current, the boat drifted toward an island where warriors raced from the trees intent on seizing the craft. A volley of spears was launched.
‘Tie me!’ the priest cried. ‘I am steering the boat. I must not fall.’
Spears rained down while Timothy lashed the priest to the tiller. As warriors began wading toward the boat, Timothy heaved back the lid on the coffin.
“Mein Gott! What are you doing?’
‘The evil magic will drive them away.’
‘Nein! Is verboten!’
‘Father, we’ve got to do something!’
Tied to the tiller, the priest could only shout protests as Timothy hauled the woman’s body into plain view of the warriors closing in. Then a spear slammed into the priest. Another volley rained down. Acolytes screamed. In the open boat there was no place to evade the spears. Timothy did not hesitate. Jumping into the coffin he pulled down the lid.
The disease-ravaged body sprawled across the boat's prow was enough to drive the warriors away but Timothy was too frightened to risk raising the lid. He fell into a stupor while the boat drifted on…
****
The chapel, its walls lime-washed, stood out prominently atop the bluff at the tip of the cape. Frederick surmised the two buildings nearby were the priest’s residence and a dormitory. Paddy steered his paddle-barge toward the small landing jutting from the bottom of the bluff.
‘Was it Father Dietz who taught you to speak English?’
Frederick and Timothy were standing on the fore-deck. In the open hold, camels milled about, restless in their confinement.
Timothy said, ‘Father Dietz could not speak much English. He only came to the mission a year ago. I was taught by the Brother who found me in a dugout when I was a child.’ Timothy pointed across the gulf that separated the cape from the mainland. ‘The canoe drifted from over there.’
The afternoon haze obscured that distant shore. Frederick swung his binoculars back to the mission buildings where he now spotted a coach-and-pair standing in the shade of a solitary tree. A man was walking from the coach toward the path leading down the cliff. Frederick asked, ‘Who might that be?’
It took Timothy a few moments to accustom himself to using the binoculars. Then he sucked in his breath. ‘That whitefella is Boss Tug.’
‘A missionary?’
Timothy shook his head emphatically. ‘Boss Tug works for Mister Duggan.’
‘Do you mean the pearler, Bull Duggan?’
Timothy nodded. ‘Mister Duggan loaned the boat to Father Dietz.  Boss Tug will be very angry when he finds out what happened to the boat. I had better hide.’ 
Timothy handed back the binoculars and hurried from the fore-deck. 
The man was now coming down the hill to the landing. After another sweep of the mission with his binoculars, Frederick returned to the wheelhouse. Paddy said Timothy was down in the galley and jerked a thumb over one shoulder to the band of dark cloud looming across that horizon.
‘The weather is closing in and the landing is on a leeward shore. No place for my Princess in a storm.’
****
The man Timothy called Boss Tug was waiting on the landing when the Irish Princess drew alongside. He wore a waistcoat buttoned over the cotton shirt tucked into his rough serge trousers. On his head was a Derby hat.
'I'll take the line,' he offered.
Catching it deftly, he slipped the line over a bollard. After lines had been secured and fenders placed, Paddy stepped down to the landing.
‘Where did you come from, Guv’nor?’ he was asked, in a thick cockney accent.
‘Port Darwin,’ Paddy answered.
The cockney’s astonishment was obvious.
Feigning ignorance, Paddy asked, ‘What is this place?’
‘It’s a mission.’
‘No offence, but you don’t look like a missionary to me.’
‘I bloody hope not,' was the indignant reply. 'The Bible-basher isn’t here. He took off in my whaleboat. Did you happen to see it on your way down the coast?’
‘We did—and we didn’t.’
‘What's that supposed to mean?’
‘We saw a boat.’
‘Where?’
‘Not far from some islands to the north.’
‘Was anyone in it?’
‘A priest and some blackfellows.’
‘That would be my boat all right. Where are they now?’
‘That’s hard to say.’
‘You mean… they’re dead?’
Paddy nodded. ‘Speared.’
The cockney took off his Derby to scratch his scalp. It was covered by a thatch of wiry hair. ‘So what happened to my whaleboat?’
‘It sank before we could run out a line to retrieve her.’
‘Damn. Mind you, I’m not saying it’s your fault. I’m Tug.’
Paddy took the extended hand. ‘Folks call me Paddy. And this,’ he added as Frederick stepped to the landing, ‘is Major Carnivon.’
Tug’s gaze flicked over Frederick and then to the camels in the forward hold. ‘Major... we were expecting you on the Maiden.’
‘I waited in Port Darwin for the Capricorn Maiden but the vessel failed to arrive. Nor did I receive a message to say it ever would,' Frederick added.
‘There’s no telegraph in Namaga.’
‘Of which I am well aware,’ Frederick returned. ‘I doubt any lugger could carry my camels, anyway.’
 ‘The Maiden’s no lugger,’ the cockney shot back. ‘She’s the finest schooner under sail from Namaga to the Azores. Six hundred tons deadweight, ninety seven feet bow to stern: room enough on her decks for fifty camels.’
Paddy snapped his fingers. ‘Would she have three mains’ls, tops’ls, top gallants, and three jibs?’
‘That’s the Maiden.’
Frederick realized what they were talking about. ‘You mean I could have been on board that beautiful ship we saw?’
‘Ah, but think of all the fun you’d have missed,’ Paddy said—meaningfully.
The cockney nodded to seaward. ‘There’s a storm building. If you move your paddle-barge around the point and tuck her into the mangroves she’ll be safe enough. Is there anything you need?’
‘Firewood and drinking water,’ Paddy answered promptly.
‘There's a well on the other side of the hill. Now you've told me the priest is dead I’m closing up the place. So help yourself to those cords of firewood behind the chapel.’ He turned to Frederick.  ‘After the storm blows over, major, you might as well go back to Darwin.’
Frederick bristled. ‘Who are you to tell me so?’
‘I manage Duggan Pearling Company.’
‘The man I am to deal with is Bull Duggan—not his manager.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘Bull’s dead.’
 The news jolted Frederick. ‘In that case l will have to conduct my expedition without him. I gather the survey party arrived?’
‘It did,’ Tug acknowledged. ‘And it left.’
‘Without me!’
‘When you didn’t show up on the Maiden the bloke in charge figured you weren’t coming so he headed inland.’
The cockney turned on his heel to tramp back up the hill.
****
Timothy was still hiding in the galley when Frederick stepped back aboard. ‘Did you hear what that fellow said about closing the mission?’
Timothy nodded.
‘So what do you want to do?’
Timothy answered without hesitation. ‘I want to go with you.’
‘Ever ridden a camel?’
‘I never saw a camel before now.’
‘Then you had better learn how to handle them.You’ll have to if you are coming with me.’
Frederick told Paddy the camels would haul the firewood and water he needed. 
The Irishman asked, ‘What then, major?’
Frederick rummaged in his saddlebag. ‘I did not travel from Alice Springs to Port Darwin and then down this coast to be shooed away by that fellow up the hill.’ Frederick found what he was looking for. ‘I shall be back shortly.’
The cockney was inside the mission residence stowing the priest’s personal items in a battered chest. Frederick thrust out the document he was holding. ‘This is my copy of the agreement between De Longe Enterprises and Duggan Pearling Company. It states clearly that I must be furnished what accommodation and supplies I may need upon arrival in Namaga.’
‘Major, I know what that Agreement says. I signed it.’
‘Then we have no cause for dispute over its terms.’
‘You still plan to make the trek inland?’
‘I do.’
‘But I just told you, the survey party left days ago.’
‘I should be able to follow its trail.’
‘Providing you don’t get speared.’
‘A risk I am prepared to take. You drove up from the settlement in that coach?’
‘I did.’
‘How do I get there on a camel?’
‘I’ll draw you a map.’
‘Thank you.’
****
After Frederick left the residence an old Malay came to the door.
‘You want me to unload the coach, Boss Tug?’
‘Not much point unloading when we haven’t got a boat to take the stuff where it has to go.’
The Malay pointed to the landing. ‘Boat down there, boss.'
Tug frowned. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’
After stowing the priest’s few possessions in the chest, Tug drove the coach down to the landing. Paddy stepped out from the wheelhouse. ‘Hey, Irishman! The major's heading down the cape on his camels. What are your plans?’
‘As soon as the storm blows over I’ll be on my way up to Cambridge Gulf.’
‘Would you be interested in a charter?’
‘I’m always interested—if the money is right.’
‘Cash in your hand,’ Tug promised. ‘But you’ll need a man to show you where to go.’ He pointed at the Malay now standing beside the coach. ‘Bung Eye used to be a bosun. He knows these waters like the back of his hand. If it suits, hang on to him. If not, we’ll bring him back from the depot in a month or so.’
‘Fair enough,’ Paddy agreed readily.
‘All I ask is: you tell nobody where you delivered these supplies.’
‘I never discuss my private business with anyone.’
‘Then it’s a deal. I’ll give you a hand to put the stuff aboard.’
The provisions were transferred from the coach. Tug handed Paddy a wad of bills. ‘And here’s the map I drew for the major so he can find his way down to Namaga. Tell him I said he can stay at the Duggan bungalow.’
‘The Duggan bungalow,’ Paddy echoed.
Tug climbed back to the high front seat of the coach and flicked the reins. Their load lightened considerably, the two hackneys departed at a ready trot.
****
It was evening by the time Paddy had manouvered his paddle-barge around the point to the safer mooring among the mangroves. He took a bottle and two pannikins to the mission residence. ‘You were smart to camp up here on the hill, major.The mozzies are murder down in that swamp.’
‘The Malay I saw on board... How did you come by him?’
‘Old Bung Eye – ‘
‘That’s his name?’
‘One eye points to starboard while the other is looking right at you. The cockney loaned him to me to work as crew up at Cambridge Gulf.’  
‘Is that where I can write to you?’
Paddy nodded. ‘And where’s your new assistant?’
‘Spending tonight in the room he used to occupy.’
Pouring whisky, Paddy asked, ‘How did he fare with the camels?’
‘Far better than I expected, to be honest.’
‘So he’s definitely going inland with you?’
‘I need somebody to assist with any survey work while I’m out there. What do I owe you for the trip, Paddy?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Now be serious.’
‘I am.’ Seeing Frederick's bewilderment, Paddy chuckled. ‘I wasn’t getting any charters in Port Darwin and I heard the depot in Cambridge Gulf was getting busy. But my crew had gone walkabout and I wasn’t about to head down the coast alone.’ Paddy took a sip from the pannikin and grinned, ‘Then you bowled along.’
‘Customer, crew, and complete idiot,’ Frederick said ruefully.
In comfortable silence they sipped whisky and watched the stars wink out as thick cloud advanced across the evening sky.
‘Something on your mind, major?’
‘How did you know?’
‘The way you’re tugging on your moustache,’ Paddy replied.
‘Do you remember asking me if I believe in destiny?’
‘I remember you didn’t give me a simple answer.’
‘It isn't a simple question.' Before Paddy could resond to that statement, Frederick declared, 'I believe Timothy and I were destined to meet.'
'You do?'
'He's young. He's bright. He's versed in various native languages and he speaks English. I can't think of a better replacement for the man who was originally intended to accompany me inland.'
Paddy's blue eyes fixed on Frederick's face. 'You’re so set on going,' he surmised, 'you’re trying to justify what you fear might be a big mistake.’
Frederick sighed. The Irishman was right. According to Henry's report, Bull Duggan was not only a competent seaman, he was a capable man in the bush. Whereas, while Timothy was ideally suited as an interpreter—should they encounter  natives inland—he had been raised on a mission. How would he fare out in the bush?
Paddy added, shrewdly,'And there's more to this expedition you're about to make than mapping a stock route,'  .
Frederick nodded reluctantly. Then, abruptly, he downed his whisky and set the pannakin aside to open his saddle bag. Taking out what had been stowed carefully inside, he held it up to the lamplight.
'It's huge!' the Irishman exclaimed.
'It is,' Frederick agreed readily, turning the mother-of-pearl so its silver face caught the lamplight. 'And I was told that such a splendid specimen had to come from the waters along this coast.'
'Did you buy it in Darwin?'
Frederick shook his head. 'I found it on a skeleton.'
'I should have known,' Paddy muttered dryly.
'In the Tanami.'
'The what?'
'The Tanami Desert. After a dust storm. Our camels had not sated their thirst in two weeks. Our canteens were nigh empty. And I had already decided to abandon the expedition when the dust storm forced us to hunker down at a dry waterhole. The storm stripped away the soil covering a skeleton. By the look of it, the skeleton had been there for decades. Centuries perhaps. Since I was probably the first whiteman  to venture into that part of the Tanami, it had to be a native. The shell was resting in the skeleton's ribcage."
Paddy was intrigued by Frederick's account but wondered what the shell had to do with the major's coming expedition. 'Go on.'
Frederick continued, 'To my knowledge, the natives of this land travel only on foot. I was riding a camel. I had a  string of dromedaries to carry my water canteens, provisions and equipment but I was forced to abandon the expedition because we could not find water. Yet a native who was travelling on foot carried this shell hundreds of miles from the coast, over brutal arid terrain, to that isolated waterhole in the Tanami Desert. How could he have done that, Paddy?'
The Irishman poured whisky into Frederick's pannakin. 'You tell me, major.'
'There had to be a route—a trade route, perhaps—with waterholes along the way to sustain his trek. If I can find that route...'
Frederick fell silent and sipped from his pannikin.
'You think the shell will help you find that route?'
'I feel it will serve that purpose when I encounter natives inland. That's why I need Timothy...with Timothy as my interpreter I'll be able to communicate with them.
After Paddy wended his way back down the hill in the starlight to the mangroves where Bung Eye helped him aboard, Frederick took from his saddlebag a bottle of ink , writing pad and envelopes. Despite the whisky he had consumed he could not sleep, his mind churning with all the various aspects of his expedition. The harsh reality he may not survive the trek—especially now the survey party had departed without him—meant he could no longer afford to confide only in himself.
He had to trust somebody.
****
A net rigged over his bunk to fend off the mosquitoes, Paddy slept later than was his custom. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee as Bung Eye entered the wheelhouse with a steaming pannikin brought him awake. Paddy climbed out from under the net and took a tentative sip. The Malay’s coffee was a vast improvement over Frederick’s awful brew. Paddy looked up the hill to see the camels had gone—the major and Timothy already on their way to Namaga. Bung Eye handed him a note written in Frederick’s firm hand.
On your chart table you will find a copy of the map that shows what rivers have been discovered in this region. I have marked those deemed navigable and drawn attention to a prominent junction on the Victoria River. Unless you hear from me beforehand, that is where I want you to bring the supplies listed separately, the last week in July.  And would you deliver the letter I leave in your care to the first vessel that calls into Cambridge Gulf for postage to England.
The envelope was addressed to ‘Miss Adelaide de Longe.’
*****

Chapter 2
'Are you sure this way is quicker, Timothy?'
'Too right, Boss Fred. If we go the whitefella way we got to wait maybe half a day for the tide when we get to Dead Man.'
The cockney's map had traced a route down the seaward coast to a place called Whisper Bay. There, it curved in toward the heart of the cape before arcing back again to that coast where a creek's estuary marked the northern end of a long stretch of shore marked as Dead Man Beach. When Frederick had asked how the beach came by that name, Timothy had merely shaken his head and said, 'We don't go that way, boss. We go blackfella way.'
The blackfella way followed the opposite shore.
Swaying along on Abdul, Frederick gained only an occasional glimpse of the stretch of water that separated the cape from the mainland. Much of it was obscured by a dense tangle of mangroves that harbored mosquitoes. The insects rose in clouds to pester Frederick every step of the way as he followed Timothy into the unknown.
‘This is much better than walking!' Timothy enthused.
Despite his initial apprehensions over riding a camel, Timothy had taken to this mode of travel as if he were a veteran cameleer. In the saddle originally intended for Bull Duggan, he was completely at home on Samantha. Frederick was both astonished and thankful his new-found assistant had such an affinity for the dromedaries. All but Diogenes had accepted him readily. However, Diogenes had good reason to resent the close proximity of  any man with black skin, Frederick knew,  so he cautioned Timothy to treat the camel with due caution when handling him, and to be wary of his inclination to bite. 
That evening, they approached the wide estuary of a sizeable river that fed into the bottom of the gulf. Rain had yet to fall but, mindful of the cloud looming across the northern sky, Frederick wanted to take advantage of the starlight and press on during the night.
Timothy wagged his head firmly from side to side. ‘Spirits walk about at night, Boss Fred. We must camp here,’ he insisted. ‘I will build a fire to keep them away.’
In other circumstances Frederick would have exerted his authority. However, it  had been many weeks since he spent a long day on the back of a camel. His legs and back ached. He was weary. And, more to the point, he had yet to gain measure of the mission acolyte now acting as his guide. Thankfully, the smoke from their campfire helped deter some of the mosquitoes and he was able to gain a few hours sleep.
At dawn, after a pannikin of hot tea and tinned beans for breakfast, Frederick helped Timothy harness the camels and load their packs. He cautioned Timothy, ‘A camel is steered by the peg in its nose. The peg is attached to a length of twine. If you yank too hard on the twine it will break. That is to ensure the rider does not damage the camel’s tender nose. And the nose must be kept clean at all times. That is your responsibility. Understood?’
Timothy nodded.
‘After I show you what you must do,’ Frederick added, ‘I expect you to look after our camels and take good care of them.’
The camels keeping to their steady pace, by noon Frederick and Timothy had left the open plain behind them to sway on over low hills of pindan scrub where dunes of white sand tumbled away to the right. The rising breeze prompted Frederick to cast anxious glances upward at dark clouds racing overhead. The storm had resumed its advance to the south.
‘How much further, Timothy?’
‘More yet.’
‘You keep saying that! If you know where we are going and where we are, you ought to be able to tell me how far we have to go.‘
‘I don’t know how far anything is,’ Timothy protested. ‘I just know how long it takes me to walk there. I don’t know how long it will take this camel to walk there.’
Frederick took out his fob watch—a splendid Hunter—to check the time. It was 1:22 exactly. Returning the expensive timepiece to the inside pocket of his safari jacket, Frederick took up the argument they had been engaged in for much of the morning. He said. ‘How a person who quotes entire passages from the Bible can believe mumbo jumbo about spirits roaming about in the night is beyond me. There are  no such thing as spirits—except in a bottle.’
Timothy’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve got spirits in a bottle?’
‘I was making a joke!’
‘Blackfella got spirits everywhere.’
‘Ridiculous.’
‘Spirits make powerful magic.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘That’s why I come with you, Boss Fred. You’ve got powerful magic!'
'I have?' Then, as if caught out by such flattery, Frederick protested, ‘Nonsense! Utter nonsense.'
Timothy persisted, ‘When I spoke to the spirit—‘
‘What spirit?’
 ‘The spirit in the coffin,' Timothy reminded. 'Father Dietz prayed to Jesus and we rowed and rowed but that did not help so I said to the spirit, “Spirit! You got to make magic so you can get me out of this coffin where I don’t belong.” And that,’ Timothy summed up, ‘is what happened.’
‘Spirit, my eye! It was me who hauled you out of that coffin.’
‘But it was the spirit who made the magic to bring you to me.’
‘If we had not smelled those rotting cadavers we would not have known the boat was there.’
Timothy nodded. ‘The spirit made the stink so you would find the boat.’
Unable to think of any further riposte to challenge Timothy’s implacable logic, Frederick nudged Abdul up th eimmediate rise and there he paused to motion at the dark cloud scudding overhead. ‘Do you think my magic can get us to Namaga before we get soaked?’
Timothy’s face creased in a wide grin. He pointed to what was now visible, before them.
They were sitting their camels on the crest of a hill that sloped down to the curving shore of a braod sound. From this vantage Frederick could see the rooves of bungalows that spread up the hill from the warehouses, stores and shanties abutting the waterfront. His gaze then rose to the magnificent sailing vessel riding her anchor a few cables removed from a freighter that looked shabby by comparison. Frederick recognised the schooner immediately. It was the vessel he  and Paddy had seen on their way from Port Darwin. The Capricorn Maiden.. 
‘Well I’ll be…’ Frederick murmured aloud.
Timothy grinned. ‘See, Boss Fred? I said you got powerful magic.’
****
Sailors off the Capricorn Maiden contributed to the boisterous crowd jammed into the public saloon this early afternoon. Though it was a Tuesday, this particular Tuesday happened to be Chinese New Year—as good an excuse as any in the settlement to drink the day away—especially during the cloying heat of the wet season. And the only hotel in Namaga was doing a lively business. The number of sailors enjoying a respite from the sea was further swollen by seamen off the freighter and the local lugger crews presently confined to their home base for the layover.
The hotel's lounge was off-limits to the mob in the saloon. It catered to the more affluent members of Namaga's diverse community. They surged in through a separate door over which gaped the jaws of a massive shark—complete with teeth that could chomp a man in half, and probably had. The shark was merely one of the many that hunted prey in the sound when the tide was in.
Oil paintings of clippers and schooners and the obligatory portrait of Her Majesty decorated the lounge's rattan walls. A huge plate of mother-of-pearl and a diver’s helmet rested on the mantle over the seldom-used fireplace. Above the mantle was a portrait of the settlement’s founder: Bull Duggan.
The Rum Luck Hotel overflowing with customers, the publican had assigned himself to meeting and greeting the folks in the lounge and making sure they all had at least another drink in front of them as he moved from table to table, topping up flutes of champagne for the ladies. The sudden commotion in the public saloon demanding his immediate attention, he begged their indulgence and went to deal with the problem.
Terry's reputation and his vast proportions were enough for burly seamen to move aside, as minnows before a whale, when he approached the two characters snarling at each other in the saloon. Each man had a broken bottle clutched in his fist. Not about to waste breath appealing to their better natures, Terry slammed their heads together and bounced both men off his ample girth through batwing doors into the street. Then, dusting off his hands, he grabbed magnums of champagne from the ice chest and returned to the lounge leaaving his wife to field the demands being hurled at her across the saloon bar.
The Chineses cook plucked at her sleeve. ‘Missee Sally!
Sally was too busy pouring beers to even glance at him. ‘Not now, Wong.’
‘Missee…fire!’
Smoke billowed from the kitchen.
‘Oh, Christ.’
Sally abandoned the taps, grabbed the fire bucket and plunged through smoke to  fling sand over the flames leaping from a pan. Pushing open the window, she gulped air and waited there until the smoke cleared before going back to the taps. Tears streaming down her face, she entered the saloon to find it was empty.
Terry came in carrying a tray of glasses. He looked around. ‘Where the hell did everyone go?’
'Must have been something worth looking at for this mob to leave the bar,' was Sally's dry observation.
Mystified, the couple head for the batwing doors to find out for themselves.
****
The Rum Luck Hotel faced on to a broad thoroughfare called Pearl Way. Paved with shell grit, Pearl Way separated the shanties and alley-ways of Chinatown from pearling emporiums and warehouses lining the actual waterfront. Narrow channels  piers fingered from these structures through a patch of mangroves to the open sound beyond. The thoroughfare ended in a dirt road that wound up Bungalow Hill. And from that direction was approaching the cause of the sudden exodus from the pub.
The camels presented a novel sight. While they were used widely in Australia this was the first time any had set foot in this pearling settlement. Sitting tall and erect on the lead camel, the fellow with moustaches, goatee and mane of copper hair cut a sterling figure. In his wake came three pack camels with burdens swaying on their backs. Behind them, a blackfellow astride a camel was bringing up the rear. The caravan was forced to come to a halt by the crowd in front of the pub impeding its further progress.
‘Where the devil did you come from?’ demanded a fellow whose suit and bowler hat made him conspicuous among master pearlers in their tropic whites.
‘Alice Springs,’ was Frederick’s reply.
The crowd echoed the banker’s cry of amazement. ‘Alice Springs!’  
‘By way of Port Darwin.’
The frown on the banker’s brow disappeared. Holding aloft the newspaper that was delivered to him from the freighter, he surmised, ‘You must be Lord Fred.’
Frederick groaned.
‘Allow me to be the first to buy you a drink.’’
The prospect of a stiff whisky was enough for Frederick to dismiss his chagrin over the unwelcome title. Leaving Timothy to tend the camels, he allowed himself to be ushered into the lounge. ‘What is your pleasure, Lord Fred?’
‘A whisky if I may. And the name is Carnivon.’
‘Ah yes,’ the banker acknowledged. ‘I'm holding a package for you. I’ll organize the whisky.’
The banker moved away. The crowd closed in on Frederick—all eager to meet the famous explorer. A man informed Frederick his general store was also the post office. ’A telegraph message came for you on the freighter.’
The publican brought Frederick a whisky. ‘Welcome, Lord Fred.’
‘Major!’
‘Eh?’
‘It is Major Carnivon.’
Terry shrugged. 'Welcome to Namaga, anyway.’
Frederick downed the contents of the glass and gasped. The whisky was rough and raw. The banker introduced him to the master pearlers, their wives, and a horde of people in the lounge whose names he would never remember. He finally managed to ask if anyone could direct him to the Duggan bungalow. The banker said it would be his pleasure. Glad to escape the unwanted attention foisted upon him by that damn newspaper article, Frederick followed him outside. He was urged to climb into the waiting coach.
‘Where shall my assistant bring the camels?’
The banker pointed to the road leading up the hill.
‘How on earth did you get here from Port Darwin on camels?’ he wanted to know, after Frederick had issued his instructions to Timothy.
‘By paddle-barge to the mission,’ Frederick answered. ‘That’s where I met a fellow named Tug. He said I could stay at the Duggan bungalow.’
‘Ah.’
The coach rocked on its high springs on the way up the hill. 
‘You say you have a package for me?’
‘The fellow in charge of the survey party asked me to hold it for you. It being Chinese New Year, my bank is closed. But I shall arrange for delivery this afternoon.’
‘Thank you. I did not catch your name.’
‘Wilfred,’ was the reply.  ‘Feel free to stop by the bank when I’m open for business. Most buyers avail themselves of my services.’
‘Buyers?’
‘For companies who market our shell overseas.’ The banker pointed out a fenced paddock on the way up the hill. ‘You can put your camels in there.’
The coach came to a halt outside a sprawling weather-board bungalow shielded from the road by a low hedge thick with oleander blooms. Wilfred tucked the news-paper under one arm before climbing down to open the small gate. ‘How long do you plan to stay, major?’
‘Only overnight,’ Frederick answered. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll be on my way to catch up with the survey party.’
The banker glanced up at heavy black cloud now advancing swiftly over the settlement. ‘I doubt that will be possible.’
‘Oh?’
‘That cloud tells me it’s going to rain. All the low ground will be under water by morning. You were lucky to get here before it began.’
For a fleeting moment, Frederick weighed pushing on immediately. He realized as quickly that would be foolish. Even if the package left for him contained a map of the survey party’s intended route, he had to stock up on provisions. It was far too late in the day to deal with final preparations before setting off into the unknown.
‘Margaret Ferguson takes care of the bungalow,' the banker added. 'I will ask her to stop by and get you squared away.’
‘Is there a place for my black assistant to stay?’
‘Send him out to Three Mile.’
‘I prefer he remain near my camels.’
The banker pursed his lips. ‘In that case, he can use the garden shed.  Be sure to provide him a note stating his purpose in Namaga. Black servants are confined to their employer’s premises after sundown. Any black caught violating the curfew is thrown in the prison compound.’
Ushering Frederick along the path to the wide veranda that wrapped around the bungalow, Wilfred climbed the steps and pushed open the front door. It opened into a huge living room. The chess set on the writing bureau caught Frederick’s eye.
‘Nice set,’ he complimented. ‘Who plays?’
‘Bull’s son.’
‘Is he living here?’
Wilfred shook his head. ‘Andrew left Namaga some years ago.’ Pointing to the pen, ink bottle and stationery on the bureau, he added, ‘I require a written request to release the package from my bank so it can be delivered to you.’ 
Frederick sat down at the bureau desk and penned his request.
Wilfred thrust the newspaper in front of him. ‘Would you autograph the photo? My friends call me Wilf.’
Mindful the banker had extended him every courtesy; Frederick duly wrote ‘Best wishes to Wilf’ and scrawled his signature across the newspaper photo.
‘Thank you. And if my bank can provide any small service—‘
‘I would like to cash a cheque.’
Again, the banker pursed his lips. ‘I hate to refuse a famous gentleman like your self, but to cash a cheque one must hold an account—unless it is drawn on the Bank of England.’
‘This is drawn on De Longe Enterprises.’ Frederick removed the cheque from his wallet and held it out. ‘Henry signed it himself.’
‘My word!’
‘Does that make any difference?’
His attention fixed on the cheque, Wilf murmured, ‘Well, well, well.’
‘Will you cash the cheque?’ Frederick pressed.
‘Pardon? Oh, yes! Of course I will, Major Carnivon. Endorse it and I will send the funds with my clerk this afternoon.’
****
Timothy arrived with the camels shortly after the banker left. Once they were relieved of their burdens, he led them down to the paddock. Frederick was opening the packs to ensure his vital equipment was still intact when a woman carrying a covered basket stepped up to the veranda. Setting it down on the table she introduced herself as Margaret Ferguson. Frederick judged her to be somewhere in her early thirties and noted the wedding ring on the left hand. She showed him to a spacious bedroom. ‘Will this suit?’ she asked.
The linens spotless and the bed large, Frederick said it certainly would.
‘I gather you just came down from the mission. Would you care for a bath?’
Frederick said, ‘If it is not too much trouble, Mrs. Ferguson.’
She went to the veranda to bang on the tray that was hanging there. ‘Peewee!’ she cried. ‘Get the fire going and fix some hot water!’
Only then did Frederick notice the old man squatting beneath the spreading limbs of the huge poinciana tree that dominated the front garden. The faded sari about his waist seemed to cling to his thin frame as he rose slowly to pad toward the house. At the foot of the steps he paused to fix his dark eyes on Frederick. Then he moved on silently to the rear of the house.
****
‘I thought you would like something that you can warm up on the stove.’ Margaret Ferguson showed Frederick the contents of the basket.
‘Most considerate of you,’ he said. 'Thank you, Mrs Ferguson.'
Her gaze went to lowering sky. ‘My children are waiting tea. Would you mind if I leave now?’
‘Not at all.’
Frederick had bathed and was wearing clean khakis when the clerk delivered the package and some bank notes in an envelope. While Frederick counted them the clerk cast his anxious gaze at heavy black cloud moving in over the settlement. Frederick signed the receipt proffered to him. The clerk almost snatched it from his hands in his haste to hurry from the bungalow and back down the hill.
Frederick opened the package.
As he had hoped, the leader of the survey party had provided a map of his intended route inland.
Based on the original drawn up by Alexander Forrest when his party penetrated the Kimberley region in 1879, this updated version denoted pastoral properties now under lease. Pencilled in was the intended route from Namaga. There was also a small oblong parcel, bound securely, every knot sealed by wax. Frederick checked the seals were intact before he read the note.
The Surveyor General handed me the enclosed item just before I left Perth and said to give it to Major Carnivon when I met up with him in Namaga. My apologies for not waiting for you but we had to head inland before the rain began. Perhaps you will be able to catch up with us. Best regards, John Carter.
Frederick broke the seals and removed the cord to find a slender metal box. Inside, he saw what appeared to be thick pencils resting in a bed of cotton wool. Instead of graphite encased in wood, a gem was cemented to one end of each pencil—the gem tapering to a rectangle with four even points. Frederick took one out of the box to inspect it closely.
‘Sapphire,’ he murmured.
The other pencils were marked: Topaz, Zircon, Fluorite, and Quartz. Written inside the lid of the box was each gem’s hardness value. Enclosed with the set of hardness pencils was a brief note, ‘As you probably know, a sapphire won’t scratch a diamond. Good luck.’ The note was signed by the General Manager of Del Mining Industries. Frederick snapped the box shut and stowed it with his survey instruments.
The rain began while he and Timothy were sitting on the back veranda eating the food Margaret Ferguson had provided. Isolated drops heralded a deluge that was deafening on the bungalow’s corrugated iron roof. Timothy had to shout to make himself heard.
‘How long will we stay in Namaga, Boss Fred?’
Frederick stared at the rain teeming down. ‘Longer than I intended,’ he answered glumly. ‘Much longer.’
****
It was impossible for Timothy to make it to the garden shed without getting drenched so Frederick told him to camp on the veranda that night. Rain was still falling when Frederick stepped out to the veranda next morning. A steady sing-song reached his ears despite the rain and drew his attention to the old man squatting under the poinciana in the garden. He seemed indifferent to whatever fat drops penetrated the tree’s broad canopy to fall on his bare shoulders. Frederick roused Timothy.
‘Who is that old man?’
‘Whitefella call him Peewee. He belongs to this place.’
‘He does? I would like to speak with him.’
‘Not now, boss. He is talking to the spirits. I tell him later.’
It crossed Frederick’s mind there was little hope for the missionaries if their acolytes still harboured notions about spirits after all the religion that was drummed into them. ‘I want you to check our camels and make sure they are still inside the paddock where you put them.’
‘It’s raining, boss.’
‘If that old man can sit in the rain, you can put up with getting wet. Do it now.’
****
Tug brought the hackneys to a halt at the stables.
The farrier burst into laughter. ‘Did you go for a swim in the swamp?’
Tug was splattered with mud. The coach had bogged almost to the axles on his way down the cape. Only by laying into the hackneys with the whip while standing knee deep in mire was he able to get it moving again. ‘Take care of the horses,’ He said grumpily before walking on to the hotel. Terry was sweeping out the saloon. He poured Tug a stiff rum and refrained from comment on his dishevelled appearance.
‘Much rain up on the cape?’
Tug knocked back the rum in one swallow. ‘It caught up with me coming down Dead Man Beach. Did Carnivon show up?’
Terry told him the major was up at the Duggan bungalow. ‘The freighter has been and gone. I sent the mail over to your office.’
Tug’s office was on the upper floor of the Duggan Pearling Emporium, almost directly across Pearl Way from the hotel. The mail had been stacked on his desk. Among the many bills he found an envelope and a cable addressed to the General Manager of Duggan Pearling Company. Seeing the De Longe Enterprises banner on the envelope, Tug opened it first.
Henry’s brief letter assured Tug the tragic news of Bull’s untimely death had not affected the agreement they had reached over De Longe Enterprises building an abattoir in the settlement—provided the Namaga Syndicate erected a jetty so the abattoir could make use of it to ship beef elsewhere. Henry added, 'To demonstrate my commitment to this enterprise, a barge-mounted pile-driver had already been despatched so work on the jetty can begin.' Tug read the letter again to be sure he had read it right the first time.Were he a more emotional man, Tug would have wept with gratitude.
Much was resting on the construction of a jetty at Namaga. While the quest for pearls had brought Tug and men like him here, it was the oyster’s shell that had provided Namaga’s main source of revenue. Thanks to the abundance of this commodity, Tug had seen the settlement grow from a few humble shacks thrown up along the shore to the base for an entire fleet of luggers. Master pearlers had built lavish homes and pearling emporiums and the population had grown from a handful of daring men to the diverse community it was today. But the sound had long since been denuded of mother-of-pearl. Now, even the shell beds out to sea within reach of Namaga had been picked almost clean.
Without shell, the fleet of luggers would go elsewhere. The community that depended on the luggers for its existence must find another source of revenue or the settlement would be abandoned. A jetty was the key to its survival. For the hetty would not only provide what De Longe Enterprises needed, it would turn this humble isolated settlement on the Kimberley coast into a thriving port. Folding Henry’s letter carefully into an inner pocket of his waistcoat, Tug opened the cable that was addressed to the general manager of Duggan Pearling Company.
It read:
MY CONTRACT HERE IN BATAVIA ENDS THIS MONTH STOP RE YOUR REQUEST WILL RETURN NAMAGA IN MARCH TO BUILD JETTY SIGNATURE ANDREW.

**** 

Chapter 3

'Timothy?'
'Boss?'
'Where's the old man?'
Timothy rose from the veranda where Frederick had put him to work, dubbing saddles and packs to join Frederick at the rail. He peered through the rain toward the poinciana tree.
'He's gone, boss.'
‘I can see that,' Frederick said testily. The constant deluge confining him to the house, he was not in the best of moods. 'Did you tell him I wish to speak to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He would not talk to me.’
‘Why not?’
‘He does not like mission blackfella.’
The umbrella coming up the road caught Timothy's attention. The oleander hedge obscured whoever was using the umbrella to fend off the rain.
‘But he could understand what you said to him?’ Frederick persisted.
‘Maybe,’ Timothy answered. The garden gate was pushed open. It swung shut again as the umbrella advanced to the veranda steps. A timid voice beneath inquired, ‘Boss Carnivon?’
‘Yes?’
‘I got a message from missus bilong me.’
‘Do come in out of the rain,’ Frederick urged.
The umbrella was lowered to reveal a young black woman whose cotton blouse had been rendered transparent by the downpour. Timothy’s gaze riveted on her firm and pointed breasts, their hard nipples poking cheekily through the flimsy material.  Frederick could hardly ignore the obvious but quickly shifted his gaze back to the maid’s face. She took the note from her purse and handed it to him. He scanned the  invitation to dinner and grimaced.
‘One moment please.’
Frederick went inside to write a reply.
‘Name belong you?’ Timothy asked softly.
‘Misty,’ she whispered, her nervous smile revealing even white teeth.
‘You got no husband, eh.’
‘How you know that?’
‘You still got all your teeth.’
She giggled.
Timothy pointed to the bungalow down the hill. ‘You camp down there?’
 She nodded. ‘In the shed.’
‘Maybe I come see you.’
'When?'
'Tonight.'
Her eyes widened. ‘You crazy?’
‘You got no husband, right?’
‘I got no husband,' she affirmed, 'but if the whitefella catch you walking about after sundown!'
Timothy grinned. ‘Nobody is going to catch me.’
Frederick came back to the veranda.
‘Put this in your purse to keep it dry,’ he cautioned.
The maid tucked his note away and raised the umbrella as she started down the steps. Seeing her hands fully occupied with the umbrella, Frederick told Timothy to open the gate. Timothy was eager to oblige.
‘I see you tonight,’ he murmured to Misty as she brushed by.
****
Despite the rain, Margaret Ferguson stopped by the house on her way into town to ask what Frederick wanted for lunch and for a list of his preferences she would purchase, along with her own needs, at the store. Margaret added she was willing to cook for Frederick while he stayed at the bungalow. Delighted, he offered to pay her in advance but the offer was politely declined. ‘We can settle up the day you leave.’
Margaret did, however, accept the loan of Timothy to help carry the provisions back up the hill. After handing her his list, Frederick returned to the bureau where the chess set proved too tempting to resist. He was sitting at the table on the front veranda with the pieces arrayed before him on the board when Tug clomped up the steps. The cockney  dug a flask of rum from his raincoat pocket.
‘I see you found the place all right.’
‘I have the banker to thank for that. He brought me up here in his coach.’
Tug shucked off the raincoat and pulled out a chair.‘Knowing Wilfred, he probably figured you’re good for commission on a sale before you leave town.' Tug raised the flask to his lips and swallowed rum. 'Looks like you’ll be stuck here a while, major.’
‘You think so?’
‘All the low ground is under water. You'll have to cross that to head inland. You’ve got no hope of doing that, on a camel.'
'How long will I be delayed here, do you think?'
'A couple of weeks, at least. Maybe a month.’
‘A month!' Frederick eyed the cockney. 'Are you trying to persuade me to go back to Darwin?’
‘I already tried that. Now I’m holding you to our contract.’
Frederick raised an eyebrow. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’
‘I’ll fill you in—after we go to the dinner that's being held in your honour.’
Frederick shook his head fervently. ‘I declined the invitation. I’ve had more than enough of the nonsense dumped on me by that journalist. The last thing I want to do is spend the evening with pretentious snobs trying to impress each other—‘
‘They’re a pain in the arse,' Tug cut in. 'But most of them are in the syndicate.’ Before Frederick could ask, Tug enlarged, ‘The Namaga Syndicate runs this town. The syndicate is still dickering over whether or not to build a jetty here. It needs convincing that Henry is serious about the abattoir. You can help me convince them by showing up at this shindig tomorrow night.’
‘Since you put it that way…’
‘Thanks.’
'What am I supposed to wear? I don't have any formal—'
'Your khakis are fine.' Tug took another pull on the flask, capped it and nodded toward chess board. ‘I haven’t seen that out in years. Who were you playing?’
‘Myself.’
Tug frowned and wondered if the major was pulling his leg.
‘I enjoy the mental exercise.’
‘Oh.’ Tug got up from the table and motioned to a doorway in the living room that was visible through the veranda window. 'I keep some clothes and gear in there but I generally camp down at the pub. It's right across the road from my office. Saves me having to walk up and down the bloody hill. You’ll have the bungalow to yourself. Is Margaret Ferguson taking care of you?’
‘She certainly is.
‘Good. See you tomorrow around five o’clock. I’ll pick you up in the coach.’
****
The evening meal, cooked by Margaret Ferguson, proved excellent. There was   more than enough for both Frederick and Timothy so she had set aside a plate of food for the old Peewee who took it to his habitual station under the poinciana tree. When he padded back to the house with his empty plate Frederick beckoned him up to the veranda. Hesitantly, Peewee climbed the steps.
The hurricane lamp cast the old man’s eyes in deep shadow as he squatted on the veranda and listened to the questions Frederick asked. Timothy translated—both in pidgin and the local dialect—but Peewee was far from impressed. He despised mission blacks. In his eyes, the likes of Timothy had abandoned the ways of their people to adopt those of the gardeeya—the white man. Allowing much of what was said to float over him unanswered, old Peewee scratched absently at the grey fuzz dusting his bald head and fixed his gaze on the white man who was eyeing him keenly from across the veranda table.
Frederick toyed with a white pawn as he stifled his growing impatience. Yet to finish the game arrayed on the board, he finally interrupted Timothy’s one-way conversation to ask, ‘Have you explained to Peewee what I wish to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why isn’t he saying anything?’
‘I told you, boss. He doesn’t want to talk to me.’
Turning further in his chair, Frederick motioned Peewee to sit across from him at the table. The old black’s eyes widened in surprise. No white man, not even Boss Bull, had ever invited him to sit at the same table. Warily, Peewee eased his bony frame into the chair. Frederick tapped the chess board.
‘This is a game of war. Those black pieces on your side of the board we shall call blackfellow. The white pieces on my side are white men. Savvy?’
Peewee nodded. Frederick smiled inwardly. The old man understood English far better than he pretended. Frederick touched the black king.
‘He is number one blackfellow. This white piece is the boss whitefellow.’
Peewee tapped the black knight. ‘This one?’ he rasped softly.
‘He is on a horse so he can jump over this man: here, here, or there.’
‘This one?’
‘He is called the bishop. He moves diagonally, like this.’
Frederick’s objective, now he had established that the old man both understood and spoke some English, was to draw him into answering questions about the shell stowed in his saddle bag. He had no intention of teaching a native how to play chess but Peewee would not be diverted from what had roused his curiosity. He moved his finger from piece to piece, demanding a thorough explanation of their various moves. Timothy wished the old man would go back to the poinciana tree. Anxious to join Misty down the road, he fretted in silence until Peewee rose suddenly from the table.
‘I go to sleep now,’ he announced.
Frederick’s face showed his disappointment. ‘When can we talk again?’
‘Bye ‘m bye.’
Peewee padded from the veranda.
Frederick sighed. ‘Time for bed, Timothy.’
‘Good night, Boss Fred.’
The rain was still falling in a light drizzle as Timothy waited by the garden shed for Frederick to carry the lamp to his room. Creeping around the house to the front garden, he scanned the road in both directions before opening the gate and closing it softly behind him.
Motionless under the poinciana, Peewee watched Timothy set off down the hill. The old man wagged his head in disgust over the young fool’s stupidity.  If the gardeeya caught him breaking curfew …
Vaulting the fence about the bungalow where Misty worked, Timothy scratched on the wall of the garden shed. ‘You awake in there?’
Misty eased open the door. ‘I been think you never gonna come.’
He ducked inside. ‘I can’t see anything. Where are you?’
She brushed against him in the darkness. ‘We got to be plurry quiet,’ Misty warned. ‘If the missus find out I got you in here, we both gonna get whipped.’
Timothy raised his hands to fondle her breasts. ‘You want to jig-a-jig?’
‘What do you think I been waiting for!’
****
Frederick woke to bright sunlight piercing the bedroom window. Pulling on his trousers, he went out to the veranda and was rewarded with a clear view of the sound. His mouth fell open. It was as if somebody had pulled a plug. The tide had gone out and the sea had deserted the sound to expose an expanse of hard mud that reached almost a mile from the nearest shore. The only water visible in the sound was out toward its distant entrance. The sun having broken through the dissipating overcast, Frederick decided to head into town. When Timothy failed to respond to his summons he had to go to the shed in the back garden and bang on the door to rouse him.
Having spent much of the night down the road, Timothy nodded and yawned while Boss Fred issued his instructions about how to finish treating the harnessing with saddle soap and cleaning the tarnish from buckles. Squatting among the packs with his back resting against the bungalow wall, Timothy could barely keep his eyes open. The moment the garden gate swung shut behind Frederick, he dropped off to sleep again.
Halfway down the hill, Frederick paused to contemplate the men at work on the strip of shingle below, careening and caulking the hulls of luggers propped above the high-tide line. Striding on, his boots crunched on shell grit where the dirt road became Pearl Way. The warehouses and piers to channels feeding through the strip of mangroves were to his right. The sign ‘Duggan Pearling Emporium’ featured prominently on a two-storey warehouse backing onto the mangroves. The warehouse was in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. The Malay sweeping out the sorting shed on the ground floor said Boss Tug had gone elsewhere.
Stepping up from the waterfront, Frederick crossed Pearl Way and rounded the corner of the Rum Luck Hotel to enter Shinju Alley. Strolling through the heart of Chinatown, he stopped into the apothecary, the boot-maker, the seamstress and the general store before hiring a hansom cab to run him back up the hill with his various purchases. Finding Timothy fast asleep among the packs and saddlebags, Frederick nudged him awake. ‘Have you finished all the straps?’
‘All done,' Timothy lied.’
Frederick inspected one. ‘Then you'll have to do them all again. This strap is dry as a bone. Get up. I want you to try these on. I can’t have my assistant looking like a tramp. Try the boots on now. If they’re too small or too big, we’ll take them back.’
The boots fit perfectly. The shirt, however, was a size too large and the trousers a fraction short in the leg.
'They'll do,' Frederick decided.
‘Will you buy me a hat?’
‘I am not about to bestow gifts on you willy-nilly. These clothes and boots are payment for tasks you have performed. You will have to earn the hat. And you can start by coming with me to check on the camels. You need further instructions on how to handle them.’
They repaired to the bungalow late that afternoon but in time for Frederick to bathe and change into clean khakis before Tug arrived. It was well after the appointed hour when he did. Tug said he had been to a meeting and did not have time to go back to the hotel. He used the bucket shower and changed into clean whites in his room.
****
The bungalow down the hill was even larger than the roomy dwelling Tug had provided Frederick as his temporary accommodation. Tug introduced Frederick to their hostess whose name was Sarah Weinberg. She, in turn, presented him to master pearlers and their wives. The pearlers shook his hand warmly and their wives smiled but the smiles were brittle. Frederick sensed the underlying tension among the men as they stood around with a drink in one hand. The tinkle of a bell announced dinner. Misty assisted the hostess while she served the meal. It began with turtle soup followed by steamed crayfish served on a bed of rice. The crayfish was delicious and the dry white wine appropriate. Blanc-mange was served for dessert.
Guests managed sporadic conversation while they into the fare. Their host, Isaac Weinberg, chewed and glared balefully at the food until the plates were cleared away. A tawny port was poured for the ladies. Brandy was decanted into snifters for the men. Isaac’s grim silence ended all further attempts at conversation. He waited until his wife had returned from the kitchen before rising to deliver his address.
Isaac was tall and lean, his mass of white hair spilling over drooping shoulders as he looked down the length of the dining table to fix his icy gaze on Tug. Without so much as an acknowledgement of the fine meal his wife had conjured from the kitchen, the chairman of the Namaga Syndicate vented what was on his mind.
‘We are here tonight to welcome Major Carnivon, an explorer and surveyor about to head inland from Namaga on an important expedition. At our meeting today,  Tug informed us the purpose of the expedition is not only to establish a stock route for graziers opening up pastoral leases inland, it is also to map a direct link from Namaga to the Overland Telegraph.’
Heads about the table swung toward Frederick. He managed to conceal from his face the anger rising inside him over Tug revealing the latter aspect of his coming expedition.
‘At our board meeting,’ Isaac continued, ‘Tug insisted the major’s expedition is further proof Henry de Longe will build an abattoir in this town…providing we build the jetty. Tug even went as far as to remind us that... before he died... Bull shipped in all the materials and even a steam engine complete with rails and sleepers for the jetty that he designed. All of which is true. But I say now what I said to Bull when he asked the syndicate to fund construction of his white elephant: We pearlers have managed well enough without a jetty for years. If de Longe wants one then he should damn well pay for it.’
‘It was your refusal to put up the funds that killed Bull!’
A collective gasp greeted this accusation.
Tug was not deterred. His hard gaze went from pearler to pearler about the table as he pressed on, 'Every single one of you has made a fortune from this syndicate. Who had the foresight to set it up? Bull Duggan! Bull believed in Namaga. He drew up plans for the jetty because he believed it can be far more than a base for the luggers we operate. He invested almost every penny he had in the project. But when he asked you for help to complete it, you knocked him back.’
Tug rammed home his final point.
‘We aren’t getting the shell we once got. Soon, the beds in these waters will be picked clean and the moment they are, you’ll take your luggers somewhere else.' Tug’s fist slammed down on the table. ‘This town needs the jetty if it is to survive! It will make Namaga a viable port to ship out beef and wool, and whatever minerals the likes of Major Carnivon find inland.’
‘Here here!’ somebody endorsed.
‘And that is why,’ Tug added for good measure, ‘I propose a toast to Major Carnivon who will make that future possible!’
Isaac held up one hand to forestall the toast. ‘You told us Andrew will be in charge of building the jetty.’
‘I showed you his cable at the meeting. The equipment he’ll need to start work on the project will be here in a matter of weeks.’
‘You also said Andrew will be using the materials that Bull has already shipped in,’ Isaac reminded, as he reached for papers resting on the cabinet behind his chair.
'To save the syndicate further outlay,' Tug pointed out.
Isaac wagged the roll of papers in the air. ‘This is my copy of the plans Bull drew up for a jetty that will have to reach over a mile so there will be enough depth of water at its far end for ships to berth. Today, after our board meeting, I counted  the pilings that Bull shipped in. Every last one of them is lying down there on the beach above the high-water mark. And guess what.' Isaac paused deliberately to ensure every guest was paying close attention. 'There are only enough pilings for the jetty to reach three quarters of a mile.’ Walking around the table, Isaac plonked the plans down in front of Tug. ‘Check them yourself,’ he urged, before returning to the head of the table. 'Does anyone have anything to say?' he growled.
Nobody did.
Isaac nodded his satisfaction, then said coldly, ‘Tug, when you realize my count is correct I suggest you send word to Andrew there’s no point in him coming home.’
****
Frederick was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife, he was about to rise from the table and make his escape when a master pearler—no doubt to fill the awkward silence—raised his glass and said, ‘Here’s to Major Carnivon. We wish him God speed on his coming expedition and look forward to his safe return to Namaga.’
Frederick restricted his response to a polite, ‘Thank you.’
Tug, no less anxious to depart, accepted the plans without protest when Isaac’s wife them to him on their way out. Having despatched his coach and driver back to the stables in town, Tug opted to spend the night at the bungalow. When he emerged from his room the following morning, he found Frederick studying the plans on the kitchen table.
‘The tea’s freshly made,’ Frederick murmured.
‘Thanks.’ Tug poured himself a pannikin.
‘Bull Duggan drew up these plans?'
'He did.'
'An excellent job. Do you mind if I borrow them for a while?’
‘Seems like you already have.’
‘Sorry, I should have asked before—‘ 
‘Pay no attention to me, major. Isaac put me in a shitty mood.'
'Do you think he actually counted the pilings?'
'Oh yes. Isaac's been against the jetty ever since Bull came up with the notion. He calls it Bull’s White Elephant. I wish I’d checked the bloody pilings myself. If we don’t have enough to complete the job…’
‘Henry will build his abattoir somewhere else,’ Frederick finished. ‘And if that is to be the case, I might as well do what you first told me to do and go back to Port Darwin.’ Frederick’s attention returned to what Bull Duggan had drawn to scale on graph paper. ‘Since I won’t be able to go inland until the flood waters subside,' he mused aloud, 'the challenge will keep me occupied.’
‘What challenge?’
‘How to build the jetty with the pilings you have to hand, of course.’
‘You think you can figure that out?’
‘Well, I am a draftsman, a cartographer and a surveyor. First, I will have to count the pilings myself to establish precisely how many we do have. You, of course, will have to provide what else I may need.’
****
Chapter 4
The sunny interval was short-lived, the rain resumingto continue intermittently through the ensuing week but now that Frederick had a challenge he could get his teeth into, he was not deterred by the weather. He pestered Tug with all manner of peculiar requests: red stakes, blue stakes, a white screen painted with a vertical black stripe down its centre. Then he asked for the flagpole to be moved from the sports ground to the side of Bungalow Hill.
The sports ground, an open expanse of ground on the far side of Chinatown, edged the swamp that reached on around the southern extent of the sound. The swamp was inhabited by huge salt-water crocodiles and during a king tide or when that area flooded during the wet season, the crocodiles were inclined to extend their territory. The overseer of the prison work gang despatched to remove the flagpole was mighty unhappy about having to wade knee-deep in water where some grandaddy salt-water croc' might suddenly latch on to him for a meal. The prisoners made quick work of getting the flagpole—and themselves—the hell out of there.
The clear blue sky—when the rain finally ceased—brought a frenzy of activity along the waterfront. Tug opened the window of his office that morning to snatches of Malay, Koepanger, Japanese and the local patios floating up to him from the warehouse below. Crews were busy divesting warehouses of gear for their luggers. Though there was still chance of a Cockeye bob bearing down on the fleet once it was out to sea, the syndicate could not afford to delay its crews ashore any longer.
As he sat down at his desk Tug saw the note from Major Carnivon. It stated he required two long poles mounted at the northern end of the sound. Each pole should be no less than eighteen feet in length and painted yellow, so they could be seen readily from a distance of three miles by the naked eye. ‘Pegs have been placed where they are to be situated,’ the major wrote in  his note.
Tug groaned.
The rickety stairs leading to the upper floor creaked loudly under somebody’s heavy tread. Tug turned to see a prison gang overseer pause on the landing at the head of the stairs. ‘Come on in, Jess.’
Jess entered to announce, ‘I’ve got a work gang down below. I’m about to get started on clearing the channels.’
‘The channels will have to wait. The major has another job for you.’
The overseer’s face showed his dismay. ‘Christ! What now?’
Tug told him about the poles and where they had to be situated.
Jess shook his head firmly from side to side. ‘There’s no trees big enough around here for what he wants. And there’s still too much water covering that low ground for me to go looking for them.’
‘How about the pilings lying over by the mole?' Tug offered. 'If we do get to build the jetty I doubt a couple will be missed.’
‘They’re long enough,’ Jess agreed. ‘They’re also bloody heavy.’
‘You get those pilings where the major wants them I’ll buy you a keg.’
Jess brightened. 
‘The major says they’re to be painted yellow,’ Tug added.
The overseer's grin faded. ‘Where the hell am I going to find yellow paint?’
Tug motioned through the window to the Duggan pier. At its far end was a sloop, its hull recently painted—bright yellow. ‘That’s Joe Ferguson’s sloop. He’s bound to have some paint left over. Tell Joe I’ll pay for it.’
‘Good as done,’ the overseer promised. He stabbed his hand in the direction of two figures tramping over mudflats out on the sound. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Tug reached for the telescope he kept in the office. ‘It is.’
‘What the hell are they doing way out there?’
‘Christ knows.’
Jess laughed. ‘You know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think the major is off his flamin’ head.’
****
Timothy set down the survey chain and held the stake at arm’s length.
‘To the left!’ Frederick called out to him.
Timothy moved the stake.
‘No no! To my left. Not your left.’
‘My left. Your left. Why don’t you point, boss?’
Both hands fully occupied with his theodolite, Frederick barked, ‘How can I? Move it toward those mangroves. That’s it. Right there!’
Timothy pounded the stake into hard mud. Frederick jotted figures in his notebook. Then he adjusted his theodolite to sight along the line of stakes reaching back to the mole that jutted from the strip of beach. Tug had informed Frederick the mole was created by Bull specifically for his future jetty. Beyond the mole, a path wound from the beach up the steep face of Bungalow Hill where the white screen had been erected. From Frederick's present vantage, the flagpole stood this side of the screen.
Peering through the theodolite, he saw the top of the flagpole was level with the top of the screen. ‘We’re finished here, Timothy. Bring the chain to the punt.’
The punt lay on its side on hard mud some three quarters of a mile from shore. A lead- line had been stowed between the seats. Frederick sat down on the seat astern with theodolite and notebook on his lap.
‘Stow the chain and get in.’
Timothy looked at the hard mud surrounding them. ‘Why?’
‘Because you will get very wet very soon if you don’t,’ Frederick told him.
The tide racing in, they did not have long to wait for the punt to be lifted off the mud. Frederick ordered Timothy to take the oars and pointed to the high sandhill at the northern end of the sound. ‘Row that way.’
The sweat poured down Timothy's face as he rowed against the incoming tide.  while Frederick kept his gaze fixed on the shore to their right. Frederick used his theodolite to ensure the punt was precisely where he wanted it to be before dropping the anchor. After it caught and held he allowed the punt to swing with the current. Timothy reached for the water bag that was under the seat, removed the cork and raised it to his mouth.
‘Don’t drink all of it!’ Frederick said sharply.
‘I’m thirsty.’
‘Where we are going, water has to be rationed out carefully. Get used to the idea. Why are you yawning? It’s only just past noon.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep.’
Timothy had spent most of the night  and many other nights with Misty.
Frederick eyed the direction of drift and the tension on the anchor line.
‘Let us pray,’ he mused aloud.
‘Our Father which art in heaven,’ Timothy began.
‘I did not mean, literally!’
Timothy took another sip from the water bag and set it back below the seat. His eyes closed, his head lolled and in moments he was asleep. Frederick let him sleep. They were going to be out here for a while. Ignoring the sun’s fierce heat, he made use of the time by writing in his notebook a comprehensive list of the items he must purchase for his coming trek, remembering to add Stockholm tar and linseed oil—the only known treatment for mange. Thankfully, his camels had not been afflicted by the curse and with luck they would not be. Frederick knew better than to pin his survival on luck. He looked up. The punt was no longer dragging on the anchor line.
‘Timothy! It’s full tide. Row!’
Timothy jerked awake. ‘Row where, boss?’
 ‘Toward the anchor, of course!’
Timothy rowed and Frederick took in the anchor line until it was dangling directly below the punt. Then he used the lead-line to measure the depth at that point. His face broke into a broad smile.
‘Timothy, our first assignment together is a resounding success. You have earned yourself a brand new hat.’
****
Prisoners grunted with effort as they hauled the heavy piling up the steep slope. It juddered to a halt in the sand. The overseer unfurled his whip and snaked it across their backs. ‘Keep moving!’
They were accustomed – if not inured – to the punishment he doled out. Linked by chains to the pole, like oxen to a wagon, the prisoners heaved in unison under the broiling sun and, at last, their burden came to rest on blocks next to the marker pegs. Jess told his offsider to get the prisoners back in the compound before sunset and then set to work with the paint brush. By the time his work was completed the sun was down on the horizon. The darkness closing in rapidly, on his way back to town from the sandhills he left the beach to take the shorter, if more arduous route, across Bungalow Hill ...
****
‘This is a number one hat, Boss Fred.’
Frederick was lighting the lamp. ‘It is bad manners to keep your hat on when you enter any home. Take it off and put it on the peg, over there.’
Timothy rested his hat on the stand.
‘Did you check the camels?’
‘I checked them. They are all right.’
‘Good. Where’s Peewee?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You haven’t seen him?’
‘Not today.’
‘I wanted him to look at something.’
‘I told him, Boss Fred.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he would look at it bye and bye.’
Frederick eyed the new shirt and moleskins Timothy was wearing.
‘Do you intend to sleep in your new clothes?’
‘I just wanted to put them on,’ was Timothy’s excuse.
‘Make sure you take them off and hang them up properly. And tomorrow,’ Frederick added pointedly. ‘I don’t want you dozing off through the day.Get to bed.’
‘Good night, Boss Fred.’
Frederick went to see if Peewee had returned to his habitual station but there was no sign of the old man. He carried the lamp into the living room and set to work on the sheet of graph paper found in the bureau.
Avoiding the spill of lamplight through a window, Timothy slipped around the side of the house to the front gate. After his frequent nightly excursions down the hill Timothy’s initial caution had evaporated. He was about to vault the fence about the Weinberg bungalow when a voice barked at him in the night.
‘Hey you!’
Timothy froze.
‘You savvy English?’
‘Savvy.’
Jess leaned forward to peer closely at Timothy. ‘What are you doing on this road after curfew?’
‘I am going to check the camels.’
Jess pointed to the paddock on the other side of the road. ‘The camels are over there. You work for Boss Isaac?’
Timothy pointed up the hill. ‘I work for Boss Fred.’
‘Did he give you a note?’
‘I left it there. I will go back now.’
‘No you bloody won’t! You’re going to the compound.’
‘Boss Fred needs me to look after the camels.’
‘I don’t give a shit what he needs. You broke curfew.’
‘But I – ‘
Jess rammed the whip haft in Timothy’s gut.
‘You go where I say or I’ll tear off your black hide.’
*****

Chapter 5
Frederick was stowing provisions into packs when Tug stepped down from his coach and came hurrying along the path to the front veranda.
'Good morning,?' Frederick greeted.
'It's afternoon now, major.'
Frederick dug out his fob watch. 'So it is. What brings you up here, Tug?''
'The poles are in place. I figured you'd want to see them.'
'Indeed I do.'
'We can make use of my coach,' Tug offered.
It was not until they reached the botom of the hill and the coach rounded the bend  to approach the mole that Frederick gained his first glimpse of the two yellow pilings now dominating the northern end of the sound.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed, ‘I asked for poles, not columns. How on earth did you manage to get those monsters up there?’
‘Work gangs,’ was Tug’s explanation. 'Have you finished your survey?'
'Indeed I have.' Frederick pointed to the sound. 'That way.'
The tide all the way out, the coach-and-pair was able to travel with relative ease over hard mud to the stake stake furthest removed from the mole. There, Frederick directed Tug’s attention back to the flagpole silhouetted against the white screen on the side of the hill. ‘If you look along the line of stakes you will see they are directly in line with the flagpole which is at  the centre of the screen. And, because the top of the flagpole is level with the top of the screen, that means we are precisely half a mile from the mole.'
Accustomed to plotting courses on charts, Tug understood the  trigonometry and appreciated the ingenuity in using the flagpole and screen to determine distances. Nevertheless, he was quick to point out, ’Half a mile isn't far enough. Bull figured the jetty has to be at least a mile long to reach a point where the floor of the sound is deep enough at high tide for vessels to berth.’
'If the jetty is to project directly from the mole as he intended,' Frederick granted.  'Now turn toward that knoll overlooking the beach. What do you see?’
‘I see those bloody stakes you had painted different colours.’
‘Correct. Follow me.’
Keenly aware the coachman watching them was highly amused, Tug followed the major on foot as he strode across the sound. Frederick came to an abrupt halt beside a stake firmly embedded in the hard mud.
'This marker is in perfect line with those three white stakes up there on the knoll. This is where the next bracket of jetty pilings must be placed. The next marker is in line with three black stakes. The stakes have been situated like spokes on a wheel—each spoke radiating to project lines of sight where the brackets of pilings are to be driven around the curve of the jetty. In other words, Tug,  the modified version of Bull Duggan's design will curve to the north from the half-mile point we just left.’ The major strode on to yet another stake where he pointed ahead and asked, ‘Now what to do you see?’
Tug pondered the yellow piling jutting from the sand hills at the northern end of the sound . He was wondering what had become of the other piling when he suddenly realized it could not be seen because the two were in perfect line.
‘One eighth of a mile in that direction the water is deep enough for a vessel to berth at high tide. My modified version is three-quarters of a mile or sixty chains overall. We have enough pilings—I counted them myself—for sufficient brackets to support a jetty measuring seventy chains. Which means, you have more than enough pilings to build what you need. Satisfied?’
‘My bloody oath!.’
‘Good. I have almost finished drawing up the plans.’
‘I take my hat off to you, major. Will you join me for a beer?’
‘I’d like to, but first I must find my assistant.’
‘The black who looks after your camels?’
‘I haven’t seen him for two days.’
'Has he gone walkabout?’
‘I hope not! I need him so I can be on my way inland.’
****
‘Get up!’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t what?’
‘I can’t get up,’ Timothy panted.
The whip snaked out. ‘You can’t get up, boss.’
‘I can’t get up… boss.’
Jess motioned toward the prison gang shovelling muck out of a channel. ‘You might talk better English than them but you ain’t learned what they know. They know who’s boss. And when this boss tells you to get up, you get up!’
Shackles hampering him, Timothy floundered in deep muck as he struggled to his feet. ‘Thirsty, boss.’
‘Christ almighty! Next you’ll be asking me to buy you a beer across the road!'
The irons had been clamped about his ankles at dawn when he was assigned to the labour gang. Confined with prisoners whose hatred for the gardeeya was sur-passed only by their disgust for blacks who accepted his ways, Timothy slogged up to his knees in mire and prayed.
None of the prisoners on the gang uttered a word to him but they did speak to each other. While toiling under the overseer’s watchful gaze, they talked about the clothes on Timothy’s back and the fact that he understood the language of the gardeeya—confirmation he was the lowest of the low: a gardeeya worm. They talked too, about how they were going to kill this particular gardeeya worm.
**** 
Frederick frowned at the sheet of stationary in front of him. All he had penned so far were the words, 'Dearest, Adelaide.' In the past, he had always been able to come up with a suitable opening when writing to his fiance. But, this afternoon, his mind refused to conjur a single coherent thought as he sat with pen in hand at the writing bureau , berating himself for being so gullible. Timothy had taken advantage of his largesse and gone walkabout in his new clothes. Frederick was both hurt and angry. Now, he would have to find somebody else to accompany him inland. In a settlement as small as Namaga, that would not be easy.
‘Major?’
‘When did you get here, Mrs Ferguson?’
Margaret Ferguson was holding a hat. ‘An hour ago,’ she told him. ‘You were  pre-occupied so I got on with tasks in the garden. Is this your hat?’
‘My hat is over there,’ Frederick pointed.
‘Oh. This one appears to be brand new.’
 ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Beside the wood pile.’
The wood pile almost directly below the back veranda,  Frederick realized it must have fallen there from the hat rack. ‘It belongs to Timothy,’ he told Margaret.  ‘By the way, have you seen Old Peewee?’
‘He's gone somewhere.’
‘I thought there were strict rules about the movements of blacks in Namaga.’
‘Bull exempted Peewee from that rule. Peewee’s just a harmless old man. No doubt he’ll be back by sunset.’
Peewee returned shortly before five o’clock. When Frederick asked him if he had seen Timothy the old man merely shrugged.
‘Mrs. Ferguson, don’t bother preparing a meal. I'm going into town.’
****
 Tug spread Frederick’s plans for the modified jetty before Isaac. ‘The major has figured out how to build the jetty using materials we have to hand. There’s the figures right there in front of your nose. Count the brackets for yourself.’
Isaac was pondering the modified plans when Frederick entered the hotel lounge to spot the two men. He crossed to their table.
Tug glanced up. ‘Hello, major. I was just showing Isaac your plans.’
Isaac acknowledged Frederick with a brief nod.
Tug beckoned the Chinese cook cum waiter and told him to bring a round of drinks. Then he asked Frederick, ‘Did your blackfellow show up?’
Frederick shook his head. ’I’m hoping you can help me find him.’
‘Forget it, major. When a black goes walkabout – ‘
‘He has not gone walkabout. Something happened to him.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Isaac cut in.
‘My black assistant. I have not seen him since Tuesday evening.’
Isaac said, ‘He must be the black caught outside my bungalow last night.’
‘Caught?’
‘He broke curfew.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In the compound,’ Isaac answered. ‘Where do you think?’
‘Why wasn’t I told?’
‘Why should you be?’ Isaac parried.
 ‘I want him released.’
‘Not until he’s done a month’s hard labour.’
Frederick gaped. ‘For being outside your house?’
‘After sundown,’ Isaac reminded him.
Tug said, ‘I’ll find someone else for you, major.'
‘I don’t want someone else. I want Timothy. And I want him released immediately.’
Isaac said coldly, ‘The law’s the law in this town.’
Frederick ignored the drink set before him on the table. ‘If Timothy is not released and returned to my charge this evening I will leave Namaga by the first available vessel. When Henry de Longe learns it was not possible for me to conduct my expedition he will cancel his plans for this settlement.’
Frederick left the hotel.
‘He ain’t bluffing, Isaac.’
Isaac shrugged. 'The black must serve his time.’
Tug rapped the sheet of paper between them. ‘I’ve shown this to Allen, Toshira, Courtney, Maxwell and Ah Choy. They want the jetty built. If you refuse to authorize the black’s release, I’ll call an emergency meeting and  I already have enough votes to replace you as chairman of the board. I'll push this through. Well?’
****
The whip seared across his back There was no way to avoid it. The chain was still clamped to his ankles and both wrists were shackled to bolts embedded in the yard wall.. Jess snarled, ‘I want to know where you came from.’
‘Boss, I told you,’ Timothy pleaded.
‘You told me you’re from the mission.’
‘It’s true, boss.’
‘We was told all them mission blacks are dead.’
‘Not me, boss.’
‘I know you ain’t dead. But you’re gonna wish you were if you don’t tell me who the fuck you really are.’
The ship snaked out and bit into Timothy’s flesh. Through the pain he heard a voice bark a command from somewhere across the yard.
‘Jess! Chuck him in the cage!’
‘I ain’t finished with him yet!
‘Supervisor said to lock him up and get over to his office right away.’
Reluctantly, Jess removed the pins holding shackles to bolts in the wall.
‘You say your name’s Timothy?’
‘That’s right, boss.’
‘That’s wrong. Your name is Uppity. That’s what you are: a smart-arse uppity blackfella. But we’ll soon change that. Move your black arse, Uppity.’
Leg irons hampering his every step, Timothy stumbled to the cage where the work gang had been confined for the night. Jess shoved Timothy inside, locking the door again before returning the ring of keys to his belt. 
After Jess left the yard, Timothy could feel the eyes of his fellow prisoners on him as he huddled in a corner, listening closely to every sound: the clink of chains when somebody shifted to ease their weight, the murmur of their soft exchange in local patios, the hiss that was the signal to close in on him.  Suddenly, lamplight spilled across the cages. The prisoner who was about to strangle Timothy froze in place. A voice behind the lamp asked, ‘Which cage is he in, Jess?’
‘This one, sir.’
‘Open it up and yank him out.’
The lamp was held up to play its light over the prisoners in the cage. The door was unlocked. ‘Uppity! Get your black arse out here.’
Timothy stumbled from the cage to be led out of the yard to the Watch Room where leg irons were removed. The chain linking his wrists remained in place. 
‘Take him back to the Duggan bungalow.’
Timothy was bundled into the waiting coach.
On the way to town Jess told the coachman to pull into a clearing. ‘Take a walk and have a smoke.’
Jess and his offsider dragged Timothy out of the coach.
‘Uppity, I ain't finished with you yet.’
****
Frederick heard the coach and hurried with lantern in hand to the gate. Its driver hoisted Timothy to the ground. Frederick held up the lamp and winced at what he saw. ‘Who did this?’ he demanded.
The driver said he didn’t know and swung back up on the coach to drive away. A figure emerged from the darkness under the poinciana tree.
'Is that you, Peewee?
'I see you, boss.'
'Help me!'
Peewee helped carry the moaning Timothy to the veranda. Frederick took a mattress from one of the bedrooms so Timothy would rest more comfortably. Then he removed the tattered shirt to inspect Timothy’s wounds. Telling Peewee to heat some water, Frederick set to work cleaning and removing grit from lacerations over much of Timothy’s upper torso.
‘Make sure he does not move until I find some medicine to put on these cuts.’
‘I got med’cine, boss.'
'You do?'
'Good med’cine. Fix ‘em cuts orright.’
‘Please bring it.’
Peewee padded from the veranda to return with an assortment of tiny pouches in his cooliman—a basket fashioned from wood. He opened one of the pouches. ‘This one got leaf bilong bush apple. You put ‘im on cuts. They get better soon.’  Scooping ointment from another pouch, Peewee applied it to Timothy’s lacerations. When Timothy cried out, Peewee silenced him with a guttural command. To Frederick he said, ‘It hurt little bit. Make cut close up.’ The old man applied his ointment to every wound. ‘He gonna be all right.’
‘Peewee. Can I ask you something?’
Amazed by the concern this gardeeya showed for the young fool now whimp-ering on the mattress, Peewee nodded.
'Timothy told me that you are from this place. True?'
Peewee nodded slowly and patted his chest. 'Namaga, my people.'
'Where are your people?'
'Gone. Finish.'
'All of them?'
Peewee nodded again. 'All gone.'
Frederick did not know quite what to make of that. He asked, 'What does Namaga mean?'
'Namaga is place of shell.'
'Ah! I want you to look at a shell I found. All right?’
'Orright.'
Frederick went to his saddle bag, took out the shell and handed it to Peewee who inspected it carefully.
'This shows the way.'
'Pardon?'
Peewee's bony finger pointed out what Frederick had failed to notice: the peculiar pattern etched into the shell's nacre face.
‘The way to where, Peewee?’
‘Way bilong Ngarinyin, Kija, Gooniyandi, Walmatjarri, Warlpiri,' the old man chanted in a reedy sing-song. His right hand seemed to float in air as he motioned toward all that lay inland.
‘Warlpiri?’  Frederick had been told the Warlpiri inhabited that part of the Tanami where he had found the shell.  
Peewee pointed at the two small holes either side where kangaroo sinew had been threaded. 'Shell got big magic. Bring rain. Rainmaker carry him belong chest.'
Frederick grasped the significance of this remark. Evidently the skeleton he had chanced upon at a dry waterhole was that of a rainmaker. 'Peewee, I was told that Boss Bull went inland some time before he died. Do you know where?'
'Place bilong karakara.'
'Is that the name of the people?'
'No, boss.  Name belong them... Gadgeri.'
‘How do I find the Gadgeri?’
Peewee did not answer immediately, his deep dark eyes contemplating the gardeeya who was so unlike any gardeeya he had encountered before.
‘More better you don’t find them, boss.’
Peewee picked up his cooliman and withdrew into the night.
****
‘Timothy, you promised you would not go anywhere after dark.’
‘I only went down the road to see Misty.’
‘The maid,’ Frederick remembered.
‘Sorry, Boss Fred.’
‘Being sorry is not good enough. You gave me your word. Where I am going a man’s life may depend on another man’s word.’
‘I want to go with you, Boss Fred.’
‘What about Misty?’
‘She wants too much jig-a-jig. Better I go with you.’
‘Then remember this: if you break your word to me again, no matter where we are I shall leave you there. Do you understand what I mean by that?’
‘I understand.’
‘For both our sakes, I hope you really do.
****
Now that Timothy had been served notice and was sleeping peacefully on the mattress, Frederick was able to focus on his letter to Adelaide. He opened with his impressions of the pearling settlement. 'The old native who camps at this bungalow informed me that he is the last of its original inhabitants,' Frederick wrote. 'Which begs the question: what happened to the rest of them?'
Frederick then raised what Adelaide had mentioned in the letter he received from her in Alice Springs: that they had not seen each other since they got engaged. That was in India and almost three years ago. In her letter, Adelaide lamented she was beginning to forget what her Freddy looked like!
Frederick knew Henry de Longe would shortly be making a voyage to Australia. In this letter, Frederick suggested Adelaide accompany the financier on that voyage, so they could get married here in Australia. After all, Henry was her father.
And therein lay Frederick’s dilemma.
In Henry de Longe's view, failure indicated a critical flaw in character. Much as Frederick wanted to marry the woman he loved, for Henry to approve of him as his son-in-law Frederick knew it was imperative he achieve what was expected of him on this expedition. Frederick eyed the shell glittering in the lamplight on his desk.
Its discovery had provoked the obvious question as to how it was conveyed to that isolated place so far removed from the sea. Even more provoking were the questions it raised about the original inhabitants of this ancient continent. Old Peewee was an example: their appearance was misleading. There was much more to these people than met the eye.
It seemed ironic that a bi-valve might be the key to finding answers to these questions... and to overcoming the challenges that lay in store for both him and Timothy as they headed inland.

*****

Part Two
Chapter 6
Schools of fish escorted the two men as they harvested mother-of-pearl from the ocean floor. In helmet, canvas suit and diving boots, they worked within signal distance—the water so clear they could see their air-hoses trailing all the way up to the lugger's hull eight fathoms above.
‘Androo… Androo…’
The siren’s call made Andrew glance around—almost as if he expected a mermaid to emerge from the tendrils of sea grass waving about his legs. Through his face-plate and at the periphery of his vision,  a huge shadow seemed to block out the green shafts of light penetrating from the surface. A flash of silver caught his eye. The schools of fish suddenly shot away.
Andrew was about to tuck another shell into his basket when it was torn from his grasp. His diving partner's warning signal could not prevent what happened next. Both feet shot out from under him as he found himself being dragged by a whale across the waving tendrils of sea grass. His air-hose snarled in the creature's flukes, Andrew was dragged over the edge of the shell bed to the chasm in the ocean floor that yawned below. Down…down… the whale dived, into the black abyss.Unable to free himself from his harness, Andrew fumbled for the knife strapped to his thigh.
He could see nothing. As he hacked blindly at the line the knife slipped from his grasp. He could feel the pressure building. Soon, it would crush him to pulp and his head would explode inside his helmet. Andrew resigned himself to his fate.
'Androo .... Androo ....'
The siren’s voice—soft and musical—summoned him.
'Andrew! Wake up!'
He opened his eyes.
Her face was taut with anxiety
‘You cried out, Andrew,’
He managed a smile.
'I bring you cha.'
A vision in silk kimono, she rose gracefully to leave the room.
Her face and features attested a diverse heritage—European, Japanese and Islander. The hint of some exotic perfume lingered in the room after she left. His head pounded. Andrew ran his tongue over furry teeth. Fearing the nightmare would return if he drifted back into sleep, Andrew  kept his eyes open as he lay on the futon.
 It was Tug who had severed the line that fateful day to rescue him from certain death. Tug had locked arms about Andrew to ensure they rose slowly. Tug was the first Caucasian in the Namaga fleet to don a suit and harvest shell from the deeper beds. He had proven as good as any Jap diver and it was Tug’s firm conviction divers who rose too swiftly from the deep were more likely to be afflicted by the bends. Had Tug not been diving with him that day, Andrew knew he would now be lying in the divers' cemetery—or worse, reduced to an eternity of suffering by the bends.
'This will make you feel better.'
Served to him in a cup of delicate porcelain, the green tea cleansed the palate and soothed his pounding head. The tea helped Andrew gather his wits as he sat up, wondering where he was and how he got here. His gaze drifted over walls made from woven coconut fibre tied to a timber frame that supported rough-hewn rafters and a roof of corrugated iron. The floor of this crude dwelling was covered with kepa mats. Its windows boasted muslin curtains. The curtains shifted slightly in the dawn breeze. Outside the window, a rooster crowed, telling Andrew he was in Chinatown.
The siren in silk kimono, one of China-town’s famous golden maidens,  regarded him with an anxious smile. 'You’ve been keeping Suhara waiting a very long time, Andrew.'
So that was her name. Of course. How could he have forgotten?
'I’m sorry, Suhara. I've been mighty busy since I got back.'
'I’m talking about since you left!’
Andrew had spent the night before his departure from Namaga with Suhara.
‘Seven years,’ she reminded.
Seven years? Had it really been that long?
Suhara brightened. 'Not to worry. You are here now.'
'Is this your house?'
'I share with Kaito'
'Kaito?'
 'My brother. He works for Duke.'
‘Kaito's a diver?’
Suhara nodded slowly.
Andrew searched his memory but could not put a face to Kaito.
Suhara said, ‘Kaito says we got to leave Namaga. There is not enough shell any more. I told him not to worry. Andrew is coming home. He will fix this town.'
Andrew doubted anybody could 'fix this town'. The confident smile on Suhara's face made him keep the thought to himself. 'How did I get here?'
'A man carried you from the hotel. You were not able to walk.'
That was Suhara’s polite way of saying he was too drunk to make it here on his own two feet. No wonder he could not remember anything. But now it was coming back to him with uncomfortable clarity.
Since his return, Andrew had spent almost every waking hour grappling with the financial state of the Duggan Pearling Company. A week, he discovered, was too little time to familiarize himself with the intricacies involved in operating a fleet of pearling luggers. His inhertiance had also incurred the additional obligation as a board member of the Namaga Syndicate.
Last night, the syndicate board had thrown an official welcome home party.  Andrew did not want to go but Tug insisted they must. To decline the invitation would be an insult to his fellow board members who were financing construction of the jetty. The occasion formal, Andrew had to wear what he called his penguin outfit—in a climate where even a necktie was absurd. The other male guests probably felt as uncomfortable as he did in his dinner jacket, dress shirt, and tie. Andrew and Tug finally made their escape to celebrate his return in more appropriate style at the pub where Tug told Terry to serve his 'Special Brew'.
After they knocked back the first round, Gorilla insisted on buying another.
Gorilla was a hairy character with the longest arms Andrew had ever seen. He was also the operator of  the pile-driver towed down from Darwin by the freighter that brought Andrew back to Namaga.Gorilla’s offsider, Alfie, bought yet another round. Andrew had no recollection of what transpired after that.
Suhara remarked, 'Happy Easter, Andrew.'
'Easter?'
'Today is Easter Sunday.'
'Oh Christ.’
Gorilla had decided the first jetty piling would be driven Easter Sunday—and on the morning tide. Andrew reached for his wrist watch on the table. He should have been down at the mole half an hour ago. ‘I have to go.’
 Thankfully, he had shucked off the dinner jacket and tie at the emporium before going to the pub. Pulling on his trousers and shirt, Andrew dug out his wallet to hand Suhara some folding money.
She shook her head. ‘We did not do anything.'
'That's for letting me sleep here.'
Suhara laced her arms about his neck. 'I want you to sleep here. But next time you better come here sober!'
He extricated himself from her embrace. ‘Suhara?’
'Yes?'
Andrew found it hard to pose the question. ‘Why did my father ...’
Suhara finished what he left unsaid. 'Why did he dive on the wreck?'
'Yes. Why?'
'I know only what everyone else knows—he went out to the wreck on Duke’s lugger and never came back.'
'But your brother works for Duke so he must know something ... or he may have heard something.'
Suhara lowered her eyes. 'Whatever Kaito knows, you will have to ask Kaito.’
****
Andrew parted bead curtains to step from Suhara’s shanty into Shinju Alley. Striding along the alley to Pearl Way he saw a curtain of fog hanging over the sound likke a shroud. Its grey blanket almost hid the strip of mangroves beyond the ware-houses and emporiums. There were no luggers at the piers which meant the fleet had got away to sea before the fog rolled in. Andrew walked on toward the mole, hearing the clink of chains before catching sight of the work gang. Its overseer barked a command, bringing the prisoners to a halt.
’G’day, Mister Duggan.’
'Jess, isn't it?'
'That's me.' 
‘You've put on a little weight since I left.'
Jess looked down at his beer gut and chuckled. 
Andrew motioned to the prisoners. 'Where are they off to?'
'I was told you needed firewood.'
'It was supposed to be at the mole yesterday.'
'We had trouble.'
'What kind of trouble?'
Jess jerked a thumb at the prisoners. 'One of 'em died.'
'Died?'
'There weren't anything wrong with him.'
'So why did he die?'
Jess shrugged. 'The useless black bastards just sit down and die.'
'Did the midwife check him out?'
'She said there ain't no medicine can make 'em live if they don’t want to.’
'Did Peewee look at him?'
'Supervisor Mott doesn't want that old black coming into the compound.’
‘Why not?’
‘He might stir up the prisoners.'
Andrew eyed the work gang standing with heads bent, their chains glistening wetly in the fog snaking about them. Flies were worrying the sores on their ankles where irons chafed. Livid weals attested some had been flogged.
'Did the supervisor inspect your gang this morning?'
'It’s Easter. He's gone fishing.'
'When will he be back?'
Jess scratched his jaw while he thought about that. 'Tomorrow, is what he said.'
'So who's running the compound while he's fishing?'
'We got our shifts worked out.'
'When the supervisor gets back, you tell him to come see me.' Andrew eyed the work gang again. 'And, Jess…'
‘What?’
'Go easy on the whip.'
'They have thick hides.'
'I said, go easy. Prisoners can't haul firewood if they're bleeding to death.'
Jess barked another command and the work gang moved on toward the natural park where trees were now assuming shape in the fog.
****
The patch of yellow light guided Andrew through tendrils of fog to the sturdy hut that had been erected on the mole. The hut would serve as the site office and quarters for his general foreman. Andrew could see him sipping coffee just inside the open doorway. 'You look bloody awful,' he greeted.
'I feel bloody awful. Where's the pile-driver?'
'Gorilla's waiting for the fog to clear.'
'So there was no need for me to drag myself from a comfortable bed,' Andrew grumbled. 'Any more coffee where that came from?'
Tom motioned Andrew inside.
The hut was clean, tidy and organised—a reflection of the man who had worked with Andrew on projects in the Dutch East Indies. These qualities and his unflappable nature made Tom the ideal foreman. In three years Andrew had never seen Tom lose his temper in any crisis and there were ample that confronted them on the bridge they had recently completed near Batavia.
Both Andrew and Tom were keenly aware of the problems they faced building a jetty here at Namaga. This settlement on Australia's Kimberley coast was hundreds of miles removed from even the nearest outpost of civilization. The carpenters, riggers, ironmongers, blacksmiths, labourers, et al needed to complete the project would have to be shipped in.Tug had assured Andrew a work force was being organised by an agent down in Fremantle. But that was some fifteen hundred miles away. And there was no guarantee the men who signed on would measure up to the tasks required of them. In the meantime, the few locals available had been hired to throw up quarters, canteen and an ablution block to accommodate the workmen when they got here.Tom poured coffee, added two spoons of sugar and handed it to Andrew who saw the foreman’s eyes glinting with amusement.
‘What’s so funny?’
Tom chuckled. 'I'm surprised Suhara let you escape.'
'How did you know I was with Suhara?'
'Your mate,Tug, set you up.'
Andrew and Tug had been playing practical jokes on each other as far back as Andrew could remember. 'I should have known,' he mutteered. The chug of a donkey engine reached his ears. Finishing his coffee, Andrew walked with Tom to the end of the mole to watch the pile-driver emerge from the dissipating fog.
It was mounted at the stern end of a dredge—a cumbersome craft that required considerable skill to be manouvered efficiently. Familiar with the conflicting currents generated by the phenomenal tides in these waters, Andrew knew it would be no easy task to situate the dredge precisely. He watched closely as Gorilla made use of the out-going tide to swing the dredge about until the pile-driver faced the mole.
Anchor chains rattled out. The donkey engine chugged and wheezed. Pulleys squealed as tension was put on the chains to sturdy Admiralty anchors. Then the donkey engine was shut off. Andrew cupped hands to mouth.
'Nicely done!'
'Is that you, Mister Duggan?'
'It is. And I hope you feel half as bad as I do!'
'Haw haw!' Gorilla guffawed. 'Did yez have a good time with Suhara?'
‘Who the hell told you?'
Gorilla laughed. 'It was me who carried you from the pub!'
 Gorilla was wearing a singlet that emphasized his long hairy arms. He shot nimbly up the derrick to look down at the mole and demand, 'Where's the firewood?’
'The overseer’s getting it.'
'He’s what? We're on a contract! Alfie has to fire up the boiler! We can't waste time sitting here. You tell that overseer to pull his finger out or I'll thump him into the fuckin' sound!' Gorilla swung back down the derrick to the deck below.
'Rude and crude,' Tom observed. 'But he's good.'
'And that’s all that matters on a job like this. I’ll be back soon.'
'Where are you going?'
'To change out of the fancy shirt and trousers,’ Andrew answered. ‘Or by breakfast, everyone in this town will know where I spent last night.'
****
Andrew took the steep path that led up past the white screen toward the bungalows on the hill. The screen was the first thing Andrew had noticed on his return to Namaga. Indeed, one could hardly fail to notice it from the deck of any vessel when it entered the sound. Tug had filled Andrew in on whose idea it was to put the screen and flagpole there. Andrew paused by the screen to catch his breath and look down at the mole and  the pile-driver then resumed the stiff climb. A telescope almost fell on his head.
'Oh dear! How clumsy of me!'
Andrew rescued the telescope from the grass and called up to the woman leaning over the balcony rail of the bungalow above. 'No damage done.'
'It’s you I’m worried about. Not the 'scope. It almost fell on your head!'
Andrew laughed. ‘I have a mighty hard head. I'll bring it up to you.' He climbed the flight of steps leading to the balcony. 'Here you are.'
'May I offer some refreshment?'
'I could use a sip of water.'
Sarah Weinberg set the telescope down and went inside the house. Andrew's glance went to the ornate wrought-iron furniture he did not recall being there seven years ago. Back then, the balcony was cluttered with fishing tackle and the trappings of a widower living alone.Water goblets and a crystal jug were brought to the table by the black maid who smiled shyly at Andrew before darting back inside. Her mistress emerged minutes later, cheeks now touched up with rouge. Long auburn hair had been rolled atop her head and was held in place with a tortoise-shell comb. She motioned to the chair across the small table.
'I have to confess you gave me a shock when we met last night, Andrew. I was told you strongly resemble your father but the likeness is most uncanny.’
Andrew had been jolted too, when they were introduced. Tug had informed him that Isaac married again but failed to mention the second wife had to be at least two decades younger than the old sea dog. She was also mighty attractive. Her green eyes were hypnotic. They lingered on his face as she handed him a glass of water.
'People say I'm Bull's mirror image, Mrs Weinberg.'
'Do call me Sarah.'
'Sarah.'
Her lips parted in a smile. Then, like a cloud passing over the sun, her smiled faded. ‘We all miss Bull. I gather he sent you to live with Isaac when you were a boy.'
'That's true,' Andrew confirmed.
'Were you that difficult to handle?' Sarah teased.
'I guess I must have been.’
There was far more involved in his father’s decision but Andrew had no desire to go into that. Again, Sarah smiled. Was he reading too much into those green eyes?
She sighed. 'Isaac was deeply distressed by Bull's death.'
'He was?'
Sarah reached across the table to rest a hand on Andrew’s wrist, the intimacy of her action catching him off-guard. 'No matter what Tug may have told you, Isaac cherished your father's friendship ... even if that friendship was tested at times.'
Andrew could think of nothing to say to that remark. Feeling her fingers moving sensually on his arm he moved it away, ostensibly to reach for the goblet. 'Tug did tell me your husband does not want the jetty built.'
'Oh that!' Sarah dismissed. 'Isaac is set in his ways.’
'He's also chairman of the syndicate. The syndicate has imposed demands that make my task as its construction engineer and contractor all the more difficult.’
'You are so like him!'
'Pardon?'
'The way you thrust out your chin. Bull always did that when he got his dander up.’ Sarah laughed softly, as if relishing some private joke. 'I was told you sing as well as he did. We need a baritone.'
'Oh no!’ Andrew protested. ‘I'm not about to join some glee club.’
‘But surely you would enjoy a sing-along some evening. We ladies like to get together when our husbands are out on the shell beds. I have the only decent piano in the settlement so everyone comes here. Gentlemen in town are invited. Do say you will come.' Misty came out to the veranda to announce a 'missus' was at the front door. Andrew rose to leave.
'Don't go,' Sarah urged.
'Afraid I must. We’re driving piles this morning.'
'But it’s a holiday.'
' Thanks to the penalties your husband imposed,’ Andrew pointed out wryly, 'there won't be any holidays for me until I've finished building the jetty.'
Sarah walked with him along the balcony and around to the front of the house.  Andrew’s mouth almost fell open. Sstanding at the foot of the steps was a vivacious young woman and from his vantage on the patio, it was impossible not to look down the gaping cleavage at her splendid breasts.
‘Naomi?’ Sarah greeted—almost resentfully. ‘This is Andrew Duggan.’
'Well, hello!’ Naomi gushed. ‘I’ve heard all about you, Andrew. And before I forget, Rodney said you can blame me for him not joining you at the pub last night.'
'I can see why,' Andrew replied with a straight face.
Rodney—Red Rod to his mates—always did have a thing for women with big tits, Andrew remembered. Tug said Rodney had sailed down to Fremantle to marry one and bring her to Namaga. The newly-weds had yet to finish their honeymoon. Naomi sighed, her splendid breasts threatening to burst free of the blouse.
She bemoaned, 'Tug came knocking on our door at some ungodly hour this morning. When I woke up again, Rodney was gone!  I do wish he left at a more civilised hour.'
‘The fleet had to get away early to beat the fog,’ Andrew explained. ‘'How is the work coming along on your bungalow?'
'Not as quickly as I would like. And nobody’s installed the guy-lines yet.’
‘Cyclone season is months away,’ Andrew assured. ‘But when I see him next, I’ll send Joe Ferguson around to measure up your place.’
'Oh thank you,’ Namoi purred. ‘And do feel free to stop by any time.'
The last thing Andrew intended was to visit this voluptuous woman while her husband was away at sea—especially a husband renowned for his fiery temper. Andrew strode on up the hill.
****
Andrew showered, shaved and changed at the bungalow. By the time he got back down the hill—via a path that steered well clear of Isaac’s bungalow— the dredge was resting on hard mud and the sea was a good half mile removed from the mole. Gorilla’s offsider was speaking earnestly to Tom when Andrew joined them.
‘Is there a problem, Alfie?’
 'Gorilla's spitting chips, Mister Duggan.'
'Is that so?'
'He says if the tide was in he'd be on his way back to Port Darwin by now.'
‘You tell him if he drives that pile an inch out of line, I'll send him back there on the next tide.'
Alfie's eyebrows shot up. 'I ain't saying that to Gorilla!'
'Then I'll deal with him,' Andrew soothed. 'Is the boiler fired up?'
'It’s been fired up for half an hour.'
'Then you'd better get where you’re needed.'
Alfie scooted across a plank to the dredge.
Moments later Gorilla shouted, 'You ready now?'
'We are,' Andrew returned.
'About fuckin' time!'
On the dredge’s after-deck, Gorilla swung a lever that sent the heavy weight inside the derrick plummeting down to hit the piling resting in the cradle. The result was a resounding whump- whump! Gorilla reeled in cable to raise the weight back up the derrick .The block plummeted again, slamming the sturdy jarrah pile another two inches into the hard mud.
While he watched the pile-driver in action, Andrew remarked to Tom, ‘We’d better check those bracket markers are in the right place.’
'I already have,’ Tom assured.
‘With a theodolite?'
'Of course. They’re exactly where they're supposed to be. The bloke who marked those brackets knew what he was doing.
‘I'm impressed.'
'So was I.’
‘Let's have another look at the plans.'
While pondering the modified plans, Andrew reflected on what Tug had told him this past week. 'What pisses me off,' Tug had grated, 'was the syndicate turning its back on your father. For Chris’sake, he built the mole, laid that railway line, shipped in the locomotive and the flatcars, the pump-car…  When the board refused to cough up the money he needed to finish the jetty,’ Tug recalled, 'Bull left me to run the company and went bush for a while. Then he moved up to Whisper Bay.’
‘With who?’ Andrew had asked automatically.
‘Nobody.’
Andrew found that hard to believe. ‘My father went back there without some woman to keep him company? ’
Tug had nodded vigorously. ‘He stayed up at Whisper Bay until just before he dived on the wreck. After that I got Henry’s reply to my letter.’
'Who’s Henry?'
'Henry de Longe.'
'The financier?'
'Years ago, your dad and Henry were mates on the goldfields. I told you so.’
'You didn't tell me his mate was Henry de Longe who owns subsidiaries around the world—including a shipping company he bought out last year.’
'Henry's a big fish now but he was freezing his arse off in a tin shack when Bull teamed up with him. Were it not for Bull, he'd still be down there in the Del Mine, buried under tons of rock. That’s why I wrote to Henry about Bull’s troubles and asked for help. It was Henry who baled us out of debt.'
Andrew was perplexed by the generosity of a man whom his father had not spoken of—to him, at least. Nevertheless, that steady whump-whump of the pile-driver attested Henry de Longe’s vested interest in fulfilling Bull’s dream, even after his death.
The steady reverberation ceased abruptly, prompting Andrew and Tom to step outside the hut and watch as Gorilla demonstrated his finesse with winches raising another piling into the derrick’s cradle. Tom remarked with his usual dry humour, 'Maybe we should buy champagne to celebrate this great occasion.’
Andrew’s laugh was sour. Nobody in the settlement had come down to see what was going on. ‘I’ve decided to camp at the emporium until we finish this job. It has a sleeping alcove upstairs and it’s too long a walk up to the bungalow.’
Tom nodded absently, his gaze on the expanse of hard mud and tidal pools reaching way out beyond the mole.
'So what do you think?' Andrew asked.
'This job is going to be one tough bastard,’ Tom answered, ‘That's what I think.'
****
Andrew folded another pair of whites into the suitcase, snapped it shut and grabbed his panama hat.
‘I see you, boss,’ Peewee hailed, from beneath the poinciana tree.
‘Look out good for rats and snakes, Peewee. I don’t want any getting in the house. Do you have tobacco?’
‘You been give me some, boss.’
‘What about tucker?’
‘Missus Ferguson look out for me.’
Bull had stipulated in his will that Peewee be accommodated in the bungalow grounds and his needs provided for until he died. Satisfied he was being cared for, Andrew started along the path. 
‘Sister belong you bring you back here, boss.’
Andrew came to an abrupt halt. ‘I haven’t got a sister, Peewee. You know that.’
Peewee insisted, ‘She work magic belong you.’
 ‘I don’t want to hear your rubbish talk, old man.’
‘Bye ‘m bye you got to listen to me. Boss Bull—‘
Andrew cut in harshly, ‘Why did he go out to the wreck?’
Peewee did not answer.
Andrew picked up his suitcase again and carried it to the waiting coach.
****
The sleeping alcove on the upper floor of the Duggan Emporium gave off from the office. Andrew could barely ease his way around the cot to get to the wardrobe. The tap in one corner delivered cold water to a small sink.A primus stove rested on the tiny table. Now that night was coming on, he lit the hurricane lamp and suspended it from the hook hanging from a rafter.
While its facilities were limited, especially compared to all that was available at the bungalow, the emporium was far more convenient to the waterfront for managing what Andrew knew was going to be a difficult project. If he and Tom managed to pull it off, Andrew mused as he lay there on the cot after dousing the lamp, it would be a bloody miracle.
Though he had inherited his father's pearling company, in his will Bull had stipulated it would be best if Tug remained in charge of operations at sea. This suited Andrew just fine. His terrifying ordeal on the shell beds seven years ago had put an end to his diving days. And, once the jetty was built, Andrew was equally happy for Tug to resume his role as manager of Duggan Pearling Company. Andrew had no desire to remain in Namaga. The settlement held no attachments for him.
Born up the cape at Whisper Bay, in the house his father built, Andrew was ten years of age when hostile blacks launched an attack on the house and killed his mother. At that time, Bull’s role as founder and chairman of the Namaga Syndicate required too much of his time and energy to raise an unruly son. Perhaps because of the trauma he suffered witnessing his mother’s death, Andrew was forever getting into trouble so Bull decided to entrust Andrew to the care of his friend, Isaac.
Andrew spent much of his boyhood on Isaac's lugger and under Isaac’s wing before attending boarding school down in Perth, some fifteen hundred miles away. It was probably Isaac who instilled in Andrew the notion that some kind of curse hung over Namaga. Though Andrew returned to the settlement after gaining his degree in engineering, he did not share his father’s sense of commitment to the place. His brush with death on the shell beds within months of his return provided good excuse to pack up and leave.
His antipathy for the place still as strong as it had always been,  Andrew wished Tug had not sent that wire asking him to build the jetty.Yet he owed Tug his life. So here he was, back in Namaga, about to realize the dream of a man who was—in truth—more a father to Tug than to himself.

***** 
Chapter 7
Andrew made it down to the mole in time to indulge his customary mug of coffee with Tom before the local men showed up for work. Tom was dismayed so few had responded to the notices he had posted around Chinatown. Andrew said they were fortunate to get this many. In a place like Namaga, the only work force available was at the prison compound. Every other adult male in the settlement was either working for himself or out on the shell beds. Tom would have to make do with this skeleton crew to throw up the canteen, living quarters and ablutions block for the labour force to be shiped in from down south. Leaving Tom to assign the men  their various tasks, Andrew strode back to the emporium.
Climbing the stairs, he glared at the pile of paperwork on the desk. Now that Tug was out on the shell beds with the fleet, provisioning the fleet and managing Duggan Pearling Company's operations ashore had become his responsibility. Worse, along with his father's company he had inherited his new-found status as a member of the syndicate board incurring yet more obligations he could have well done without. All this, coupled  with his role as the civil engineer in charge of erecting the jetty made Andrew’s work-load formidable.
Pulling out the swivel chair, he sat down at the desk and was staring glumly at the pile of invoices, lading slips and unopened envelopes in that pile when he heard the stairs creak under whoever was climbing them to to his office. Swinging around in the chair, he saw his visitor pause for breath on the landing just outside the doorway. His face was red and his nose was peeling.
'Mister Duggan?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Wally Mott, supervisor of the prison compound. You wanted to see me?’
‘I do. Come in. I see you caught plenty of sun out on the water. Catch anything else?’
‘A mighty fine cod.' Mott spread his hands and chuckled.  'Sixty pounds if he was an ounce!' 
Andrew pointed to a chair. Mott sank into it, slapped his shirt pocket and frowned.
‘Lost something?'
'I must have left my tobacco at the house.'
Andrew motioned to the humidor on the desk. ‘Have a cigar.'
'Thanks!'
Mott bit off one end of the cheroot and lit up.
‘Tug informed you I am now a board member of the syndicate?’
'That he did.’
‘Good. While Tug’s out with the fleet I’ll be handling requisitions from the prison compound for syndicate funds.’
Mott nodded as he blew a stream of smoke up to the ceiling. ‘Isaac told me.’
'I hear you've been running the compound six years?’
‘Six years and six months.’ 
‘So there's no need for me to go into your obligations as its appointed supervisor.'
'I've been filling out those bloody requisitions long enough to know what's what.'  
‘They're a pain,’ Andrew agreed. 'And you'd also be aware of my obligations as the syndicate’s representative when it comes to the health and welfare of your prisoners?'
Again, Mott nodded.
Andrew asked him, Are there any issues or problems requiring my attention?'
'None worth mentioning.'
'I hear a prisoner died recently.'
Mott shrugged. 'We put him in the wagon and took him to Bert—not that she could have done anything. He was already dead.'
'Bert did not visit the compound herself?'
'Not as I recall. After all, she's got more than enough to do in town—‘
Andrew cut in, ‘But, along with the requisitions for wages and rations you are required to furnish inspection reports attesting the prisoners are healthy. Right?'
‘Right.’
'Aren’t those reports signed by the midwife?
‘That depends.’ Mott clarified, ‘If the midwife isn’t available, somebody from the syndicate board inspects the prisoners and signs the paperwork.'
Andrew flicked through files on his desk and found what he was looking for. Opening the file, he said, 'Here’s your receipt dated March 19th for funds to cover this coming quarter.'
‘Tug figured—since you had just got back to Namaga—we’d best deal with that before he went out to the shell beds.'
‘Fair enough,' Andrew endorsed, 'But there's something that bothers me. Perhaps you can help me clear it up.’ 
'Happy to oblige.'
'There’s no inspection report attached to this requisition.'
'Well, y'see, ‘I sort of fell behind with my paperwork—‘
'I'm way behind with my paperwork right now,’ Andrew acknowledged. 'But Namaga depends on your work gangs to maintain our roads, channels and other things. I’ll be relying on the gangs to supply the firewood we need for the pile-driver. So I'd appreciate you getting that inspection report to me right away.'
Mott knocked the ash from his cigar into the ashtray on Andrew's desk. 'Well, truth is, Mister Duggan, the midwife was a bit under the weather.'
'The inspection hasn't been made?'
'There's no need, really.'
'What about the work gang I saw?'
Mott frowned. 'What gang?'
Andrew's tone hardened. 'The gang I saw with Jess on Easter Sunday. Those prisoners could hardly stand up, let alone carry firewood.'
'Well, I wasn't here to see what prisoners Jess—'
'So Jess told me,' Andrew cut in brusquely. 'You'd gone fishing.' Andrew's tone took on an icy edge. 'Mister Mott. I don't have the time to make a trip out to the compound and conduct an inspection. Do I have your word it is up to scratch and the cells are clean?'
'They are!' Mott protested indignantly.
'They had damn well better be. And from now on, if the midwife can’t attend sick prisoners you will send for Peewee.'
'I don't want that old black coming in there chanting his nigger nonsense.’
‘My father always had Peewee deal with sick prisoners or outbreaks of disease at the compound,' Andrew shot back coldly. 'Peewee's mumbo jumbo may be irritating but his blackfellow medicines work. And as long as I am monitoring the requisitions you submit to the syndicate you will make use of Peewee when the midwife is not available. Is that understood?'
Mott flinched under Andrew's hard gaze.
'Understood.'
****
Andrew pushed open batwing doors to enter the hotel saloon.
'Well look what the cat dragged in,' Sally greeted. 'You look as bad as Arthur.'
Arthur Lombard was snoring softly with his head resting on the bar. His pearler's whites were rumpled. He had not shaved in days. He looked more like a drunken bum than a master pearler.
‘I haven't had much sleep,’ was Andrew’s excuse.
Sally raised an eyebrow. 'From what I hear, it's a wonder you get any sleep at all.’
Andrew pretended he did not hear that remark. Tossing his panama on the hat rack by the door, he perched on a stool well removed from Arthur’s musical snore. The pile-driver suddenly resumed its jarring whump-whump, rattling bottles and glasses on shelves behind the bar.
‘For Christ sake!’ Sally cried. 'How long are we going to have to put up with that bloody noise?'
'About five months.'
'Five months! I won’t be able to take that din another five hours.'
'In five hours you won't even notice it.'
'Says who?'
'Says me. Am I too late for breakfast?'
'You're eating here?'
'Even you can't ruin eggs.'
'Want to bet?'
'No.'
'Would you like a beer?'
Andrew wagged his head. 'You know I never drink before noon.'
'You look like you need a beer.'
'Does every publican's wife say that?'
'If she's also the barmaid she does. I hear you and Tug really tied one on.’
‘Thanks to that concoction your husband brews up on the sly.’ Andrew shuddered. ‘Where is he?'
'Terry is upstairs working on the books.'
'I hate book-keeping.'
'Do you need Terry?'
'Leave Terry to his book-keeping. What I need is a clerk. Yes, I will have breakfast.'
Sally went to the kitchen. 
Arthur Lombard was now muttering in his sleep.
Gossip rife in this community, Andrew had already heard about Arthur’s woes. Evidently, he had returned to Namaga just before the layover to learn his wife had packed up and left while he was at sea harvesting shell. Arthur sold his bungalow, moored his luggers in the cove over by North Head and booked into a room at the hotel. He had not stopped drinking since.
‘It’s the curse,’ Arthur mumbled.
'Arthur?'
Arthur's head jerked up. 'Whazzat?'
'Are you all right?'
'She won't come back.'
Arthur rested his head again on his elbows and went back to sleep.
Andrew eyed the bottles of Terry's Special on the upper shelf. 'Before I leave this town for good,' he vowed silently, 'I'm going to find Terry's still and blow it up.'
Sally called from the lounge, 'Breakfast is served.'
Glad to get away from Arthur's bubbling snore, Andrew left the saloon to eat in the lounge. Sally motione him to the appropriate table. As he sat down, Andrew asked her, 'Why did Arthur's wife leave him?'
'She got tired of being a shell widow,' was Sally's reply.
In Namaga, the term shell widow applied not only to women whose partners had been taken by a shark, bitten by a sea snake, caught in a whirlpool or perished in the deep because of faulty diving equipment. Shell widows embraced all the wives of air-pump tenders, shell-openers, divers and skippers who spent weeks at a time, removed from their wives, out at sea harvesting mother-of-pearl.
‘Andrew, you've hardly touched your breakfast. What's wrong?'
'Nothing.'
'Don’t give me that. This is the girl you used to sit and laugh with ‘til all hours of the morning. Remember?'
'Not after Terry decided he'd better marry you,' Andrew grinned.
'The grin suits you better. So what's up?'
'Nobody from the syndicate has been anywhere near the mole.'
'Most of them are out on their luggers,' Sally pointed out.
'But not all,' Andrew fretted. 'hat about Ah Choy? Wilfred? Toshira? They’re ashore.' He reached for the toast. 'The only reason I came back was to build the jetty this town needs for its survival. Yet nobody shows the slightest interest. This town hasn't changed one bit.'
'You don’t need a clerk,’ Sally dismissed. ‘What you need is a woman.’
Andrew almost choked on the slice of toast. 'You must be joking!'
'I don't mean any woman,' Sally sniffed. 'I'm talking about a woman to share your trials and tribulations.'
Andrew echoed her words slowly. ‘Trials and tribulations...do you nag Terry with words like that?'
'I don't nag,' Sally protested indignantly. 'We may have our spats now and then, but you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.'
'I wish you'd remember that, Sally.'
She ignored the jibe. ’Your trouble, Andrew, is you've never been in love. I mean love - not lust. You must be... twenty-eight by now?  High time you got married.'
Andrew set his knife and fork down on the plate. ‘Why is it that every wife wants to marry off us happy bachelors? What have I done to deserve so cruel a fate?'
'If you had a wife, you'd be sharing your troubles with her instead of coming here to insult my cooking.'
'I have no intention of taking a wife.'
'That's what Terry said—before I showed up. One day,' Sally insisted, 'some woman is going to knock you right off your feet.'
‘It would take one hell of a woman to do that.'
'She's out there somewhere. She'll walk right into your life,’ Sally predicted darkly.
Andrew laughed. 'Here? I can't picture this femme fatale coming to Namaga.'
'Why not? I did.'
At that moment Joe Ferguson came into the lounge carrying live crayfish in a crab-pot. 'Are these all right, Sally?’
'They're beauties, Joe. Thanks. I'll put them in the tank.'
Sally took them into the kitchen.
‘G’day, Andrew.’
'How is it going, Joe?'
'No good complaining. Nobody wants to hear.'
'True. I didn't know you were setting traps these days.'
'It helps me get by. But I don’t make much out on the water. In a place like this, all you have to do is toss a line to catch something.'
'Why don't you work on the jetty? My foreman could use a man like you.'
'Thanks but I like to work for myself—even if I don't make as much.’
When Joe came to Namaga he was too late to be part of the syndicate fleet. As an independent pearler his costs proved too high. Yet Joe and Margaret liked the town. They stayed, making ends meet on whatever jobs came their way.
‘Rodney's missus needs someone to measure up guy-lines for their bungalow,’ Andrew remembered.
Joe sighed. 'She also wants gutters replaced, the roof checked, the weatherboard painted and a bunch of other jobs done. I'd be happy to do the work but I can’t afford to lay out for the materials. Nor can she pay me until Red Rod gets his money from the next consignment of shell.'
‘I didn't know Red Rod got married until last week. Tug told me it was Rod who argued in his favour over building the jetty. Make this job my wedding gift. Order what you need and fix up the bungalow. I'll take care of the bill.’
‘In that case,’ Joe beamed, 'I'll get right over there.' 
Joe stepped back from the table. ‘It's almost scary, Andrew.'
'What?'
Joe motioned up toward the portrait that dominated the hotel lounge.'The likeness. If  you put on the bosun’s cap and that Saint Christopher your dad's got around his neck, anyone would think you and him were the same bloke.'
****
After Joe left, Andrew moved to the other side of the table to contemplate the portrait done by an artist in Melbourne. The battered bosun’s cap on Bull's head seemed as much a part of him as the Saint Christopher on the slender gold chain. Bull was bosun on the ship that brought a young woman named Molly from Bristol to the colony of Victoria. That was where he jumped ship to seek his fortune on the goldfields.
Bull had a firm, square, chin and warm, rugged face. His brown eyes burned with an inner zeal that never left him. From the goldfields, Bull returned to Melbourne a wealthy man. He married Molly then promptly set out again with a former shipmate, Boxer, and a cockney orphan named Tug to go after pearls. Tug was with Bull and Boxer when they discovered the hidden sound along the wild Kimberley coast where Pinctada maxima—mother-of-pearl—abounded.
'Penny for your thoughts,' Sally ventured.
His gaze still on the portrait, Andrew asked, ‘Why did he make that dive?’
'Everyone’s talked that subject to death...sorry I said that.'
'No need to apologise,’ Andrew assured. ‘I never saw much of my father. I just wish somebody would tell me why he made that dive.'
'Nobody seems to know, Andrew.'
Andrew pointed up at the portrait. ‘He was the one who made it a hard-and-fast rule—no diver was to go near the wreck. So he must have told somebody why he would take such a stupid risk?'
Whump-whump. Whump-whump.
The pounding of the pile-driver reached into the hotel lounge again, its steady reverberation making Sally glare at Andrew as she covered her ears with her hands.
Andrew got up from the table.
‘Put the breakfast on my chit. I hope you don't charge for the egg shells.'
****
Seven days a week, pilings were driven into the floor of the sound. And every sunrise, work gangs left the prison compound to cut firewood, heft it to the mole and deliver it to the pile-driver. The prisoners were also required to skid pilings across the mud on sleds, or float them out to the pile-driver on rafts. A catwalk was erected—the planks resting athwart the brackets that reached ever further from the shore—so they could carry the firewood on their shoulders instead. Andrew was with Tom checking progress on accommodations for the work force to come, when a coach pulled up at the mole.
‘Royalty has finally deigned to pay us a visit,’ Tom said, under his breath.
‘It’s about time somebody finally did,’ Andrew observed as they watched the banker approach. 'What brings you down here Wilfred?'
'You requested a progress payment.'
‘So?’
‘Why?’
Andrew motioned to the men presently hoisting rafters atop a timber frame. ‘To pay their wages. What else?'
‘The funds allocated by the syndicate are to pay the men working on the jetty. They have yet to arrive.'
‘Are you saying Duggan Pearling Company should pay these men?'
'It was my impression that no payments would be drawn on my bank until the workmen from Fremantle—‘
'Those payments don't come from your bank,' Andrew shot back. 'They come from a syndicate account lodged in your bank. If I can’t use that account to pay these men, at our next board meeting I’ll make damn sure all syndicate funds held in your bank are withdrawn. Immediately.’
The banker stepped back a pace. 'Steady on, Andrew. No need to get agitated.’ 
'I promised those men they would be paid Friday. That’s tomorrow. I want that money today.'
The banker pursed his lips. 'Why today? You are paying them tomorrow.'
Andrew was sorely tempted to grab the banker by his vest and shake some sense into him. 'Because I have to make up their pay envelopes. I won't have time for that tomorrow. I'll stop by the bank this afternoon. Anything else on your mind?'
Wilfred shook his head.
'Good. Tom and I are busy. See you at the bank.'
As the banker drove away, Tom ventured, 'He might be a real problem.'
'Wilfred's a pain in the arse but I can handle him.' Andrew jerked a thumb in the direction of the bungalow up the side of the hill. 'Our real problem is Isaac. He’s the chairman and he doesn't want this jetty built no matter what the board decides.'
****
Naomi peered through the telescope and giggled, 'Yum yum! Andrew Duggan can put his shoes under my bed any night.'
'If Rodney finds them there, he'll shoot both of you.'
'Rodney isn't ashore to find even his own shoes under the bed.'
'That's what happens when you marry a pearler.'
Naomi pouted. 'I didn't get married to spend my nights staring up at the ceiling!'
Sarah felt no sympathy for Naomi. She, at least, could look forward to sharing her bed with Rodney when he did come ashore. The mere idea of getting into bed with Isaac made Sarah shudder. She had not slept with him for years.
Their marriage had never been more than a convenient compromise. He needed a woman to keep his home presentable and play hostess when buyers came to Namaga. She needed a man to provide a decent home after her first husband gambled away her inheritance and shot himself.
Isaac’s first wife and their two children were among the many victims on a ship that went down in a cyclone. He would never get over their loss and it was Isaac who finally suggested to Sarah they sleep in separate rooms. He was more often at sea than ashore anyway. Sarah preferred the arrangement. An excellent cook, she enjoyed playing hostess to whoever was invited to their lovely bungalow overlooking the sound. The occasional soirée, as she liked to call them, afforded a welcome diversion. Having no children of her own, there was little else in Namaga to keep Sarah occupied.
Her affair with Bull Duggan had been inevitable.
There was something about Bull—an aura of purpose she had never known in any man—that drew people to him. His energy seemed boundless. Unlike Isaac, who showed no interest in what the future might bring, Bull's sole preoccupation was the future. And he was willing to share his vision of that future with anyone willing to listen. He used to hold her spellbound talking about the jetty and vessels with hulls designed to rest on the mud while their refrigerated holds were filled with beef from cattle raised on those vast pastoral properties inland. He predicted the Kimberley would eventually become a source of vast wealth for the people of this continent. He envisioned a telegraph link that would render Namaga a viable and vital port. The syndicate board did not share his vision. When Isaac and the others turned their backs on him, he left the settlement and went back to Whisper Bay. Sarah understood his decision to leave. If only he had taken her up there to look after him. If only he had not gone out to the wreck....
'Sarah?’
'Mmm?'
'Where have you been these past five minutes?’ Naomi chastised. ‘I don’t think you heard a word I said.  Is he coming or not?'
‘Is who coming where?’
‘Andrew Duggan…to our soiree?’
'I’m inviting him.'
'Thank God. I'd much rather have him looking down my cleavage. From what I've seen, the other men in this town will bore me stiff.'
'You are brazen, Naomi. Do you intend to rape the poor man?'
'Now there's an idea!' Naomi laughed. 'It must be full moon. I always feel randy when there's a full moon. I’d better get back to the house. Joe Ferguson is coming over to measure up the guy lines. Can you spare any gin? I'll replace it when I go into town.'
After Naomi left, Sarah peered through the telescope at the figure in pearler's whites standing down there on the mole. Sarah shivered. It wasn't Bull, of course. But the resemblance was so uncanny; it seemed Bull had risen from the very bottom of the sea to finish what he had started.

***** 
Chapter 8
'That bloody pile-driver!' Sally cried, when Andrew pushed through the batwing doors. 'It's worse than a hangover.'
'Then I’d better have a beer,' Andrew returned. He glanced around automatically for sign of Arthur Lombard. 'What happened to your most valued customer?'
'Arthur hung himself when that bloody contraption started up this morning.'
The jarring thud ceased abruptly. In the ensuing silence Sally wondered which was worse: the noise itself or bracing for it to resume again. Andrew glanced at the clock. Gorilla and Alfie had taken a break for lunch.
'I really do need a clerk, Sally. I'm up to my ears in ledgers, dockets, vouchers, time sheets, pay envelopes... there has to be somebody in town who could use the job.'
'How about the bloke Arthur had working for him?'
'You mean Arthur did hang himself?'
'No no. He’s up in his room sleeping off his celebration.’
‘What celebration?’
‘Arthur decided to sell out. He told his clerk to stop by this afternoon to collect what’s owed to him.’
‘Is that so?’ Andrew took a long swallow from the glass Sally slid across the bar. 'When the clerk comes in, tell him to see me about a job. Have you seen Joe Ferguson?'
'What am I? Your secretary? Joe's fixing up Rodney's bungalow.'
‘So he is,’ Andrew remembered.
'Being your cook is bad enough. Being your bloody secretary is a bit too much. I can’t wait for that woman to walk into your life.'
Andrew downed the beer and made his escape.
He was almost knocked off his feet by Joe coming at the run along the narrow path. ‘What’s up, Joe?'
Joe pointed back along the path. ‘It’s Rod’s missus.’
‘Something happened to her?'
'When I got down from the roof.'
'What were you doing on the roof?'
'Measuring for the guy wires. When I climbed down she came at me. She's ... she's in the garden. I was lucky to get away from her.'
'You mean ... she's dangerous?'
Joe’s head jerked in a nod. 'I ain't going back there.'
'Yes you are. I might need help.’
As they hurried along the path Joe’s eyes flicked to the windows of bungalows on either side to see if anyone was watching from within. The blinds had been drawn in most, but that failed to assuage his apprehensions.
'She’s in the garden?' Andrew checked.
‘Around the back.'
'So come on!'
'I can't look at her again,' Joe swallowed.
'You mean she's ....'
Joe licked his lips.
'Jesus.'
Andrew remembered vividly the pearler's wife who hung herself from the clothes line. Fearing the worst, he walked around the back and came to an abrupt halt. Naomi was lying on the patch of lawn—stark naked. Hesitantly, Andrew kneeled beside the voluptuous body that was worthy of a Rembrandt painting and felt for a pulse. As he did, Naomi inhaled. Her creamy breasts rose to eye level. Then she emitted a snore.
Joe called from around the house, ‘Is she there?’
'Of course she’s here. She's asleep for Chris’ sake!'
'Is she ... starker’s?'
'Bring me something to cover her up.'
Joe whisked a towel from the bathroom and averted his eyes as he handed it to Andrew. The towel afforded only partial concealment of Naomi's splendid attributes.  Andrew carried her into the house and laid her on the bed.
'You told me she came at you.'
'She did! She came out the back door stark naked and threw her arms around me.'
'Then what happened?'
'She passed out.'
'Why didn't you carry her inside like I just did?'
Joe pointed to the nearby bungalows. 'You can see right into this room from over there.  If Margaret hears I was in here with Rod's missus in her altogether ... and if Red Rod hears!'
'Let's get the hell out of here.'
Neither man relaxed until they were well clear of Naomi’s bungalow.
'You wanted to see me about something, Andrew?'
“Is your sloop available for charter?’
'Only if I’m on board. And I get paid in advance.’
‘How long would it take to make the trip to the depot and back?’
'Four days. Maybe five.'
'That’s all?'
'She’s fast, especially with the Genoa up.’ 
'I'll pay for this charter. How soon can we leave?'
Joe looked down at the sound to check the tide. 'I'll be ready to go at sunrise.'
'That suits me. Joe ...'
'Yes?'
'Next time some naked woman wants to rape you, do what most blokes would do.'
'What's that?'
'Grin and bear it.'
****
Andrew had just made up the pay envelopes when he saw a lugger coming across the sound. After reading its registration number through the binoculars, he scanned the deck. Though he had not seen Duke in seven years, there was no mistaking the man at the helm. Andrew set down the binoculars and returned to his desk. Moments later the stairs creaked under whoever was climbing them to his office.
'Sally said you need a clerk.'
The sallow complexion told Andrew his visitor spent little time out of doors. 'I sure do. Come on in.'
‘The name’s Ernest.’
Andrew judged Ernest to be in his thirties. 'You kept the books for Arthur?’
'I did, yes'
'So why aren't you keeping them now?'
'Mister Lombard has decided to sell up and leave Namaga.'
So the rumour was true. 'How much did Arthur pay you?’
Ernest quoted a figure.
'I'll improve on that.'
'Thank you, Mister Duggan.'
'Providing you do the job expected of you,' Andrew qualified.
'When would you like me to start?'
'Now.'
Ernest blinked. 'Now?  It's almost five o clock.'
'I have a lugger coming in. Since you worked for Arthur you should know that means there’s shell to be unloaded and provisions for the fleet put aboard. Ernest, I’m offering you a good salary. I expect you to earn it. Well?'
'What provisions shall I order, Mister Duggan?'
'That's more like it,’ Andrew approved. ‘Duke will give you a list soon as he gets in. Then get over to the store and make sure his order is delivered to the quay.'
 'And the shell, Mister Duggan?'
‘The Malays will unload in the morning at first light. Be at the dock to tally the bags. They’re to be stacked inside the warehouse for grading.’ Andrew glanced at his watch. ‘Have you got all that?'
'I have. Yes.'
'Good. Get moving.'
Ernest scurried back down the stairs.
****
Duke had not changed much. The thick curly hair was more flecked with grey perhaps. The seams in his face seemed a little deeper. He still wore the same rough denim—one trouser leg folded and tied to cover the stump where a shark had chomped off what was below the knee. The missing limb did not seem to hamper Duke as he swung along on his peg leg beside Andrew to the hotel. Duke opted for the lounge instead of the saloon, which meant he wanted their conversation to be private. He was not a man for small talk and once their drinks were served he raised what Tug had obviously mentioned to him out on the shell beds.
‘Tug’s wondering if you’re having second thoughts about Whisper Bay.'
‘Why should I?’
‘It’s your home, Andrew.’
Andrew shrugged. ‘That was years ago, Duke.’
‘All the same, Tug’s thinking you might want to at least pay a visit.’
‘It takes two days to get there. I doubt I’ll find the time.’
‘Well, Tug wants you to know you’re always welcome should you want to—‘
‘Tell him the arrangements he made for the house and property suit me fine.’ Andrew changed the subject. ‘How’s the harvest going?’
Duke checked to be sure there was nobody eavesdropping before he replied, ‘The beds we're working now are mighty deep—too deep in my opinion. Tug’s worried. He saw Allen and Courtney row over to Isaac's lugger for a meeting. Chances are, they might be planning to pull out of Namaga and head down to Roebuck Bay.'
'You think the fleet will split up?'
‘It’s bound to happen if we can't find decent shell in these waters.’
Andrew nodded, having reached the same conclusion.
Duke observed, ‘That bloke on the pile-driver isn’t wasting any time. We were counting the brackets on our way in.’
‘And since he started driving them,' Andrew lamented, 'not a single vessel has called in here. I don’t even know if, never mind when my labour force will arrive.’
‘That’s a worry,’ Duke acknowledged.
‘I'm hoping a vessel might have called into the depot and left a message. I’ve asked Joe Ferguson to run me there on his sloop, tomorrow.’
Duke motioned to the package he had carried into the hotel lounge. ‘I was going to leave this here for a bloke to send to Darwin. It will get there sooner from the depot. Since you’re heading up there …’
‘No problem, Duke. I’ll send it on from the depot. Andrew reached for the package. It was heavy. ‘What’s in here? Diving boots?
‘Kaito wants them repaired.’
‘And I want a word with Kaito. Did he come ashore?’
Duke wagged his head. ‘Tug put him to work on another lugger until I get back. We need all the good divers we’ve got on those deep beds.’
‘So what boots is Kaito wearing now?’
‘He has a couple of pairs.’
Andrew got up to replenish their drinks. After setting them down on the table he ventured, 'That day you took my father out to the wreck…‘
'I knew you'd get around to it.’
'I'm not asking what happened, Duke. I've already had that passed on to me.'
'So what are you asking, Andrew?'
'Maybe Bull said something. It might help me figure out why he made that dive.'
'I told Tug everything Bull said.'
Andrew would not let it go at that. ‘Maybe it wasn’t what he said. Maybe there was something different about him?’
Duke looked up at the portrait above their heads. ‘Now that you mention it…’
Andrew leaned forward in his chair. ‘Well?’
‘I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time…’
‘Put your finger on what?’
Duke frowned at the portrait. ‘You see the Saint Christopher he’s wearing?’
‘He always wore it—even when he slept.’
Duke's gaze remained fixed on the portrait. ‘When Bull came aboard that morning he brought his own suit and helmet. He said he couldn’t find his diving boots so he asked Kaito for a loan of his. They wore the same size boot, see. When we got out to the wreck it was me who helped Bull into his suit and helmet.’
‘So?’ Andrew urged when duke fell silent.
‘When Bull dived on the wreck, he wasn’t wearing his Saint Christopher.’
****
Ernest held out the tally sheet. ‘And here is my list of chandlery items the skipper wants next time he comes in.'
Checking the sheet and the list, Andrew was impressed by the clerk's penmanship. 'I shall be out of town for a few days. While I'm gone I want the cash book and ledger brought up to date. And I want an inventory of everything downstairs in the warehouse.  Did Arthur pay you what he owes?'
'Er ... not yet.'
Andrew took some bills from his wallet. ‘Here’s an advance to hold you over.’
Ernest counted and pocketed the bills. 'Thank you.'
'I want these pay envelopes delivered right away to my foreman at his site office on the mole. Then get yourself some breakfast.'
Andrew finished packing his sea bag, shouldered it, and left the emporium to walk to the pier where Joe was waiting on his yellow sloop, the Pixie. Joe caught the sea bag as it was tossed aboard. The early breeze strong enough, his sloop cleared the mangroves using only the jib. Then Joe spotted Duke’s lugger making for the passage back to sea.
'I bet Duke we'd beat him to North Head.'
'He's a good mile ahead.'
'My Pixie will eat up that mile and leave Duke swearing.'
Joe hauled up the mainsail. Andrew knew he had forgotten something but dismissed it from mind now the race was on. 
The package Duke had asked him to forward on from the depot languished in the small cupboard at the foot of the stairs where he had lodged it last night, so he did not have to lug it up to his office.
****
'Mildred saw them!’
‘Saw who?’
‘Andrew Duggan with Naomi. She had nothing on.'
'Nothing!'
'Not a stitch. Can you imagine?'
Sarah got up to pour herself a drink. Her guests were far more interested in hearing about Naomi naked in Andrew Duggan’s arms than what she was playing on the piano.  She took her drink to the balcony where the chandler’s wife was gazing up at the moon.
‘Anything I can get you, Daphne?’
‘No, thank you. I only came out here to get away from the rubbish they’re spouting about Naomi and Andrew Duggan.’
Andrew’s failure to show up this evening had been an immense disappointment for Sarah. The gown she put on especially for him was wasted on men in whom she had not the slightest interest. Naomi’s absence added credence to the gossip that was flying about the piano.
Sarah remarked, ‘I went over to her place yesterday afternoon to borrow some hair clips. Naomi was too drunk to do anything with anyone. She was out for the count.’
‘On saki?’
‘Saki?’ Sarah echoed. ‘Naomi was plastered on gin. I doubt she’s tasted saki.’
Daphne recalled, ‘Andrew was asking for a bottle of saki when I was in the store yesterday. It was probably for Suhara.’
‘Sue who?’
 ‘Sue-ha-rah... She’s one of those sirens in Chinatown whom our husbands pretend they have no interest in,’ was Daphne’s cynical reply.
‘What is this Suhara like?’ 
Daphne smiled pensively. ‘Beautiful. Charming. Suhara has far more class than those bitches standing around the piano sinking their teeth into Naomi’s reputation.’

***** 
Chapter 9
‘You were supposed to rouse me,’ Joe grumbled as he yanked a bucket of water inboard to rinse his face. 
‘You looked comfortable so I decided to let you sleep.' Andrew eased the Pixie into a controlled jibe so she could take better advantage of the breeze. 'We made good time through the passage. You’ll be home in time for breakfast.’
'What’s happening over there?’
Andrew narrowed his eyes against the rising sun to see the crowd gathered on the mole. The tide at the full, he made directly for the dredge. ‘Can you take care of the mail?’ 
‘Will do,’ Joe promised.
On board were the mail and packages they collected from the depot in Cambridge Gulf, left there by vessels that had by-passed Namaga.
Joe took the helm to bring the Pixie along-side the dredge. Andrew jumped to its after-deck and climbed to the gang-walk. It swayed under him as he strode to the mole. Tom beckoned him to the site office.
‘Our workmen from Fremantle I presume?’ Andrew nodded toward the crowd of men on the mole.
Tom handed Andrew a mug of coffee. ‘I thought Gorilla was crude. This mob would frighten their own mothers.’
‘When did they get here?’
‘Yesterday morning—on the Capricorn Maiden.’
There being no sign of the schooner at her usual anchorage, Andrew asked, ‘So where is the Maiden?’
‘She left on the evening tide.’
‘Did you tell her skipper I was due back today?’
‘I did. He said he had to leave right away.’
Andrew frowned.
Tom jerked a thumb in the direction of the men. ‘One of them told me he was a cook. I guess he can't be too bad. They didn’t murder him for what he served up to them this morning.’
‘What are they waiting for?’
‘To find out what they'll be doing here,' Tom answered. 'I saw the Pixie coming in so I figured I’d grant you the honour of setting them straight.’
Andrew grimaced. ‘Thanks a lot.’
The men looked more like dangerous felons than the riggers, carpenters, smithies and labourers needed to build the jetty. Andrew finished his coffee and stepped up on a stack of lumber so they were forced to look up to him. He stood there with hands clasped behind his back until they fell silent.
‘My foreman tells me you’ve had your breakfast,’ he began. ‘Well, I’ve yet to have mine so I’ll keep this short. We have provided you quarters, a canteen, shower block and latrines. You will keep them clean and tidy. Folks in this town don’t want rubbish drawing flies and spreading disease.’
While laying down the ground rules, Andrew sized up the men.
They had voyaged over fifteen hundred miles to a place that had no similarity whatever to Fremantle —or wherever else they lived down south. Obviously, they wanted assurance the jobs promised in the advertisement were here for them. Andrew knew too, there was bound to be one or a few in this bunch who might stir up trouble. The syndicate's stringent demands would not tolerate a strike. Andrew scanned faces, searching for a personality whose authority and judgement would over-ride trouble-makers to resolve any labour disputes when they cropped up.
He was saying, ‘The job will take until November. That’s a long time for a bloke to do without what most blokes need from time to time. So I’ll deal with that right now. All the white women in Namaga are spoken for. So be polite and keep your distance if you want to keep your balls. What you do with the black women who work as domestics is your business. But stay away from the gins out at Three Mile. Some of them have the pox.’
A murmur of conversation flitted about the stack as Andrew took a cheroot from his shirt pocket. One of the men, Adnrew noticed—a wizened character who had to be sixty if he was a day—kept his mouth shut and continued to eye him warily.
Once the cheroot was drawing nicely, Andrew resumed, ‘There are women in  Namaga whose services will take care of your needs. Our golden maidens. They offer their services in Chinatown. You’ll find all kinds in Chinatown: Japanese, Malays, Islanders. They get along surprisingly well… so well in fact, that’s where our golden maidens came from.’
Andrew's quip drew hearty chuckles but the old codger remained silent.
‘Our golden maidens are clean, beautiful and available—for a price. They are prized by every man who lives here. So you don’t haggle over the price. Nor do you abuse them. Should you make that mistake you'll be fed to the sharks. I'm not kidding,' Andrew added. 'There's a lot of sharks in the sound when the tide comes in.'
The old codger’s shrewd eyes never left Andrew’s face.
He moved on to the next subject: the hotel. Andrew pointed out it was the only pub in town. They would be foolish to offend its owners by causing trouble in the establishment. ‘Are there any questions?’
When nobody spoke the old codger stepped forward. Despite his years he had a thick crop of wiry hair and the bearing of a far younger man. ‘I have a couple,’ he said. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name is Andrew Duggan. I’m the engineer building this jetty.’
‘We were told us we’d be working for some syndicate.’
‘That’s correct. The Namaga Syndicate has contracted Duggan Pearling Company, which I own, to complete the project.’
‘So who’s paying our wages?’
‘Your wages will be paid every other Friday by my foreman.’ Andrew beckoned Tom who stepped up beside him. ‘Because some of you might need cash to tide you over until pay day,’ Andrew added, ‘I will advance a draw on your wages this Friday. Tom will now get you organized.’
  Stepping down, Andrew ambled toward the old codger who was now eyeng the brackets of pilings extending from the mole. Andrew asked, ‘Your trade?’ 
‘A bit of everything,’ was the reply.
‘Like what, for example?’
‘I’ve been a rigger, a riveter, a roustabout, a stevedore, a shearer and I panned gold for some years.’
‘My father was a digger on the goldfields.’
‘Where?’
‘Victoria.’
The old codger rubbed the bristles on his jaw. ‘If your father got out with the shirt on his back he was a lucky man.’
‘He did better than that,’ Andrew replied.
‘Then he was one of the very few.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Willie.’
‘What did you sign on for, Willie?’
‘Rigger.’
Andrew’s cheroot had gone out. He ground it underfoot. ‘Aren’t you getting a bit long in the tooth to be swinging up and down bearers and joists?’
The hard grey eyes fixed again on Andrew’s face. ‘And you look too bloody young to be running a job like this.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The waterline on those pilings tells me you get really big tides here.’
‘We do.’
‘Big tides, shallow waters… that means powerful currents causing a lot of drag on them pilings.’
‘Equally true.’
‘They’ll need bracing.’
‘That's for sure.’
‘That rail line to the mole from shore: will it go out to the end of the jetty?’
‘No damn use otherwise.’
‘You’d better make sure the fettlers situate those rails along bearers.’
‘My foreman will.’
At that moment Tom came over. ‘I’ve got the gangs sorted out but I need a leading hand for the riggers’.
 Andrew turned to Willie. ‘How about it?’
The old codger wagged his head from side to side.
‘Seems to me you have more than enough experience,’ Andrew pressed.
Willie nodded but answered, ‘A leading hand is like meat in a sandwich. If the foreman figures the job ain’t being done he has a go at the leading hand. If the blokes working under the leading hand figure too much is being asked of them, they have a go at him. I came here to work. I didn’t come here to be hated by everybody.’
Even Tom laughed.
Willie said, ‘I’ll figure out who'll suit for leading hand among the riggers. Let’s leave it at that.’
Back inside the site office Tom asked Andrew, ‘Were you serious about making that old coot a leading hand?’
‘Yes. But I was hoping he would turn me down.’
‘You were?’
‘As leading hand he'd be one of us. He’ll prove more useful to us if  the men regard him as one of their own and he can speak for them.  My hunch is, he’ll stand up for them but won’t waste our time on trivialities. Is there anything I should know about, now I’m back in town?’
Tom nodded grimly. ‘Somebody went through this office last Thursday night.’
‘Don’t tell me the pay envelopes were stolen!’
Tom jerked his head toward the adjoining room. ‘They might have been if I wasn’t sleeping right on top of them. Andrew, I don’t want the wages kept here.’
‘Fair enough. Anything else?’
Tom shook his head.
‘Stop by the emporium after knock-off time. I want to show you something.’
****
‘Yoo-hoo! Andrew!’
Andrew looked up to see Sarah leaning over the balcony rail.
‘We missed you last Friday night,’ she told him. ‘How was your trip?’
‘Fine. I just got back.’
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Let me make you something.’
‘Thanks, but I just want to grab some sleep. If you’ll excuse me—‘
‘Of course. Do come over for a drink some evening.’
Andrew tipped his panama and hurried on.
At the bungalow Margaret Ferguson was busy with the broom. ‘Good morning, Andrew. Your clean laundry is on the sofa. Joe said you did not eat on board this morning. Shall I make you breakfast?’
‘Please.’
‘The water on the stove is hot. While you shave I’ll fix your breakfast.’
When she served it Andrew asked, ‘Have you seen a Saint Christopher medallion lying somewhere about the place?’
‘Like the one your father wore?’
‘Yes.’
‘I would have mentioned it if I had.’
‘Margaret... did Bull speak to you before he went out to the wreck?'
‘Not to me, Andrew. I only came by to make sure Peewee was taking care of the garden.’
‘Peewee was here?’
Margaret nodded. ‘I showed him what to weed and then I left.’
‘Do you know where Peewee is now?’
‘Off gathering whatever he puts in that basket of his. He’s generally back around two in the afternoon.’
After catching up on needed sleep Andrew doused himself under the bucket shower and donned clean whites. Peewee was squatting under the poinciana when he stepped out to the front veranda.
‘I see you, boss.’
‘You need any tobacco Peewee?’
‘Mebbe soon.’
‘I’ll pick some up at the store.' Andrew approached the tree. 'Peewee, that day Boss Bull went out to the wreck… He came here first, right?’
‘He was here,’ Peewee confirmed.
‘Do you remember the charm he wore about his neck?’
Peewee nodded gravely.
‘Was he wearing it that morning?’
‘I been tell you, boss.’
‘You told me what?’
‘Sister belong you take magic belong Boss Bull.’
‘Never mind the mumbo-jumbo. I asked you a question.’
‘She took that magic belong Boss Bull to bring you back.’
Andrew’s voice rose in exasperation. ‘I wish you’d stop ranting on about a sister I never had. Was Bull wearing his charm? Yes?  Or no?’
‘No, boss.’
‘Thank you.’
Andrew headed back down the hill.
****
The moment he opened the top drawer to his desk Andrew knew somebody had been through its contents. He summoned Ernest from the warehouse and demanded an explanation.
The clerk sniffed in indignation. ‘You said you wanted the cash book and ledger brought up to date. While I was doing that I noticed an invoice for a mid-channel buoy. There is no such buoy in the warehouse. I asked along the waterfront but nobody has seen the buoy. So I checked the papers in your desk to see if there was a bill of lading mixed in with them. Since there wasn't, I drafted a letter to the shipping agent stating the buoy has yet to arrive. The letter is on your desk.’
Andrew did not like the clerk’s disdainful manner but had to admit he was thorough about his job.
Ernest added, ‘And this came on the Maiden.’
The letter was addressed to the General Manager of Duggan Pearling Company. 
‘Who opened it?’
‘I did,' the clerk admitted. I thought it may have been about the missing buoy—‘
‘I appreciate you trying to find out what happened to that buoy. But any mail addressed to Duggan Pearling is to be opened only by me or Tug. Is that clear?’
‘As you wish, Mister Duggan.’
‘Damn right I wish,’ Andrew grated. ‘Leave whatever you were doing and get down to the mole. Draw up a list of the workmen who arrived yesterday. I don’t care if they give their real names or names they dream up so long as Tom has time-sheets to keep track of their hours. Get going.’
Andrew was still at his desk that evening when Tom climbed the stairs.
‘It’s almost six,’ he pointed out.
‘Take a close look at that floorboard.’
‘I’m looking. All I see is a floorboard.’
‘Put your weight on that end.’
Tom pressed down with his foot. The floorboard swung up to reveal an oblong space sandwiched between the floor and the ceiling below.
Andrew said, ‘Only Tug and I know about that hidden compartment. That’s where you’ll find the pay envelopes if I have to leave them for you to collect.’
‘Why don’t you just put them in your safe?’
‘Because the lock to the safe doesn’t work,’ Andrew replaced floorboard and heaved the safe across to prevent anyone stepping on it.
Tom offered, ‘How about a beer? I’m buying.’
Andrew shook his head. ‘I’ve got too much paper-work to get through.’
Two days later Andrew entered the site office with a bundle under one arm.
 ‘A bit early to be hanging buntings isn’t it?’ Tom quipped.
‘Months too early,’ Andrew agreed. ‘See that flagpole?’
‘Everybody can see that flagpole.’
‘Including me from my office windows,’ Andrew pointed out. ‘And the major was smart enough to leave the lanyard and pullies in place. From now on we are going to make use of them. A white pennant means I come see you ASAP. Blue pennant means we can deal with the matter when I can get here. The yellow pennant is only to be used for a dire emergency.’
Tom moved the pennants to one end of the bench. ‘Willie came to see me this morning. There’s a problem at the canteen. There’s no beef. At least, that’s what the butcher told the cook. Willie wondered if you might know where to get hold of some.’
‘If the butcher says there’s no beef there won’t be any until more cattle are brought here for slaughter.’
‘When might that be?’
‘How would I know?' Andrew grumbled. 'These men aren't starving. Wong brings poultry every week. They get pork from the piggery. Joe’s supplying plenty of fresh fish. Tell Willie they have to put up with the beef shortage just like everyone else in town. Any other complaints?’
‘Yes. You’re getting to be a pain in the arse.’
‘I’m what?’
‘You heard me.’
Tom was not the kind of man to make that remark without good reason.
Andrew took a deep breath. ‘Spit it out.’
‘When we started this job you were down here every morning. Now you don’t even stop by for a coffee. What the hell’s bothering you?’
‘How old is the coffee on that primus?’
‘It’s ancient history.’
‘I’ll have some anyway.’
Tom fired up the primus.
Andrew confided, ‘It's got nothing to do with you, Tom. My father  and the skipper of the Maiden were close mates. To me, Boxer is family. You told him I was due back soon from the depot. Right?’ Tom nodded. ‘You’d think he could have waited overnight to say hello to me.  I’ve been way seven years!’
'So,' Tom pressed.
'I get the distinct notion Boxer’s avoiding me.’
Tom handed Andrew a mug of over-strong coffee.
He took a sip. ‘There was a letter from the Missionary Society I collected in the pile gathering dust up there at the depot,' Andrew announced. 'Evidently, the priest up at Mission Point took our whale-boat somewhere and got himself speared by blacks. Tug never mentioned anything about that to me. And neither Duke nor anyone else is willing to tell me why my father made that dive on the wreck off South Point. Some-thing is being kept from me, Tom. Something I feel I ought to know about. That’s what’s bothering me. I’m sorry it rubbed off on you.’
‘How’s the coffee?’
‘Bloody awful.’
Nevertheless, they touched mugs to signify the air was cleared. Andrew stepped outside the hut and got a surprise. The Capricorn Maiden was making her stately entrance into the sound.
****
Boxer stepped from the longboat and shot a right hook at Andrew's chin. He managed to brush aside the blow. Boxer roared with laughter and crushed Andrew’s hand in his iron grip. ‘I see you ain’t forgotten everything I taught you, Andrew.’
It was Boxer who kindled Andrew’s interest in the sport. At boarding school he had vied for titles in the welter-weight division before moving on to middle-weight at university. ‘It’s been a while since I stepped into the ring,” Andrew admitted. ‘And I’m definitely not about to take you on,’
Boxer grinned. 'My woman sends her best.’
‘You’ve been to Whisper Bay?’
‘Didn’t you get my message?’
‘What message?’
‘I told that clerk feller to pass on to you where I was going and why.’
‘You did?’
‘While we was off-loading. I could use a drink.’
They entered the hotel and Sally came out from behind the bar to fling her arms around Boxer. When it came to women and children, Boxer was renowned for his affection. But God help any member of the Capricorn Maiden's crew who earned the skipper’s displeasure. Andrew ordered their beers. 
‘So what took you to Whisper Bay?’
Boxer said, ‘Those stud bulls Tug ordered. They cost him a fortune. He was worried about getting them ashore on the cape so I agreed to pick them up from Port Darwin and bring them down to Mission Point.’
Boxer downed his beer. Sally had another waiting.
‘One of us had to hike down to Whisper Bay to tell the stockmen to come and get them. Tug said I should go—seeing as how my woman and nippers are there. The stockmen loaned me a mount to ride back to Mission Point. My arse is still sore,’ Boxer laughed. ‘But when we got there the yards were empty and there’s no sign of Tug. I sent the stockmen to track down those bulls while I looked for him.’ Boxer motioned to Andrew’s glass. ‘You’re dragging the chain, Andrew.’
Andrew downed the rest of his beer. Sally presented another.
‘So go on!’
Boxer shook his head from side to side at the recollection. ‘I could see the Maiden riding her anchor out from the landing so I knew Tug had to be about somewhere. You’ll never guess where I found him.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘In a grave.’
Andrew almost choked on his beer.
Boxer slapped his thigh and laughed his hearty laugh.
‘Mind you, the grave was empty. That German priest must have dug it for some reason before he went off in the whale-boat. I said to Tug, “If you be looking for them bulls I doubt you’ll find ‘em down there.” Tug was really pissed off. His stud bulls had pushed through rotten rails at the yards and gone bush during the night.’
‘What was Tug doing in that empty grave?’
Boxer shrugged. ‘Come to think of it, Andrew, I forgot to ask.’
‘How long will you be ashore?’
‘I’m heading back to ship at four bells.’
‘Ten o’clock tonight,’ Andrew remembered. ‘Then where?’
‘Back to Darwin to pick up some buyers. Though from what Tug tells me,’ Boxer confided, ‘what we’re getting on the beds this season ain’t worth the trip.’
‘It’s that bad?’
‘Your dad wouldn’t have touched the shell we’re harvesting these days. And when it comes to pearls?’ Boxer said meaningfully, ‘The syndicate ain’t getting all what the divers are finding.’
‘The syndicate never did,’ Andrew reminded.
‘True,’ Boxer conceded. ‘But the money from what was sold on the sly always wound up in Namaga, one way or another. Nowadays, whoever’s thieving pearls off the luggers must be sneaking them out to sell elsewhere.’
‘Who and how?’
‘If I knew the answer to that, Andrew, I’d feed him to the sharks.’
Andrew knew that Boxer would do just that.
****
Suhara was sitting before the mirror dabbing cologne on her throat when she heard the boisterous laughter in Shinju Alley. There was a sharp rap on the window. She ignored it. Suhara did not sell her body to sailors off the Capricorn Maiden or any other vessel for that matter. The rap was repeated. Suhara frowned and rose from the dresser to send the sailor on his way. Parting the curtain that hung in her doorway she found nobody there. Then Suhara saw the box on her doorstep. The lid was held firmly in place by cord. Written on it in large letters were two words: For Kaito.
Suhara found the box extremely heavy. She hefted it to her brother’s room.  Then she returned to her preparations for another night as principal hostess at the gambling house known as Chinaman’s.
The sailor who delivered the box was careful to avoid his fellow shipmates as he cut through narrow alleys in Chinatown to a lane that led back to the waterfront. Halfway along the lane he paused to rap on the door of a shack.
‘Who is it?’ a voice behind the door demanded.
‘Father Christmas. Who the fuck do you think it is? Open up.’
The door creaked open. ‘You were told not to come here.’
‘And you were told to pay up on time.’
‘To pay you, I have to be paid first.’
‘So you said last time. I got a message from the buyer who ain’t got much patience. Next time the Maiden comes in you send what he wants or he’ll come down here to slit your throat. Got that?’
‘Yes. Now go.’
As the door began to swing shut the sailor raised one hand to slam it back hard. He was rewarded with a sharp cry. ‘That’s for fucking me around. And next time I come, you pay what you owe or I’ll slit your fucking throat.’
****
‘Good morning, Mister Duggan.’
Andrew looked up from the desk. ‘Did you get into a fight?’
‘I walked into a door,’ the clerk answered stiffly.
‘I’ve heard that one before.’ Ernest did not even attempt a smile. Andrew shook his head in disgust. The clerk had no sense of humour at all. ‘Why didn’t you pass Boxer’s message on to me about the bulls he had to collect from Darwin?’
‘I wrote a note on your calendar,’ the clerk answered through his swollen nose.
Andrew rolled leaves of the calendar back to the message in Ernest’s unique hand: Boxer gone to Port Darwin to pick up bulls for delivery Mission Point. ‘This was written the day Boxer was here?’
‘Correct, Mister Duggan.’
‘What is the first thing you do every morning when you enter this office?’
‘I turn the calendar to the day’s date.’
‘So the morning I got back you’d have turned the calendar to the new date?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then how the hell was I supposed to see what you wrote the day before?’
Ernest pondered the desk calendar. ‘I’m afraid that did not occur to me.’
****
The pump-car imported by Bull—along with the steam locomotive, rails, sleepers and several flat-car bogies—was now in frequent use. When Andrew spotted the blue pennant flapping from the flagpole he hitched a ride on it down to the mole.  There, he had to find his way through the men at work capping pilings, cutting struts and braces, unloading sleepers from flat-cars and loading others with planks for the ever-extending catwalk. Tom announced he wanted to divert some from their present tasks to laying the jetty’s deck at its landward end.
‘We’ve had a couple of close calls on the catwalk, Andrew. The sooner we lay the deck the safer it will be for all of us.’
Andrew's priority was for the riggers and carpenters to keep pace with the pile-driver as more brackets were driven in place. But he was willing to compromise when it came to safety. Spotting the Pixie’s bright yellow hull knifing across the sound toward the piers, he told Tom to begin the decking and headed back to the emporium.
The tide on its way out, the Pixie’s keel was beginning to settle on the mud when Andrew got to the pier. Joe was not there. Evidently he had already taken the mail collected this trip to be sorted at the general store cum post office. Andrew felt his stomach rumbling. The mail could wait. He crossed the road to have lunch at the hotel.
Sally plonked a beer on the bar but instead of offering him her habitual smile she scowled and vented what was on her mind. ‘Are you having it off with Naomi?’
Andrew gaped. ‘Am I what?’
‘That’s the gossip.’
‘Absolute bull shit.’
Sally spread her hands to signify an apology. ‘I’ve been here so long I’m starting to believe what I hear.’
Andrew motioned to Arthur Lombard snoring along the bar and looking even more unkempt—if that was possible. ‘Isn’t it time he moved on?’
‘More than time,’ Sally agreed. ‘But nobody’s interested in buying him out. We can’t throw Arthur into the street. I’ll fix your lunch.’
Sally withdrew to the kitchen. Terry entered with a bundle of letters, handed one to Andrew and took the others to the rack at the foot of the stairs. Andrew saw the De Longe Enterprises masthead on the envelope and slit it open. While Arthur Lombard snored softly along the bar, Andrew read the letter that was addressed to him.
Dear Andrew,
Your father was never one to worry about formalities so I have reason to feel his son pays little heed to them either. First, I tender you my condolences over Bull’s death. When Tug cabled me the sad news I was both deeply shocked and saddened by the event. Bull and I shared many experiences on the goldfields of Victoria before we went our separate ways. When I visited Namaga some ten years ago he spoke with immense pride about his son at university studying to become an engineer.
Tug’s most recent cable said you are to build the jetty in Namaga and by the time this reaches you he will have already filled you in on what was agreed between ourselves so I will come directly to the point. The abattoir Del Pastoral intends to build in Namaga and the requirements of my shipping company make it imperative we install a representative there to secure the appropriate property and facilities. To these purposes I shall be visiting the settlement in June.
A small party will accompany me and I am hoping we can rent a bungalow to accommodate two men and two women in separate rooms for approximately three months. If a cook and maid are available this will save the need for accommodating our own staff. I look forward to meeting you at last, Andrew.
Sincerely, Henry de Longe
PS.  Tug advised me that Major Carnivon set out from Namaga in February. Please cable me by whatever means possible if you have received any report on his present whereabouts.

***** 

BOOK TWO
Chapter 10
Frederick brought Abdul to a halt. Moments later, Timothy drew alongside on Samantha to ponder tiers of sandstone that no camel could negotiate.
'Where now, boss?'
'Obviously, we have to turn back.'
The caravan turned around to retrace its steps along a canyon.
Frustrated and disheartened by yet another forced detour, Frederick flipped open the lid to his fob watch, noted it was almost noon and jotted an entry in his journal describing the box canyon. Then he slipped the journal back into his saddlebag and scratched absently at stubble on his cheeks. The growth irritated him. His goatee and moustache required a trim. He needed a bath. But more than anything else, he needed to get this caravan back on its intended course.
Their trek inland from Namaga began well enough. The camels had no problem crossing the low ground east of the settlement to gain the river that flowed into the gulf. Fording it at low tide, they made excellent progress until the coastal plain gave way to soaring tiers of sandstone and plunging gorges.To circumvent these obstacles they had to find their way along ridges where loose surfaces presented a constant hazard. More often than not, Frederick and Timothy had to trek beside their camels on foot. When doing so, Diogenes posed a constant problem for Timothy. The creature still harboured a deep animosity toward men with black skin. He would bare his teeth and spit at Timothy whenever he got within range.
Initially, Frederick and Timothy were able to follow the trail Carter and his men had blazed. They were perhaps a hundred miles inland when the heavens opened up with a  blinding deluge that persisted for days. They spent this unwelcome delay under a fly rigged to fend off the worst of the rain. When it finally ended, the camels were fretful and the deluge had obliterated Carter's trail.
Carter and his party were on horseback. Even for them, the terrain would have been difficult. For Frederick and Timothy on camels, in places it proved downright impossible. Forced to veer to the southeast where the going was easier, Frederick had been confident he would be able to adjust his course to the north again and pick up the survey party's route. But when he and Timothy emerged from the box canyon, they had to detour about pockets of dense thorn and were forced, yet again, to the southeast. Thankfully, thorn eventually gave way to far kinder country and late that afternoon Frederick found himself riding through avenues of tall gums where the sheer number of white cockatoos weighed down their branches. Frederick was admiring the birds when Timothy called out to him, ‘River over there!'
Though its high banks were at least a quarter mile apart, the river itself proved to be a shallow stream meandering about islands of silt and shoals of white sand. Frederick took out his hand-bearing compass and held it up.
'Thank God,' he murmured.
The river's wide bed led to the northeast. Hopefully, by following it, he would be able to pick up the survey party’s trail again.
****
The girl stepped out on the high ledge, raised both hands above her head and launched herself into the void. Her lithe body plummetted into the pool far below, cutting its surface cleanly to leave scarcely a ripple.
The pool held immense significance for her people. Even during the long dry season when no rain fell its depth was such, no man or woman had ever touched bottom.  Situated in a deep cleft eroded over millennia between high limestone cliffs, the pool was a welcome refuge for the People of the River, especially during the hottest time of year. It was also a source of fish that were good to eat. The only thing inconsistent about the pool was its surface. The recent rains had raised it to conceal the entrance to a sacred grotto.
‘Nenganga!
The cry was flung back from high cliffs to the lubra entering the gorge.
‘Ganga… ganga… ganga!’
‘Where did she go now?’ the woman grumbled.
The sun’s dazzling glare bounced off the pool into her eyes. She turned away to call to the party of girls gathering boab nuts, ‘Has anyone seen Nenganga?’
‘She’s hiding again,’ a girl answered.
‘One day the Gadgeri will get her,’ the woman declared.
Her dire prophecy provoked giggles and sly glances.
Every girl knew that all you had to do was glimpse these phantoms of the desert to fall under their spell. Scanning the pool again, the lubra could see no sign of Nenganga. She shrugged. The girl was forever getting into mischief and would probably show herself again when it suited her. The woman led the party of girls back through the boab trees. Their chatter, as they moved away from the gorge, floated up to the Gadgeri youth looking down on them from the gorge's eastern rim. 
The Gadgeri regarded the People of the River as their traditional enemy. On a training walkabout  in enemy territroy, the Gadgeri novice had been watching the lubra from his concealment behind a pandanus palm and wondered what became of the girl who dived into the pool. She had yet to surface. Surely no mortal could stay under water for so long?
The soft warble of a magpie—a cry imitated by his partner on this exercise—meant it was time for them to move on. Jiriga responded with a flick of the wrist, his signal to wait while he determined what became of the girl who dived into the pool. Jiriga started down the tiers of rock to investigate.
The caves pock-marking limestone cliffs either side of this gorge had been used by the People of The River for countless generations. In these caves the menfolk conducted their sacred business. The last time her clan camped here, Nenganga had glimpsed one of the caves. She had been swimming in the pool with some girls when they saw the markings about its entrance under an overhanging shelf of rock. A lubra had reminded the girls to stay away from what was clearly marked as men's business. The girls heeded her caution. But Nenganga's insatiable curiosity had been aroused. 
Recent rain had raised the pool's level sufficiently to submerge the cave's entrance. Only the shelf of rock was visible on the pool's surface. Her high dive had taken Nenganga deep enough to gain the submerged entrance by swimming under the rocky overhang. Then she had stepped up into the grotto where air and light were admitted by a gnamma hole—a narrow shaft eroded through the tiers of rock above. Sitting in the  entrance, Nenganga looked up at the splendid array of paintings illuminated by the cave's eerie green light.
Across smooth walls of rock, figures with boomerangs and spears hunted creatures of all kinds. By comparison with the hunters, the creatures were much larger than any that Nenganga had seen. On the grotto ceiling there were strange symbols. The symbols and the murals fascinated Nenganga. She gazed at them until the frigid water lapping her buttocks and thighs, made her shiver. Taking a deep breath, she dove under the over-hanging rock and kicked both feet hard.
****
Jiriga gaped in astonishment when her head suddenly broke the surface. She climbed from the pool to lie on a slab of rock and dry off in the sun. Savouring its warmth on her naked body, Nenganga sensed somebody watching her. Opening one eye fractionally, she peered through long lashes to see the young warrior standing motionless on the ledge above.
He was tall and, despite the jagged scar down the right side of his face, he was handsome. Nenganga was both apprehensive and intrigued by his sudden appearance Then she noticed the necklace of emu feathers about his neck. Nenganga sucked in her breath. He was one of the Gadgeri!
Through slit eyes, Nenganga scanned the nearest bank seeking a way of escape. If she ran for the trees he would surely catch her. Her glance went to the reeds across the pool. There lay salvation. Jumping to her feet, Nenganga dived into the pool and swam underwater to the reeds where she broke off a hollow stalk, placed it between her lips to breathe, and sank down until only the tip of the reed broke the pool’s surface.
Jiriga had been told the People of the River could swim like fish. They even made use of pools along the river to elude their enemies. Leaping down from the ledge, he darted along the bank to its shallow end where reeds flourished. The water murky here, he could not see the girl but the very stillness of one reed betrayed her. Jiriga scooped up mud and set it gently on the reed before darting away.
Nenganga shot to her feet spluttering and spitting mud.
She glanced around fearfully. There was no sign of the Gadgeri warrior. Then she spotted him, climbing swiftly from ledge to ledge. At the very summit of the cliffs he paused to look down at her and raise his spear in mock salute. Nenganga poked out her tongue. He plucked a feather from his necklace and tossed it toward her. Down the feather floated, turning this way and that until it came to rest on the surface of the pool. Nenganga retrieved his gift.
When she looked up again, the Gadgeri warrior had vanished.
****
Yet to find any sign of the survey party, Frederick was taking advantage of the rising moon to press on with his search at night.
‘Spirits travel at night,’ Timothy worried.
‘That didn’t stop you sneaking off to visit Misty back in Namaga.’
 Timothy cast an anxious glance toward the river’s far bank where white gums stood out starkly in the moonlight. ‘Bush blackfella over there, boss.’
‘Do they fear spirits that travel by night?’
‘Too right, boss. Bush blackfella stay in camp close to a fire.’
‘Then we have nothing to worry about,’ Frederick insisted as he swayed along on Abdul’s back. The moon, full and huge,  afforded ample light for them to see where they were going.

****
Nenganga peered up through the wurley’s entrance at the bright full moon. Her grandmother, Bakkano, lay within arm’s reach. The steady snore assured Nenganga her grandmother was asleep. Bringing the emu feather out from under her pallet of grass, Nenganga played it across her cheek and brought to mind the handsome young warrior’s face as clearly as she had seen it at the gorge.
Cicadas burst into their rhythmic song.
Their sudden cadence roused the camp. Men hurled wood on the fire to send up a cascade of sparks as the alarm was raised. Warriors grabbed weapons. Shaking their spears above their heads, the men formed a rough cordon as they moved toward the river’s near bank.
Nenganga tucked the feather back under the pallet and shook her grandmother.
‘Bakkano!’
‘What is it, child?’
‘The cicadas tell us the Gadgeri are out there!’
‘If it were the Gadgeri,’ the old woman sniffed, ‘neither we nor the cicadas would know.’
‘Then why are the insects singing?’
‘The spirits are restless. Go back to sleep.’
‘I was not sleeping.’
`Well I was,’ the old woman grumbled.
‘What are they like?’
‘Who, child?’
‘The Gadgeri.’
‘Why do you ask?’
Nenganga was careful not to reveal the true motive for her question. ‘We women are told to run for our lives if we see one.’
‘You will not be a woman until you bleed,’ Bakkano reminded her grand-daughter. Fully awake now, she sat up to look outside. Sparks flew as more wood was added to the fire. The moonlight was so bright; it was possible for her to see the men prancing about. Bakkano dismissed their noisy display with a hiss of disgust.
‘Spears will not drive spirits away. I wish the men would shut up.’
‘Is it true what the boys say?’
‘What do they say?
‘The Gadgeri are not mortals.’
‘They are mortals.’
‘The boys say they are invisible. How can a mortal be invisible?’
‘Ah dee!’ the old woman chided. ‘Every time I answer a question you ask me another. If you promise to go to sleep when I have finished I will tell you what happened to a woman who actually saw one of the Gadgeri.’
Nenganga leaned forward eagerly.
 Bakkano began, ‘We were camped at the fork in the river—‘
‘Where I was born?’
‘Don’t interrupt!’ Bakkano scolded—more harshly than she intended.
Shortly before her grand-daughter was born Bakkano saw a vision: the rainbow serpent crushing a river kangaroo in his mighty coils. She explained her vision to the council, saying the spirits were telling them to move away from the river. The council ignored her warning. Nevertheless, Bakkano always ensured the women kept to the higher bank of the river when gathering food. Had they not done so, they too would have drowned when a rampaging torrent swept downstream to inundate the camp. Among those who drowned were Nenganga’s parents.
‘Bakkano?’
‘What is it, child?’
‘The story!’
Bakkano shook the memory away.
‘Before you were born,’ she began, ‘a maiden went to a pool to bathe. When she did not return our men set out to find her. The pool was shallow so they were able to search it thoroughly but her body was not there. Her tracks led to the near bank. On the opposite bank they found another set of tracks.  The men followed these tracks away from the river into the Land of the Gadgeri. There, the tracks ended suddenly. It was pointless to look further. The maiden had been spirited away by a Gadgeri warrior and would never be seen again.’
‘Eee-ahh!’
The cry brought Bakkano and Nenganga to their feet. Bakkano hurried to see what was going on. Moments later, Nenganga darted after to crouch behind a bush and peer through its leaves. 
‘Ah dee!’ she whispered.
The eerie spectre on the far bank held all who witnessed it, spellbound. In the bright light cast by the huge full moon, strange creatures moved ponderously along the river's wide bed in single file. Each had a hump and two had men on their backs. The men were clad in strange garb. It was not until they had gone from view that anyone moved.
Nenganga crawled from behind the bush to hurry back to the wurley before her grandmother discovered she had left. Bakkano got there some moments later. Instead of lying back on her pallet of leaves the old woman squatted outside the wurley’s entrance to ponder the significance of what she had just seen, and to ask herself what the strange procession might portend for her people: the People of the River?
****
The full moon now almost down, Frederick called a halt. The camels were relieved of their burdens and tethered nearby. Rigging mosquito nets over their swags, the two men slept soundly until the sun broke through the canopy of branches high overhead. Timothy checked the camels and reported, ’Sinbad got a sore leg. Maybe we better rest the camels, boss?’
Timothy was right. The camels had been pushed hard. And their good health was more important to Frederick than catching up with the elusive survey party. He too could use a day to catch up on some basic chores. Telling Timothy to mind the camels, Frederick grabbed his pistol and carried the dirty laundry to the river.
At his approach, river kangaroos bounded away through patches of sunlight and shadow. Cockatoos screeched raucously in branches and zebra finches flitted in haphazard formations over his head. Pausing on the high bank, Frederick scanned the river’s wide bed.
At this bend, he estimated it to be even more than a quarter mile from bank to bank. The actual river was a stream he could almost step across. It wound about uprooted trees, boulders and islands of silt deposited during some past flood. A sand bar shelved from the near bank to a pool. The only tracks that Frederick could see on the bar were those of birds and game. There was no evidence that men of any kind had ever set foot in this place.
Frederick relaxed his grip on the pistol as he carried the laundry bag down the near bank to the sand bar. Removing his pistol in its holster and setting it down, he stripped off and waded into the pool to launder what he had been wearing for too long. The he spread everything on the sand bar to dry. He made liberal use of the soap as he bathed and rinsed off in the pool before drying himself in the sun. When his underpants, socks, shirt, and trousers were also dry, he put them on. Frederick then removed the compact mirror he always carried from the inside breast pocket of his safari jacket to sit on a fallen bough and shave.
He dangled his bare feet in the running stream that was noticeably cooler than the shallow pool and most pleasant swirling about his toes. His cheeks and throat smooth again, Frederick decided he would trim his moustache and goatee later. He folded the razor and stowed the compact mirror back into the inside breast pocket of the safari jacket as he slipped it on again. Standing on the sand bar, he was about to check the time when the spear slammed into him.
Bringing the camels to water at the river, Timothy emerged from the trees to see Frederick lying on the sand bar and a horde of  chanting warriors advancing down the far bank shaking their spears. Diogenes bellowed and snapped the twine to his nose-peg as he broke free from the tether in Timothy's grasp to launch himself down the near bank, bellowing in fury.
The sight of warriors daubed with designs in white ochre had stirred an ugly memory. Spittle flying from his mouth, the bellowing camel charged across the bed of the river, the advancing warriors coming to an abrupt halt. When Diogenes bellowed again they dropped their weapons and fled.
 Hurrying down the bank, Timothy also came to an abrupt halt. Frederick ws rising to his feet.'
‘Boss Fred? Are you all right?’
Frederick's heart was pounding and his mouth dry. He could not believe his good fortune. The spear had lodged in the compact he carried in his safari jacket. Had it veered an inch either way...
‘Of course I’m all right.’
Timothy stared at him in awe. ‘You sure got powerful magic, Boss Fred. You should be dead.’
 Thankful for the miracle that saved his lfe, Frederick yanked the spear free as he scanned the far bank. The blacks were nowhere to be seen. Diogenes was now by the pool, looking about as if deprived of his prey.
‘Tend to the camels, Timothy. But give Diogenes time to cool down.’
Timothy went back up the near bank to get the other camels.
Frederick winced at the ragged hole punched into the compact’s silver lid. He opened it carefully. The mirror inside now had a diagonal crack. He  eyed the endearment embossed inside the lid.
‘Ever Yours—Adelaide.’
Frederick wondered if Adelaide had received his letter from Namaga.

*****
Chapter 11
‘En garde!’
Adelaide touched foils with Ngel and their bout began.
Apart from improving her technique, these workouts with Nigel afforded escape from Aunt Louise’s constant complaints over how long their voyage was taking. If the woman pestered her yet again for a game of cribbage, Adelaide vowed she would throw the cards—and Aunt Louise—overboard.
‘Miss de Longe!’
Nigel’s foil stung one shoulder. The steward’s cry had distracted her. Adelaide swore under her breath. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘Your father sent me to remind you to be in the promenade lounge at six.’
‘What time is it now?’ Nigel asked as he parried Adelaide’s following thrust.
‘Ten past five, sir.’
‘Call it a draw?’ Nigel offered, as they touched foils to end the bout. 
 'Ha!'
Nigel chuckled and left the fore-deck.
Adelaide handed her mask and foil to the steward, pausing at the rail to gaze out at the empty horizon. After six weeks at sea with only brief excursions to ports-of-call en route, Adelaide scarcely noticed the steady rise and fall of the deck beneath her feet. Thankfully, the weather had been splendid. But the novelty of a journey to the other side of the world was wearing thin. She could hardly wait to get off the ship—even if it was the new flagship for her father’s shipping company.
An hour later she was the centre of admiration for officers of the SS Michelle crowding into the promenade lounge. Adelaide was playing hostess while waiting for her father to make his appearance. She feigned interest in what was obviously the First Engineer’s pride and joy.
‘Triple-expansion engines, Miss de Longe! They’re what give the Michelle the horsepower she needs to sustain our cruising speed. Twelve knots!’
‘Give it a rest, chief!'  the Third Officer interrupted. 
‘I was only explaining—‘
‘Now now, gentlemen,’ Adelaide intervened.
The gown she had put on flowed with Adelaide’s shapely figure. This evening she had decided to wear her hair up, held in place by a diamond pin. Her almond eyes and high cheekbones added an almost exotic touch. No man in the promenade lounge was immune to her allure.
‘Miss de Longe,’ the purser put in, ‘what do you think of the cake?’
‘It looks far too good to be eaten.'
'The chef told me it has dried fruit and he used two bottles of brandy -'
'Then is should definitely be eaten.'
'How are you managing, my dear?'
The purser and his fellow officers stepped back hastily.
Henry de Longe accorded them a brief nod while the steward hastened to his side with a tray. Henry helped himself to a flute of champagne but did not drink immediately, his gaze going to the splendid cake made especially for the occasion. Almost an exact replica of the steamship, its Plimsoll line had been picked out in white icing against the hull of dark chocolate. Marzipan lifeboats were arrayed in their davits on the boat deck. Its entire super-structure was lined with tiny candles and the raked funnel even boasted the de Longe coat-of-arms that was the insignia of the Marquis Line.
Brushing a fleck of lint from his dinner jacket, Adelaide asked, ‘You managed to get some rest, Papa?’
‘I did.’
‘Good. You look much better than you did when we left Southampton.’
‘The sea air has been good for me,’ Henry granted.
His tan and breezy confidence might fool many but Adelaide knew her father suffered attacks of dizziness and they worried her. His role as managing director of De Longe Enterprises was a heavy burden to shoulder for a man in his sixties. It was not unusual for him to go days and nights without rest until he dealt with whatever it was that required his personal attention. Though both of them were confined to the steamer, Adelaide had not seen or spoken to her father these past four days. Nigel’s explanation, when she asked, was, ‘He’s making sure everything is ready for our visit to Namaga.’
Wearing a dinner jacket, Henry stood at the table in the lounge indulging light conversation with the officers who were careful what they said to him. All were keenly aware that Henry de Longe was the founder of De Longe Enterprises which owned the ship providing them a steady income. Though he was not a tall man—less than six feet in his patent leathers—Henry’s presence intimidated them no less than it did his fellow board members, not to mention the directors, general managers and anyone who was doing business with a financial empire that owned subsidiaries about the world. The deep lines in his face betrayed Henry had not come by his power and fortune easily. The raven black hair was shot with silver. His dark eyes gave away nothing.
Henry turned to his daughter. ‘Do I get some cake?'
'Just a small portion,’ Adelaide chided. ‘Where's our captain?'
Henry nodded toward the lounge entrance.
Captain Wallace had just entered and came directly to the head of the long table where the magnificent cake held place of honour. The murmur of conversation dwindled to silence when the captain rapped the table for their attention. 'Miss de Longe, Henry, gentlemen. One year ago the SS Michelle was launched. Apart from minor problems to be dealt with when we get back to Southampton, she has proven ready for regular voyages between Britain and Australia.'
The announcement drew applause.
'Mister de Longe will now say a few words.'
'I take this opportunity to thank all of you,' Henry began, 'for the courtesy you have extended to me, my daughter and our travelling companions. It is precisely this kind of service that will encourage travellers to book passage on the Marquis Line. It will set a standard our competitors will strive to emulate—in vain. I now propose a toast.
The stewards hurried to provide everyone a fresh flute of champagne.
Henry raised his glass. 'Ladies and gentlemen: the Michelle.'
'The Michelle!'
Henry took a sip and set down his glass. ‘Now for the cake.’
The purser offered the knife to Henry who beckoned Adelaide.
Standing quietly in a corner, Nigel Preston-White had been listening closely to the conversation about him while refraining from taking part. Nigel’s only noticeable feature was his cobalt blue eyes. Otherwise, his sandy hair and average height allowed him to ‘disappear into the wood-work’ when it suited him. Not that anybody in the promenade lounge was looking his way anyway. He eased himself among the officers to watch as Adelaide took the knife from the purser.
It was Nigel’s father who designed the SS Michelle. Sir Douglas Preston-White was planning to expand his Atlantic service when burgeoning costs and strikes at the yards forced him to sell his controlling interest to Henry de Longe while the Michelle was under construction. As part of the deal, Sir Douglas became a board member of De Longe Enterprises and his only son was granted the opportunity to gain an insight in the company's management by working as Henry’s personal secretary.
Nigel knew his father’s inclusion on the board had been merely a cosmetic device to disguise the fact he had been reduced to a mere puppet in the shipping company he once owned. Nigel harboured a deep and lasting resentment over the tactics Henry had used to get what he wanted. He was careful to keep this sentiment to himself, playing the willing apprentice to absorb every scrap of knowledge he would need some day, to ram Henry de Longe’s largesse down his throat.
Adelaide dipped the knife in a bowl of hot water to ensure it cut the cake cleanly. Wielding the knife, she cleaved a slice from the replica’s bow. Nigel Preston-White winced. He thought it was a bad omen for the SS Michelle.
****
Their workout interrupted the previous afternoon, Adelaide had arranged with Nigel to resume it early this morning and was waiting on the foredeck when she saw Captain Wallace coming down the steps from the bridge. He joined her at the rail. 'Good morning, Miss de Longe.’
‘Captain, you look very dashing in your tropical whites.'
Captain Wallace was close to her father’s age. He smiled wistfully. 'I shall pretend you mean the compliment. Where is your opponent?’
‘He’s probably slaving away on some document. Poor Nigel. Papa has kept him busy ever since we came on board.’ Adelaide pointed at the sailing vessels she could see off the port bow. 'What are those boats?'
'Those are luggers, Miss de Longe. Boats are what we have on the Boat Deck.'
'Where did they come from?'
The captain motioned to starboard. 'Probably some port along the coast that we can’t see from here..’
'What are they doing?'
'Pearling,' he told her, offering Adelaide his binoculars. 'If you focus on the nearest lugger you will see men on deck pumping air down to divers on the ocean floor.'
'All the way out here! Surely it must be dangerous?'
'It is.'
'What does N49 stand for?'
'Pardon?'
'On the boat—I mean—the lugger.'
'May I?'
Raising the binoculars to his eyes, Captain Wallace scanned the fleet of luggers. Their sails luffing, the luggers drifted slowly while divers below gathered shell from the ocean floor. The captain remarked, 'Pearling vessels are registered at the base from where they operate. The letter N means the vessel is based in Namaga.’
‘So we’re almost there?’
‘Not quite, Miss de Longe. Ah, here comes your opponent now.’
Carrying his foil and mask, Nigel hurried toward them. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting, Adelaide. Good morning, captain.’
‘Good morning,’ the captain returned. ‘If you will excuse me, Miss de Longe, I have to get back to my duties.’
Leaving Adelaide and Nigel to another fencing bout on the foredeck, Captain Wallace hurried to the bridge. 'Come to port. Course 320 degrees.'
'320 degrees it is, Sir.'
'Reduce speed to Slow Ahead.'
The helmsman rang the order down to the engine room.
‘Slow Ahead it is, sir.' Shortly afterwad he announced, 'We’re holding way at four knots.'
 The captain penned a brief note and handed it to the seaman on duty. 'Get this to Mister de Longe right away.’ Crossing the bridge the captain glanced down and saw a trail of soot leading from the ventilators over a freshly holystoned promenade deck..
‘Third! Tell the engineer to have that soot cleaned up immediately.'
'Aye aye, sir!' 
'And he’s to give the trimmer responsible a swift kick up the backside. I want a signalman at the pennants.’  
On his way out the Third Officer exchanged a wry glance with the helmsman. Captain Wallace was renowned for running a tight ship. Moments later the door slid open again.  Though he was neither officer nor member of the crew, nobody protested when Henry de Longe came on the bridge. He was wearing a pin-stripe suit, silk tie, shining patent leather shoes and gold cufflinks.
'Did my daughter jump overboard, George?'
'No, but, the way she’s lunging at him with that foil your secretary may,’ George Wallace quipped as he looked down on the lively bout taking place on the foredeck. Then Captain Wallace pointed to the luggers off the starboard bow. ‘They’re out of Namaga.’
‘This far at sea?’
'I was surprised myself,' the captain admitted. 'If Adelaide hadn’t spotted their registration I would have sailed right past them.’
Henry borrowed the captain’s binoculars. A diver was being winched aboard N49. Then the lugger’s sails snapped full. She assumed a parallel course to the steamer.
Captain Wallace added, 'I have a man standing by to signal.'
'Let’s first make sure who we are signalling,' Henry cautioned.
The question was semaphored to the lugger. A brief flurry of exchanges ensued, then the man on the pennants cried, 'Vessel wants to know who's asking, sir!'
‘Impertinent fellow,’ was the captain’s comment. 'What shall we tell them?'
Henry had the binoculars to his face. The diver’s helmet was being removed. Seeing the face that was underneath, Henry’s mouth broke into a rare smile.
'Send: The Fox.'
****
The steward closed the door behind Henry's guest.
'Hello, Tug. It's been too long since we last saw each other.'
'That it has, Guv’nor.’
They clasped hands firmly.
Tug eyed the luxurious furnishings. 'I was on the lookout for a freighter. This is a floating whore house!'
Henry laughed. 'You haven't changed a bit.'
'An ugly mug like mine never changes.’
'Bundaberg rum, right?'
'Right.'
Henry went to the private bar and filled a tumbler for Tug. He poured a small tot for himself. 'To old times,' he saluted.
Tug took a swallow and sank into an armchair. 'Thanks for the pile-driver.'
Henry waved that away. 'How did Andrew Duggan react to my involvement?'
'Wary, Guv'nor. Wary.'
'One can hardly blame him. He's probably asking himself what I expect in return.  How is the jetty coming along?'
‘Last I heard, the pilings are out to the half-mile marker. About a quarter mile of the decking is already in place.'
‘That sounds good.’
Tug nodded agreement. 'Any cigars on this floating palace?'
Henry produced a humidor from behind the bar. Tug removed a cigar and held it to his nose. 'Now that is what I call a right proper smoke.'
‘My brother, Jacques, claims they're bad for my health. He’s a surgeon.' Henry dug out a cigar. 'To hell with Jacques. A decade between friends deserves a cigar.’ Henry lit his cigar and ended the small talk. 'Tug, why did Bull take such a foolish risk?'
Tug answered, 'I wasn’t there  when Bull made the dive. All I know is what Duke told me.'
'I'd like to hear what you were told, anyway.'
‘That wreck has taken more lives than I care to think about,’ Tug grated. He leaned forward in the chair and narrowed his eyes. 'Duke was picking up provisions when Bull showed up at the pier. If it had been anyone else, Duke would have told him to get stuffed.' Tug took a draw on the cigar. 'Anyway, Duke took him out to the wreck. Bull made the dive alone. Half an hour later the line spun out so fast the drum was smoking. When he reeled it in the air hose had been sheared off and there was an iron grating snagged in the harness.'
The two men stared at their cigars in silence.
Finally, Henry asked, 'Did Duke send anyone down to look for the body?'
'He couldn’t. There was no other diving gear on board. And Duke knew better. We get whirlpools across that stretch of water. One sucked a lugger under. And sharks hang about that wreck. Duke searched on the surface while the tide allowed. Then he got the hell out of there.'
Henry poured them both another rum.
‘So you don’t know why he made that dive but you’ve been with Bull a long time, Tug. You must have some notion.’
Tug sighed. 'Whatever you do, don't breathe a word of this to Andrew.'
'You have my word.’
‘Every September we have a festival in Namaga. And every September Bull would present what we call the Bougainvillea Crown to the prettiest girl in town. But last year he'd gone to Whisper Bay after the syndicate refused to put up funds to build the jetty. So I went up there to pick him up. When I got there,' Tug recalled, 'it was after sundown and getting dark. I dealt with the hackneys and walked down to the house.There was no light showing. I called out but there was no answer. Inside, I had to watch where I put my feet. There were plans and drawings all over the living room floor. The moon was coming up so I figured maybe Bull had gone for a walk along the beach.’
Tug downed what rum was left in the tumbler.
‘When I got to the beach I heard Bull shouting at somebody. I figured the priest must be visiting from the mission. Bull never did get along with bible-bashers and the way he was shouting, I figured I'd better get there before he flattened the bloke. I stepped out from the palms on to the sand and there's Bull, shouting ... at nobody.'
'Nobody?'
'Nobody.'
'You mean he was voicing his thoughts aloud.’
‘Bull wasn’t shaking his fist at his thoughts.’
Henry laughed awkwardly. 'He was shouting at somebody invisible?’
'It wasn't funny.'
'Sorry. Tug. You've lost me.'
'Bull shouted, “Where is it? I want it back!” Then he turned and saw me. I asked who he was shouting at. He said he'd been talking to himself.'
'So there’s your answer. He was merely talking to himself.'
Tug shook his head emphatically.
'Why are we dwelling on this, Tug?'
‘You and Bull were close mates back on the goldfields. So you know as well as I, that Bull would never go anywhere without his Saint Christopher medallion.'
‘True,’ Henry confirmed. ‘It was his good luck charm. He swore by it.’
‘The other day, Duke told me what he'd noticed but could not put his finger on until Andrew had a word with him in Namaga. Duke said when Bull made that dive on the wreck he wasn’t wearing his Saint Christopher.’
'Are you trying to tell me he committed suicide?'
'That's what some think.'
'What do you think?'
'Bull Duggan would never take his own life.'
Henry agreed. 'So you’re implying Bull lost his mind.'
'Or maybe somebody had control over his mind.'
'He was hypnotised?'
'Or something like that. Somebody or something made him do it.' 
****
The knock on the door brought a welcome end to their gloomy conversation. Henry introduced his personal secretary. 'In Namaga, Nigel will be acting on my behalf. He's been briefed on our plans for the settlement. Did Andrew Duggan get my letter?’
‘He sent it out to me to read. The bungalow is yours for as long as you want.’
‘Good. I hope to spend a few nights ashore before I press on. We had planned on my brother coming with us but there’s a bad flu epidemic in London. My sister Louise is Adelaide’s travelling companion. They’ll be staying in Namaga until my return.’ Tug's eye-brows shot up, prompting Henry to ask, 'Is that a problem?'
'The bungalow isn't anything like this ship, Henry.'
'As I remember, it is most comfortable and has ample rooms.'
'True, but your daughter—‘
'Adelaide has journeyed with me to many places. She can make do in Namaga—providing the settlement is safe.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ Tug assured firmly. ‘In Namaga the blacks know their place.’
‘What about other elements? My daughter is an attractive woman.’
‘We get sailors in town from time to time but they stick to Chinatown and the waterfront. They don’t go up the hill so she won’t be bothered. As long as your daughter doesn’t go looking for trouble she’s probably safer in Namaga than London.’
‘In that case, let’s get down to business. Is there any problem with the syndicate?’
‘Some want to pull out and head down to Roebuck Bay. Isaac told me straight—he wants to veto all funds for the jetty at the next annual meeting.’
‘When is that?’
‘Two weeks after the end of the financial year.
‘Mid July,’ Henry murmured. ‘How close do you think the vote will be?’
‘Right now the board is split,’ Tug answered. ‘The decision will hang on Arthur Lombard’s vote. The last time I saw Arthur, he was too drunk to raise his head from the bar, never mind vote at the meeting. Chances are he might not even show up.  The rumour is, he wants to sell out—if anyone will buy what he’s got to offer.’
Henry turned to Nigel. ‘Get me the Namaga Syndicate file.’
The adjoining suite had been reserved for Henry’s private office while he was on board. Nigel went there and returned moments later to set the appropriate file before Henry. He opened it and found the information he wanted. 'Tug, I think I know how to resolve your problem with Arthur Lombard.’
Tug chuckled softly. ‘Like Bull always said, Guv’nor—you’re a fox.’
Nigel Preston-White blinked.  Nobody dared to call Henry that to his face. To Nigel’s greater surprise, Henry laughed and offered Tug another rum. But Tug declined. He had to get back to the fleet.
Henry said, ‘Captain Wallace is anxious about negotiating the passage into the sound. I’d appreciate you stopping by the bridge, Tug, before you go.’
****
The advice of a man who knew these waters intimately was heeded closely by Captain Wallace when he brought the SS Michelle through Duggan Passage to anchor in the lee of North Head. Tug had assured him there was ample depth at that point for the steamship to ride anchor, even at low tide. In his stateroom, Henry was peering through a porthole at the distant settlement when a persistent knock took him to the door.
‘Papa! The jolly boat is ready to take us ashore.’
‘I can’t go just yet, my dear.’
‘Papa, I have been cooped up on this ship for months. The jolly boat has been waiting almost an hour. If I have to sit here for another hour I shall go insane.’
‘All right, you go on ahead. When you get ashore I want you to deliver a note to Andrew Duggan.’ Penning the note, Henry pointed through the porthole. ‘Have the boat deliver you to the landward end of that jetty under construction. There is bound to be a site office there of some kind where you will probably find him. And don’t forget your parasol,’ Henry added. ‘It will be hot in the jolly boat.’
Adelaide almost collided with the steward in her haste to go ashore.
‘Captain wishes you to join him in the engine room, sir. He says it’s important.’
‘Tell him I shall be down shortly.’ After the steward left, Henry summoned Nigel.
‘Nobody in the settlement knows you from a bar of soap. I want you to go ashore separately, meet our contact and find out what we need to know.’
Nigel nodded and withdrew. Henry made his way down to the ship’s engine room where Captain Wallace was waiting for him.
‘Henry, my First Engineer is worried about our triple-expansion engines.’
‘He’s worried about the what?’
‘That’s why I asked you to come down here, Henry. I thought it would be easier to explain if Jennings pointed out to you what the hell he is talking about.’

*****

Chapter 12
The jolly boat ground to a halt a good thirty yards from the beach.
'We can't get no closer, Miss Adelaide,' the coxswain apologised.
Adelaide took off her shoes and tucked up her skirt. The water only knee deep, she encountered no difficulty gaining the shore. There, she told the coxswain to take the jolly boat back to the ship.
'I'm not sure as I should leave you here alone,' he worried.
'Somebody will be along soon,' she assured him. 'Off you go.'
The coxswain and his crew pushed their craft to deeper water and soon they were rowing it back to the steamship. Though everyone in the settlement could see it riding  anchor over toward North Head, none of the workmen had glimpsed the jolly boat on its way to the beach. Adelaide got tired of standing alone on the beach. The sand far too hot for bare feet, she pulled on her shoes again and headed for the mole.
When she reached it to appear before the workmen—as if out of nowhere—all sawing and hammering ceased. Carpenters, ironmongers and labourers stopped what they were doing to gape. The abrupt silence brought Tom outside his hut to discover the cause.
Adelaide called out to the workmen,‘Do any of you know where I can find Frederick Carnivon?’
None responded. They stood there, gaping in astonishment at the vision in a summer frock.
'Back to work!' Tom shouted.
Nobody paid him the slightest attention.
Then Tom saw what they were gaping at. It was enough for him to grab the yellow pennant and hurry to the flagpole. Sensing imminent disaster, he hoisted the yellow pennant up the flagpole. The workmen suddenly found their voices to bombard Adelaide with questions.
'Are you off that steamer out there, lady?'
'What's your name, love?'
'My name is Miss—‘
'Miss? Did you hear that lads? A white woman who ain't got a husband! Marry me, miss!'
Adelaide found herself hemmed in on all sides by grinning workmen eager to make her acquaintance. As Tom hurried back from the flagpole, Gorilla raced along the mole to find out what was going on. ‘I need more pilings. I can’t drive pilings if I ain’t got any to drive!’
'Never mind the pilings,’ Tom told him. ‘Help me rescue that woman before somebody rapes her.'
'What woman?'
Tom pointed, but all that Gorilla could see was the backs of men. Lunging into the crowd, he cried, 'Back off you dumb bastards!'
Standing with her back to a bogey facing the press of men no more than two paces away, Adelaide raised her parasol. It had been a bon voyage gift from her instructor at the Academy in London ‘Press the button and voila!’ He had done so to  demonstrate as the hidden blade shot from its handle. In the hands of anyone adept with the foil, the parasol became a lethal weapon. Adelaide was about to put it to the test when the locomotive engine came to a squealing halt at the mole.
Andrew stepped through steam from the engine to demand, 'What's going on here?'
His ringing voice was enough for the workmen to ease back so he could make his way through. Andrew stared in astonishment at the woman in their midst. ‘Where did you spring from?’ he stammered.
‘From that ship out yonder,’ a carpenter told him.
Andrew dragged his gaze from those almond eyes, high cheek bones and her long raven hair to shout, 'Is this any way to treat a lady? Give her some room!’
The men shuffled back a pace or so.
Andrew swept off his panama. 'Welcome to Namaga,' he greeted.
Adelaide lowered her parasol. ‘Thank you.’
'I am Andrew Duggan.'
Adelaide took her father’s note from her purse and held it out. 'I was asked to convey this to you.'
While Andrew read the note Adelaide eyed the white shirt, white trousers and white shoes. Then her gaze went to dark curls peeping from the shirt where it was unbuttoned at the chest. His arms, neck and face were brown from the sun. She noted he had a firm jaw and a thick mop of dark brown hair. He looked up from the note and their eyes met. The contact was almost physical.
 Adelaide quickly averted her gaze.
Andrew turned to the men. ‘The lady has seen enough of your ugly faces. Anyone who's not back on the job in three minutes won't have a job.’
'What's her name, Mister Duggan?'
She answered for him, 'Gentlemen, my name is Adelaide.’
'You come see us again, Miss Adelaide!' some wag shouted.
The men went back to work.
‘If you will come this way, Miss de Longe, I will escort you to the bungalow.’
****
Adelaide had looked forward to setting foot again on dry land was not prepared for what weeks at sea could do to her sense of balance. The ground seemed to sway beneath her as she walked with Andrew from the mole. She was more than happy to climb inside the hansom cab he hailed when they reached Pearl Way. As it started up the hill she remarked, ‘I was hoping Freddy would be here to meet me.’
‘Who?’
‘Frederick Carnivon. He mentioned this settlement in his letter.’
‘Carnivon,’ Andrew echoed. ‘You mean, Major Carnivon?'
'Yes.'
'He left before I got back to Namaga.’
‘Oh.’
Both intensely aware of their close proximity in the hansom cab, neither said another word until it delivered them to the bungalow. Adelaide managed to make it along the garden path and up the steps on her own two feet.
Andrew beckoned Peewee. 'Lemonade for the missus and me.'
'Orright, boss.'
Peewee went to the kitchen.
Adelaide was glad to sit down in the chair Andrew offered. She discreetly eased off the shoes that were now killing her. 'Is that man one of the natives?'
Andrew was trying not to stare at this woman whose eyes and face and hair and everything else seemed to rob him of speech. 'Ah yes... he is.'
Adelaide returned to the subject of their brief conversation on the way up the hill. ‘I gathered Freddy's latest expedition was to begin here in Namaga.’
‘Latest?’
‘Freddy has been on several.’
‘Expeditions?’
‘Australia, Afghanistan, India…’
‘He gets around.’
Andrew had no idea why he made that comment. Peewee saved him from uttering some other inanity.
'Lemonade, boss.'
The tray was set on the veranda table. 
'Peewee, the missus will be staying here at the bungalow.’
Peewee's gaze fixed on Adelaide. 'I see you, missus,’ he said. 
His eyes seemed to penetrate her very soul. Her response was immediate and without conscious thought. 'I see you too, Peewee.'
'Spirits tell me you come,' Peewee added softly.
Andrew said sharply, ‘The missus doesn’t want to hear your blackfella mumbo jumbo. Where's Dora?'
'Dora gone to see Misty.'
'Go and get her or she'll be gossiping down there all day.'
Peewee inclined his head to Adelaide before he padded away.
Andrew held up his glass. 'Is the lemonade to your liking?'
'I find it most refreshing.'
'Peewee makes it—from lemons.'
'Well, he'd hardly make lemonade from oranges.'
Andrew blinked.
Adelaide's hand flew to her mouth.
 'I'm sorry. That just popped out.'
Their laughter helped both relax a trifle.
Adelaide asked, 'Is Dora your wife?'
'My wife!  Dora's the maid. I don't have a wife.'
'Oh.'
'Are you and Major Carnivon ... close?'
'We are…yes.'
Adelaide was starting to lose herself in Andrew’s gaze. She shifted her own to the colourful display of bougainvillea in the front garden and missed the rueful expression on Andrew’s face. Though he had never met the man, Andrew was suddenly very envious of Major Carnivon.
'I haven’t met your father either,' Andrew remarked.
‘Pardon?’
'When he mentioned in his letter he had a daughter who'd be staying here, I didn't think she'd look ... well, I didn't know what to expect.’
In London every eligible male between twenty and ninety knew what the heiress to Henry de Longe’s fortune looked like. Adelaide found Andrew’s ignorance a welcome change.  'Well, I am what I am.'
‘You certainly are,’ Andrew blurted. He then inserted his foot further in his mouth by asking, 'Is your mother in your party?'
'My mother died when I was born.'
'Oh. Sorry.'  To avoid further blunders, Andrew offered to show Adelaide through the bungalow.
Margaret Ferguson had made it spotless for the de Longe party. The furniture gleamed. Vases filled with blooms had been placed to advantage. There was even a hanging fern in the bathroom. And above every bed was suspended the white veil of a mosquito net. Andrew guided Adelaide to a large bedroom that boasted a splendid view of the settlement framed by the two gnarled limbs of the poinciana in the garden. 
'What a lovely room!’ Adelaide approved.
 Andrew pushed open a panelled door that gave off to the adjoining bedroom.
'Perfect for my father during his stay,’ Adelaide approved. 'My aunt can use that bedroom you showed me on the other side of the house. I have to say, Mister Duggan, I find this bungalow delightful. We are most grateful for your hospitality.’
'Do call me Andrew.'
His magnetism throwing her off-balance, Adelaide replied, 'I find that too informal for people who have just met. I prefer to call you Mister Duggan.'
Andrew would have told any other woman to climb down off her high horse. But this one, he reminded himself, was the daughter of the man who had bailed his pearling company out of debt and provided the floating pile-driver.
'As you wish, Miss de Longe.'
On the rear veranda he pointed out the pergola in the back garden. He ventured she might find it a pleasant retreat on a warm afternoon. ‘Miss de Longe, what gave you the impression Major Carnivon would be here to meet you?'
'Because he will be coming back here.’
Andrew frowned. 'When?'
'When he completes his present expedition.’
'Do you intend to stay here until he return?'
'That vine is very colourful. Does it bloom all year round?'
Extract other foot from mouth, Andrew thought ruefully. Aloud he said, 'The bougainvillea does flower all year. It has a nasty thorn so we grow them along fences about our homes to discourage intruders. That tree over there is a frangipani. When the frangipanis flower you can smell their fragrance all over town.'
'Really?' Adelaide murmured, impressed by his knowledge of the flora and liking him the more for it. ‘Are the trees native to this land?’
'Most are,’ he answered. ‘Some were brought here from other lands: South America. New Guinea. That gingko is from China.’ Having run out of things to say to her, Andrew fell silent.
'You're staring at me, Mister Duggan.'
'I am?  I mean—‘
'Mister Andrew!’ A girl with dark skin wearing a bright red frock dashed into the house. ‘Peewee said we got a missus ...'
Her piping voice ended in awed silence. Adelaide judged her to be about seventeen. Her features had an Oriental cast.
 'Dora, this is Miss de Longe.'
Andrew had installed Dora at the bungalow for the duration of the de Longes’ visit. Dora tried but could not pronounce the surname. 
Adelaide rescued her. 'You may call me Miss Adelaide.'
'Miss Adelaide will be in the master bedroom,' Andrew told Dora.
'She gonna sleep with you, Mister Andrew?'
Andrew’s face turned beet red, his embarrassment amusing Adelaide.
‘Dora, you’re to pick up the groceries,’ Andrew ordered, before she could utter another word. ‘I will meet your father off the jolly boat, Miss de Longe. Good day.’
He grabbed his panama hat and fled. 
Adelaide managed not to burst into laughter.
'I got to go down to the store, missus.'
'Where is it?’
Chinatown.' Dora pointed at the patchwork of roofs down the hill.
'May I come with you?'
The maid's face broke into a wide smile.
****
Adelaide fended off the sun with her parasol as she walked down the hill, getting used to being on dry land again. At the bottom of the hill, Dora cut away from the waterfront, leading her new missus along an alley that angled more directly into the heart of Chinatown. They paused first at the general store where beans, rice, nuts, lotus seeds and all manner of intriguing staples were on display.
Adelaide’s every movement was watched by Namaga's golden maidens and their darker cousins—indentured domestic servants—at tables in front of the store. The overhanging roof provided welcome shade for them to linger and exchange the latest gossip. When Adelaide stepped inside to see what else the store had to offer, Dora whispered proudly to the girls at one table, 'My new missus got number one clothes!'
All eyes fixed on Adelaide’s smart summer outfit.
'Is she gonna jig-a-jig with Mistah Androo?' Dora was asked.
'I reckon she will. She just don't know it yet.'
Dora’s friends broke into giggles.
Oblivious to the attention she was drawing, Adelaide inspected dried oysters, dried fish, cloves of garlic and the multitude of exotic foods that were displayed on the shelves. Bolts of linen, cotton and calico were arrayed amid the clutter of pots, pans, and woks dangling from overhead beams. There was nothing in the store that she really wanted, but Adelaide purchased some spices as a contribution to the bungalow's larder. The Chinese proprietor bowed Adelaide out the door. Dora broke off her conversation with her friends to lead on through Chinatown.
As they browsed stalls in Shinju Alley it occurred to Adelaide the settlement had a considerable diversity of wares to offer for a place so far removed from every-where else. Even more surprising was the diversity of its population. Directly opposite the Chinese herbalist was a saki stall with Japanese signage. The curry house was run by a Malay; its aromas blending with those of leather from the saddler who was part Caucasian and part something else. During previous travels with her father Adelaide had gained the distinct impression the Chinese and the Japanese hated each other. Yet here in Namaga, it seemed, they were content to live in close proximity. She glanced  across the open expanse that separated Chinatown from the mangrove swamp. Along the edge of the swamp she could see crude shelters.
'What are they for, Dora?'
'You don't want to talk to them people, Miss Adelaide.'
'People live in those hovels?'
Dora nodded.
The rough shelters had been fashioned from saplings, sheets of tin and what appeared to be hessian bags. Adelaide was wondering who could endure such squalor when she heard a woman scream. The high-pitched wail prompted her to hurry in that direction.
'Don't go over there, Miss Adelaide.'
Adelaide ignored the maid and pressed on past the hovels toward some peculiar structures that resembled wardrobes on stilts. Planks over the mud afforded entry to them and the stench they exuded made their purpose obvious. The nearer she got, the worse the stench. Hurrying past the toilets, Adelaide saw a woman waving her arms  frantically at the boy sitting on a board in the swamp. Skid marks left by the board revealed how the boy managed to propel himself over the soft mud and way beyond her reach. Adelaide could not understand a word the woman was screaming at the boy but it was obvious she was urging him to scoot back to hard ground. The moment he tried, the board tilted dangerously. The woman wailed again.
'Be quiet!' Adelaide snapped at her.
The woman shut up abruptly.
Dora hurried over. 'We got to go back, missus. If Mister Andrew finds out I bring you to this place he's gonna be plurry mad—‘
'Never mind that. Go and bring help.'
'Missus?
'We have to get the boy out of the swamp.'
'But, missus—‘
'Now!'
Adelaide’s sharp tone sent Dora speeding on her mission.
The boy’s mother too distraught to be of any help, Adelaide set her parasol aside and hurried back to the toilets to grab a plank  but when she tried to lift it, Adelaide discovered the plank had been secured to mangrove roots to prevent it drifting away on a king tide. Her efforts to pull it free proved fruitless.
'Let me.'
Adelaide stepped aside when she saw the woman whose shoulders would have done justice to a wrestler. Adelaide watched in amazement as the woman took a deep breath, lowered her head and heaved. Rotten ropes parted. Adelaide helped carry the plank to the swamp and kicked off her shoes.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘You’re heavier than me.’
'Thanks a lot!'
‘Can you hold the plank steady while I grab him?’
The plank dipping under her, Adelaide stepped carefully to its far end. But the boy was still beyond reach. She beckoned. Thumb in mouth, he fixed his eyes on her but did not move.
'I need another plank!'
Dora arrived with the people she had alerted in Chinatown. The sturdy woman rattled off instructions in the local patios and soon another plank was brought to be slid out to Adelaide. She pushed it toward the boy. She was almost to its far end when the plank dipped suddenly. The crowd gasped. Adelaide tumbled into the mire.
The sturdy woman shouted, 'Grab hold of the plank!'
Adelaide flailed about in deep, black mud until she managed to gain a firm grip. The woman turned to shout at the crowd, 'We need a rope!'
'I bling!' a voice responded.
Up to her neck in stinking ooze, Adelaide could not find bottom with her feet. She clung to the plank for dear life while the boy looked at her with an inquisitive smile, waiting to see what would happen next.
****
Andrew led Henry de Longe up the stairs to his office. The financier asked, 'Do you mind?'
'Hell, no.'
Henry slipped off his jacket.
Though it was now winter in the Southern Hemisphere, there was no such thing as winter in Namaga. Even the coolest months of the year were akin to an English summer. Thankful to be relieved of his jacket, Henry turned to a window that offered view of the sound. Over the tops of the mangroves he could see the portion of the jetty that extended directly from the mole before it curved to the north.
 'So what do you think?’ Andrew asked.
‘I am impressed. And I’m not impressed often.'
His suit jacket on the back of the chair, Henry sat across from Andrew at the desk. Gold links glittered at the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. The pin-stripe trousers had a sharp crease and his patent leathers shone.
Andrew said, 'Before I forget, the syndicate has arranged a dinner this evening to welcome your party to Namaga. Its chairman is out on the shell beds but his wife puts on an excellent meal.’
‘My sister is staying on board the Michelle tonight but my daughter and I will accept the invitation.’
'The banker will be there,’ Andrew added. ’He's anxious to meet you.'
'I'm sure he is,' was Henry's dry comment. 'Andrew, all I know about you is what you’re father told me when I visited Namaga some ten years ago. What did he tell you about me?’
'Nothing.'
Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing at all?'
'Tug told me some hairy stories about you and Bull on the goldfields. According to Tug, you and my father were close mates.'
'We certainly were. Thanks to your father I was able to sink the initial shaft for the Del Mine. And were it not for him, I would still be down there under tons of rock. That should tell you why I was willing to come to Bull's aid when Tug wrote to me.'
‘But it doesn't explain why my father never told me anything about you.'
'It doesn't,' Henry agreed. 'Nor why two close friends should fall out after both made a fortune from their friendship. My last visit was to repair our friendship.'
'I was down south at college then.’
‘So I gathered from Bull.' After a brief pause, Henry said, 'Before we discuss business, Andrew, I feel you ought to know what caused the breach between your father and me.’
'My time is at your disposal,' Andrew offered.
'Mistah Andloo!'
The call floated up to them from Pearl Way.
‘Excuse me a moment.’
Andrew crossed to the window and poked his head outside.
'What's up, Wong?'
'You got lope!'
'A rope? What for?'
'Woman in swamp! You bling lope! Chop chop!'
'I'll be right there.'
Andrew returned to the desk. 
‘Some gin got herself stuck in the swamp. This might take a while.’
‘That’s quite all right,' Henry assured him. 'We’re staying at your father’s place on the hill, right?’
Andrew nodded. ‘I’ll organise a coach to take you there.’
'Don’t bother. It's been a long voyage. The walk will do me good.'
'I'll come by at half past six to pick you up for dinner.'
Andrew hurried out the door.
****
Adelaide’s arms were aching. Her hair was plastered with mud and she could barely hear the woman with those powerful shoulders who was obviously trying to distract her from her predicament.
‘I’m Bert the midwife! I've been here ten years. That’s ten years too bloody long!' the midwife shouted.
The boy began to cry and his mother resumed her high-pitched wail.
'Shut up!' the midwife barked. 'You shouldn't have let the little bastard get out there.'
The woman cowered. The child stopped crying. Then the small crowd of on-lookers parted for Andrew as he approached the edge of the swamp, a length of manila rope coiled over his right shoulder.
'What took you so long?' the midwife greeted.
Andrew ignored her censure. 'Where is the woman?'
Bert pointed.
Andrew peered in that direction. ‘What's she doing out there?'
'Fishing. Stop asking stupid questions.'
Andrew fashioned a loop at one end of the rope. 'Orright!' he shouted. 'I gonna throw this rope. You put 'im under arms. Savvy?'
'She speaks English,' Bert informed.
'She does?'
'Perfectly.'
'Then she can’t be one of your girlfriends.'
The midwife took a deep breath. 'Sometimes, Randy Andy, you're a real prick.'
'And you wish you had one,' was Andrew's riposte as he hurled the rope. It fell squarely over Adelaide's head. Alternately clinging to the plank with one hand and then the other, she looped the rope under her arms.
'Now grab the boy and flip over on your back!' Andrew called.
Adelaide managed to gain a grip on the boy. Andrew hauled them quickly to firm ground. Without a word of thanks to anyone, the mother dragged her child away. 
Adelaide swore. 'Merde!'
'I thought you said she spoke English. That's French,' Andrew flung at Bert.
'When I swear, I swear in French, Mister Duggan. It makes me feel better.'
Andrew's mouth fell wide open. 'Miss de Longe?'
‘Are you just going to stand there gaping at me?’
Andrew roared with laughter. 'You ought to see yourself!’ 
Adelaide scrambled to her feet and looked down. Blue muck covered her from head to toe.
Andrew quipped, 'You should have told me you wanted to go fishing. I can show you a much easier way.'
She eyed Andrew’s white shoes, white shirt, and white trousers as he stood there, laughing. 'A pity you aren't wearing your panama.'
'Pardon?'
Taking a step forward, Adelaide suddenly raised one hand to Andrew's chest and pushed hard. He landed on his back in the mire.
'Fish yourself out of that, Mister Duggan.'
****
Henry was gasping for breath when he finally reached the bungalow veranda to sink down in a cane chair. Peewee watched him massage his temples.
'Hurt, boss?'
'Just a headache.’ Henry looked up. ‘Peewee?’
‘I see you, Boss Henry.’
It seemed Peewee shared his gift for remembering faces and the names that went with them. ‘How old are you now, Peewee?'
'Too old, boss. Mebbe I never gonna die.'
'We all do, eventually.'
'I hope that true. I'm plurry tired of waiting.'
Henry laughed and winced. The fierce headache had come on while he was climbing the hill. 'Have you seen my daughter ... the missus?'
'She gone to town with Dora.'
Henry rose from the chair and found Adelaide's note on the bureau. It directed him to the appropriate bedroom. Hanging jacket and waistcoat in the wardrobe, he sat down to untie his shoe laces. Again, pain stabbed behind his eyes.
 Peewee entered. 'You drink this one, boss.'
'What is it?'
'Lemonade,' Peewee answered.
Thirsty after his stiff walk, Henry drank all that was in the glass.
'You sleep now,' the ancient urged. 
'I think I will take a nap.'
Henry removed his shoes and lay back on the bed.
****
Bert had loaned Adelaide a smock that billowed about her as she sat in the mid-wife's shack drying her hair with a towel. It had taken three tubs of hot water to remove the muck. The midwife remarked, 'I didn't mention the crocs because that might have upset you.'
'Crocs?'
'Crocodiles.'
'Crocodiles!'
A glass was thrust into Adelaide's hand. 'Here. Have a tot of rum. Best medicine for just about anything.' 
The rum hit Adelaide’s stomach like a fireball.
‘There's poisonous jellyfish, stingrays, sea snakes—‘
Adelaide paled. 'Where I was?'
'I keep telling the syndicate to move those squatters away from the swamp. There's no drinking water over there. Women have to carry it from the wells. But nobody on the bloody syndicate listens to me. What do they care about a bunch of half-castes?'
'Half-castes?'
'Black mother, white father,' Bert said tersely. 'We have half-castes, quarter-castes, umpteen-castes. Islanders, Malays, Chinese, Japanese—you name 'em, we've got 'em. What was I talking about?'
'The syndicate - whatever that is.'
Bert rolled her eyes. 'You did just get off that ship. The syndicate is owned by the likes of the bloke you shoved into the swamp.’ Bert chuckled. 'I can still see the look on Randy Andy’s face. You’ll have a story to tell when you go back aboard.'
'I'm not going back to the ship. I shall be staying here until Major Carnivon arrives.'
'Carnivon?'
'The explorer.'
Bert snapped her fingers. 'With the camels.'
Adelaide smiled. 'Yes, he uses camels on his expeditions.'
Bert folded thick arms across her chest. 'You said you just got off the boat. You didn't say you were one of them up on the hill!'
The midwife's sudden hostility brought Adelaide to her feet.  'Thank you for the loan of something clean to wear. I will send it back to you.'
Adelaide made for the door.
The midwife blocked her path. 'What you did this afternoon took guts. I thank you for it. But nobody else in this town will. So here’s some advice from one who’s been here too bloody long.'
'I think I have heard enough.'
'You reckon?’ The midwife laughed harshly. ‘You're a stranger and a nob. In Namaga nobody trusts either. As for Andrew Duggan—we don’t call him Randy Andy for nothing. Some moonlight night he'll have your skirt up and your knickers down before you know what's happening. If I was you, Miss Hoity Toity, I’d get back on that boat and piss off.'

*****
Chapter 13
‘Sorry I’m late,' Andrew apologised as he entered the bungalow.
'A good thing you are,' Henry told him. 'I lay down for a brief nap and slept until six o’clock. If Adelaide had not woken me I would still be fast asleep.'
Adelaide came into the living room. 
Andrew stared at the woman he last saw covered in mire. Her black hair shone. The sapphire necklace and earrings complimented the blue gown. She looked stunning.
He doffed his panama. 'Good evening, Miss de Longe.'
'Mister Duggan, you have a remarkable laundry service in this community.'
Andrew looked down at his pearler's whites. 'I do have more than one pair of trousers in my wardrobe, Miss de Longe.'
'And all the same colour, I see.'
'White is good for the tropics.'
'Though not advisable while fishing in the swamp,' Adelaide smiled.
Andrew slapped the panama back on his head. 
Henry glanced from one to the other, perplexed.
‘Shall we go?’ Andrew suggested.
As they walked down the hill to the Weinberg bungalow Andrew noted the glow from lanterns in lifeboats moving across the sound. ’Lifeboat drill, Henry?'
'Captain Wallace likes to keep his men on their toes.'
Adelaide asked them to pause for a moment. 'What is that scent I can smell?' 
'Jasmine,' Andrew told her.
Adelaide inhaled deeply. 'So delicate and so lovely.'
'Jasmine brings the butterflies.'
'Does it?'
'Does what?'
'Does jasmine bring butterflies?'
Andrew saw Adelaide looking at him inquisitvely. 'Something my mother used to say,' he told her.
They walked on, Andrew unsettled by words he had uttered that popped into his head out of nowhere. Sarah greeted them when they got to her bungalow. Pearl earrings and a necklace of magnificent pearls complimented her lavender dress. Brushing an imaginary speck from Andrew's white jacket, she bestowed a welcoming smile on his companions. Adelaide noted the smile failed to reach those green eyes. After the introductions were made, Sarah tucked one arm under Andrew's, as if to establish she had claim on him. Sarah asked Andrew to take care of the drinks for his companions before she went to the kitchen.
'Andrew!'
Though he had seen Naomi sprawled naked on the lawn, Andrew could not help eyeing her splendid cleavage. He responded with a nod and a smile as he moved on quickly to the cocktail cabinet.
'Mister de Longe?' Wilfred shoved out his hand and introduced himself. 'My friends call me, Wilf. Your fellow came to see me this afternoon.'
'Any problems?'
'Problems?'
'With what he came to see you about.'
'Not at all!' Wilfred beamed. 'Any further service I can offer—‘
'You can discuss with him.' Henry's abrupt interruption silenced the banker before he said too much. Adelaide went to the piano. She was scanning a sheet of music when Andrew presented her drink.
'Your wine, Miss de Longe.'
'Thank you. Mister Duggan.'
'Do you play?'
'A little.'
He raised his glass in salute. 'Your gown is most becoming. The sapphires are a nice touch.'
'I'm surprised you noticed them.'
'I don't miss much.'
Adelaide eyed Naomi across the room. 'One can hardly miss what some flaunt, Mister Duggan.'
'Whereas, you do not have to flaunt what you have, Miss de Longe.’
Adelaide was not quite certain what to make of the riposte.
The bell on the balcony was struck to summon guests to dine. Sarah showed Henry to the seat of honour at the head of the table. She motioned the wives of pearlers who were presently at sea to various seats about the table. Three women—Lorraine, Agnes and Nancy—she seated together. Adelaide found she had been placed well away from Andrew who was sandwiched between Sarah and Naomi. The meal was served by Misty and two other maids.
The banker's wife, Mildred, was the first to speak. 'De Longe?' she frowned. 'Sounds French.'
'We are English,' Adelaide felt compelled to reply.
Mildred would not be swayed. 'The name is French. One cannot trust the French.'
Wilfred said quickly, 'That is quite a ship you have out there, Mister de Longe.'
''The Michelle is the flagship of the Marquis Line,’ Henry told him.
'See!' Mildred shot at her husband. 'Is your vessel the beginning of an armada, Monsieur de Longe?'
Henry stared at her blankly.
'Is your French crew about to launch an attack on this colony?' Mildred clarified.
'The Michelle was built in Glasgow. Her home port is Southampton. Officers and crew are from Great Britain. The only Frenchman on board,' Henry added dryly, 'is too busy to worry about this colony or any other colony. He's the chef.'
'Do help yourselves to vegetables,' Sarah urged.
Wilfred remarked to Henry, 'I gathered from Mister Preston-White your ship encountered our luggers three days ago.'
'That is correct.'
'Were you able to find out when they will be coming in?'
'Next week.’
'Next week!' Sarah exclaimed.
Henry’s attention went to the vegetables on the platter offered by a maid.
One of the wives ventured to Naomi with a guileless smile, 'Naomi, you must be looking forward to seeing Rodney again.'
Blissfully unaware of the gossip all over town that she was having a passionate affair with Andrew, Naomi's response had almost every woman at the table choking on her roast. ‘Rodney’s been gone so long,' Naomi sighed, 'it will be like going to bed with a stranger—which might be a lot more fun!' 
Winifred whinnied. Lorraine, Agnes, and Nancy tittered.
A guest exclaimed suddenly, 'We’re eating roast!'
'What did you expect?' Sarah demanded indignantly.
‘Where did you get it?'
'At the butcher's. Where else?'
'But the other day he said there wasn't any beef to be had in town.'
Andrew furnished an explanation. 'My stockmen brought some livestock down from Whisper Bay.’
''I hope we don't run short again,' the chandler commented.
The banker put in, 'We’ll have more than enough beef once the abattoir is built. Isn’t that so, Mister de Longe.'
The chandler’s wife protested, ‘Must we always talk business? I was hoping Miss de Longe could tell us about the fashions in London.'
Mildred said frostily, 'I do hope that awful smock you had on this afternoon is not an example of current fashions—in London or anywhere else.'
Nancy tittered, 'And you were quite a sight. Andrew!  Is it true that Miss de Longe pushed you in the swamp?'
Sarah announced dessert.
****
Henry glimpsed Nigel being shown into the Weinberg residence by a maid. Guests gathered about Sarah at the piano, he motioned Nigel to the balcony and joined him there. While Sarah played Chopin’s Polonaise, Nigel delivered his report.
'Lombard is staying at the hotel so I've booked a room there.’
Henry nodded approval. ‘And our Judas?’
‘He’s no longer working for Lombard.'
'Damn.’
‘He’s now working for Andrew Duggan.’
'Oh?'
'Trouble is, I don’t know where he lives and I can’t risk approaching him in case Duggan twigs—‘
Henry cut in, 'Tomorrow morning, Andrew will be showing me about the settle-ment. You’ll have ample time to stop by his office and talk to the clerk.’
Henry returned to the drawing room in time to join the polite applause as Sarah raised her hands from the keyboard. She beckoned Andrew. 'Your turn.'
'Not me!' he protested. 'All I know are some old Welsh songs.'
Sarah said, 'Oh dear,  I'm afraid I don't have any music scores for Welsh songs.'
Andrew was thankful. 'Ah well,' he smiled. 'Another time, perhaps.'
'I know a few,' Adelaide volunteered. 'I can accompany you, Mister Duggan. That is, if Mrs Weinberg and her guests would like me to.'
'We certainly would!' the chandler urged.
'Do play for us, Miss de Longe.’
With reluctance, Sarah made way for Adelaide to take her place on the piano stool. Adelaide ran some light arpeggios to familiarise herself with the keyboard's touch. 'Which song would you like to sing, Mister Duggan?' she challenged.
Andrew picked what he hoped she would not know. 'Land of My Fathers.’
Adelaide nodded and played an opening chord.
Andrew was forced to launch into the song.
His rich baritone captivated men and women alike. Guests clapped enthusiastically when he came to its end. They called for more. Deftly, Adelaide swung into ‘Men of Harlech’. The song more familiar, everyone joined in the chorus.
'How about something Irish?’
Adelaide looked up from the keyboard. 'Perhaps Mrs Weinberg would prefer—'
'You can't stop now!' the chandler urged.
Sarah smiled coldly. 'Do continue, Miss de Longe. I have to check the coffee.'
Adelaide played a medley of lively tunes and had everyone singing about the piano until the coffee was made. Henry took this opportunity to announce the ship’s jolly boat would be available next day to ferry those who wished to visit the SS Michelle and view her accommodations. The guests drank their coffee and then their exodus began. Sarah bade goodnight from her front step.
'It was so nice of you to come, Miss de Longe.'
Sarah's cool tone made clear to Adelaide it would have been nicer still if Miss de Longe dropped dead.
'You are staying for a nightcap aren’t you, Andrew?'
‘I'm escorting my guests up the hill, Sarah. And I’ve an early start in the morning. Thanks for the dinner and the entertainment.'
****
Andrew said he would be there around 9 a.m. to collect Henry in a coach, bade goodnight to his guests and headed back down the hill. Adelaide pulled out a chair to sit on the veranda with her father as he gazed down on the lights of Chinatown.
'Papa, it is time you slowed down.'
'I will when I get back to London.'
'You keep saying that! But as soon as you're in London you find something else that needs your attention. Sometimes I wonder how I was born. When did you and mama ever have the time?'
In the darkness Adelaide failed to see how much her remark upset Henry. He would never cast aside the guilt he felt over Michelle’s death, brought about by complications during Adelaide’s birth. Henry blamed the surgeon who attended her delivery and, to this day, though his brother Jacques was a noted surgeon, he regarded all doctors as quacks.
'Papa, where are your pills?'
'I doubt they do any good.'
'Now, Papa!' Adelaide chastised. 'Uncle Jacques said if you don't take them your headaches will come on again.'
'Don't nag me, Adelaide.'
'I'm worried about you.'
'There's absolutely nothing to worry about. By the way, ‘Nigel told me everyone at the hotel is talking about your arrival at the jetty.’
‘Word certainly gets around fast in this town.’
‘And your jaunt in the swamp.’
'Should I have allowed the child to drown in mud?'
'I don't want you causing problems.'
'Problems?'
'My dear, I’m not saying the workmen would harm you.’
'What are you saying?’
‘You’re an attractive woman and I don’t want you going near the jetty unless invited there to inspect the work in progress.'
'Anything else?'
'You will not embroil yourself in any social causes here in Namaga.'
'Papa!'
'Don't play the innocent with me. You will not conduct suffragette campaigns or any of that nonsense—‘
'We were protesting the use of child labour—‘
'You were traipsing into the slums every Thursday.'
'Uncle Jacques needed somebody to help with his patients.'
‘He had no right to place you at such risk,’ Henry fumed. ‘I was very angry when I found out what you two had been up to.’
It was Jacques and his wife who had taken Adelaide into their home after Michelle's death. Having no children, the couple had raised Adelaide as their own daughter while Henry was travelling the world, building his financial empire. Adelaide had been strongly influenced by her uncle’s passion for righting wrongs—especially those inflicted upon the needy in London.
Henry fumed, 'If Jacques wants to dole out free medicine that’s one thing. It’s quite another for him to embroil you in his ridiculous crusade. I want your solemn word that no matter what, here in Namaga you will leave things alone.'
'If Uncle Jacques left things alone,’ Adelaide bristled, ‘there’d be more children dying in the slums of London.’
'This is not London. This is a remote foothold of civilization where people have had to fend for themselves some thirty years. They do not want the opinions of a woman who just got here and will be gone again in a few months. Have I made myself clear?'
'Crystal clear. Goodnight, Papa.'
****
Next morning, Andrew arrived in the coach to show Henry about the settlement. After a brief tour of Chinatown the driver took them up the hill and on to the divers’ cemetery—a tranquil glade where most of the headstones were engraved with Japanese script. The monument to Bull Duggan stood shoulder high and bore only his nickname. Henry eased down on the bench opposite.
‘Your father was like that: a rock you could lean upon.’
Andrew eyed the word BULL chipped into stone.
‘I think the syndicate was having a private joke.’
Andrew withdrew a few paces, allowing Henry time alone to pay his last respects,. A magpie warbled in the high branches of the lofty gum reaching overhead. The magpie flew away. Andrew retunred to the bench to sit beside Henry.
Henry said, at last, ‘Last night, when you sang Men of Harlech you took me back to when your father sang that song on the diggings.’ Henry smiled wistfully. ‘Bull and I were drawn there by the lure of gold. But he and I were from completely different walks in life. And I’ll never forget the way we met.
It was bitter cold that night. And I was in a desperate situation…’

*****
Chapter 14
Henry sagged from the branch where he had been trussed; wrists tied above his head, the icy wind cutting through his threadbare suit and sparks from the fire drifting over him.
'Tar and feather him!'
'Hanging's too good for a frog-eater. Crucify the arse-hole!'
'Hang the bastard!'
A rich baritone voice rang out in the night. ‘There won't be no hanging or crucifying here.'
'Says who?' Big Charlie demanded.
Bull stepped into the light of the fire. ’Says me.'
Despite Big Charlie’s size, it was Bull who most of the diggers looked to for authority. He stood before them now with the bosun's cap tilted back from his brow, callused hands resting lightly on his hips. 'Cut the Frenchy down,’ he ordered firmly.
 'He moved my pegs!' Big Charlie cried.
'We decided it wasn't him,’ Bull shot back.
'I don’t give a stuff who decided what,' Big Charlie argued. 'Those pegs were ten feet into my piece of dirt. His place is that side of it. Who else would move 'em?'
'Whoever did left the holes where he pulled them out. Not even Frenchy would be that stupid.'
'You wouldn't be calling me a liar, Bull?'
'No, Charlie. You're no liar. But you’ve got a belly full of rum and so do your mates. You don't know what you're on about.'
'I'll not take that from you.'
'Sit down, Charlie. You’re drunk.’
'Drunk or sober, I can take you, one hand tied behind my back.’
Big Charlie's boast was no idle one. All men kept their distance when his dander was up. Bull was not intimidated. ‘Don’t threaten me,' he warned. 'I've put down mutinies with my fists. Cut the man down and let's all get some sleep.'
'Is it sleep you're wanting, sailor boy?’
Big Charlie swung his ham fist. Bull went under it, slamming one elbow into Charlie's ribs. The big man opened his mouth to cry out. A jab in the solar plexus robbed him of wind. Bull gave no quarter, delivering blows to midriff, groin and face both fast and savage. Charlie gulped and wheezed and slumped to the ground.
'Does anyone else want to argue?'
Nobody did.
‘Cut the Frenchy down.’
The men hurried to oblige.
Bull heaved Henry over one shoulder and tramped back to his  hole in the ground with a tarpaulin lashed over the bark roof. The oil lamp dangling from a beam spilled yellow light to create an illusion of warmth within. Easing Henry down on the spare bunk, Bull yanked a bottle out from under it.
’Get a belt of this into you.'
Henry swallowed and coughed. 'Thank you for coming to my aid.'
'You speak English?’
“I should hope so. I was born and raised in England.’
‘So why do they call you Frenchy?’
‘Because my surname is De Longe.’
‘De Longe?’ Bull echoed. ‘Where did you get a name like that?’
‘From the Marquis de Longe whose family had estates in France until they fled the Revolution.' Henry shivered. Above their heads the tarpaulin thrummed in the wind.
‘Feeling better?’
‘The rum helps.’
‘A man needs some fire in his gut on a night like this. So if the name isn’t Frenchy—‘
‘My first name is Henry.'
Bull accepted the extended hand, noting the soft palm and clean fingernails. ‘I’ll have another swig from that bottle.  I only drink in company and I haven't had a drop since my shipmate left.'
Henry passed the bottle back. 'Shipmate?'
'Boxer. That's his bunk you're sitting on. He got tired of shovelling dirt and I don't blame him.' Bull raised the bottle to his lips, the Saint Christopher attached to a fine gold chain about his neck glimmering in the lamp’s glow. After taking a pull on the bottle, he remarked, 'I noticed that tin shack you put up on old Sam's claim.'
Henry nodded. 'My office.’
'Office?' Bull eyed the man sitting across from him. The soft hands told Bull that Henry de Longe was no digger. Henry's cheeks were pale and he was thin as a rail. 'If you'll forgive my saying so, there's not much call for an office this side of the hill. Why are you wasting time on that piece of dirt, anyway? Sam picked it clean.'
'I'm going to sink a deep shaft.'
'You are joking.'
'I'm serious.'
Bull reached behind him for a small tin that rattled when he set it on the table.
'Open it.'
Henry did. Tiny nuggets gleamed inside.
Bull fingered them for a moment. 'That's all I have to show for a year of slogging—not even enough to bother hiding. The only digger who ever found anything worthwhile this side of the hill is Big Charlie and he's been here three years.  If you can afford to sink a shaft, you can afford to grab the next stage out of here and put your money to better use.'
Henry motioned to the Saint Christopher medallion. ‘Are you superstitious?’
‘What does that have to do with—‘
‘Are you?’
‘I’ve been scared shitless in enough storms to know fear, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Why are you evading my question?’
‘Why are you asking?’ was Bull’s retort.
‘Because I am superstitious... in a way. I believe in destiny. You and I were destined to meet.’ Henry reached for the tin of nuggets and held it up to the light. 'What if I say you can turn these into a fortune?'
'I'd say you're a magician.'
Henry ignored that. 'I know something that will make you a rich man… if you come in with me as my partner.'
‘Forget it.’
‘At least hear what I have to say,’ Henry persisted. ‘It won’t cost you anything.’
‘All right—but only to satisfy my curiosity.’
Bull passed a blanket for Henry to wrap about his threadbare suit and fend off the bitter cold. ‘Say whatever you have to say.’
As Henry’s palms attested, he had never swung a pick or shovel in his life. His tools of trade were a pen and blotting paper. Unlike Bull who jumped ship with his mate Boxer to dig for gold, Henry had paid for his passage to the colonies. ‘When I arrived in Melbourne the first thing I did was buy a newspaper. A position was advertised for an accountant at a mine on the goldfields. Since I came here to learn all I could about the mining industry, where better than a company mine? And nobody questions the hours an accountant spends at his desk. Many evenings I had the office to myself and the files at my disposal. May I?’
Bull passed the bottle back to Henry who took a pull and resumed, ‘In one of the files I saw plans of the mine—its underground configuration of shafts and tunnels.’
‘You’re talking about the mine across the hill?’
‘I am.’
‘Go on,’ Bull urged.
‘The mine is divided in compass sections. At present all work underground is confined to three sections: North, South and West. The section that abuts this side of the hill, East Section, was shut down before I got here. When I asked why, I was told the vein does not come this way.'
'That's right,' Bull nodded.
'That's wrong,' Henry countered. ‘It does come this way but it goes deep.’
Bull’s interest quickened suddenly. ‘How would you know?’
'The man I replaced left a back-log of paperwork to catch up on. Among the pile was a purchase order debit I was told to write off against the East Section expenditure. I noticed several purchases had been made for the East Section after work was supposed to have ended in that section. In July I was told to enter more debits against the account. I thought that very odd.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the financial year ends on the 30th of June. Why attribute a debit in the new financial year to an account that should have been closed during the previous financial year? And why had purchases been made after the section was closed?’
Bull saw what Henry was driving at.
'I dug out the file of correspondence and transactions for East Section and waded through it until I saw a list of claims,’ Henry continued. ‘I soon realized that these claims are held by diggers on this side of the hill, among them your own and Big Charlie’s. Some were marked with an asterisk and the folio number of the East Section account.' Henry hugged the blanket more tightly about his shoulders. 'Well?'
'Well, what?' Bull demanded.
'Isn't it obvious?'
'Isn't what obvious '
'Isn’t it obvious why diggers are no longer allowed to purchase anything at the company store? Why the company has fenced off that woodland on its holdings so diggers can't gather firewood there. Two diggers froze to death last week. Surely you can see what is going on?'
'I wish you'd spit it out,' Bull grumbled.
'The mining company closed down East Section to convince everyone on this side of the hill the vein had petered out. Now the company is deliberately taking advantage of the cold weather to make life even more difficult for the diggers. It figures they will abandon their claims because they think they’re worthless. The company intends to buy out what few diggers are still on their claims after most have packed up and left.'
'Can you prove that?' Bull challenged.
'No,' Henry admitted as he dug a slip of paper from the inside pocket of his thread-bare jacket. 'But this convinced me. See for yourself.'
Bull held the slip of paper up to the light. It was the purchase order for a steel cage and drums of cable. 'So the company’s going to sink another shaft,' he surmised. 'So what?  It’s already got two hoists operating.'
'But this one has been allocated to the East Section.'
 Bull’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that so?’
‘The claims marked with an asterisk are where the vein must go. Sam's claim was one that was marked.'
Bull had spent many an evening with Sam. The old coot was not your average digger who quit his job to grub for gold. Sam was a bona fide prospector. He had been looking for gold many years. Sam was convinced he had a fortune down there beneath his feet—somewhere. He would not have sold his claim and moved on without good reason. 'So why did Sam sell his claim to you?' Bull asked.
'After I told him what was going on, Sam admitted he could not afford what it would cost to hire men and purchase the equipment to sink a deep shaft. We struck an agreement. Sam is now a shareholder in the company that will mine the gold. He’ll be paid his fair percentage of the yield when it is recovered. Sam was happy with the deal because he’s now able to do what he wants to do—tramp through the bush with his dog looking for another strike. Which means,’ Henry added with a smile, ‘the company also has the benefit of a prospector who may find another rich lode. Whoever invests in De Longe Enterprises is bound to profit from the venture.'
'Ah,’ Bull nodded. ‘Now I understand. Your father's company sent you over here.'
Bull’s comment provoked a sharp reaction from Henry. 'You don't understand at all! It is my company. I raised the capital to set it up and to bring in the equipment that will be arriving shortly.'
The tarpaulin slapped against the roof of Bull's crude dwelling as he stared in open amazement at the man sitting across from him. 'What the hell does a keeper of books know about shafts, tunnels, faults, quartz - '
'What did former shepherds, clerks and bosuns know about digging for gold when they staked their claims?' Henry flung back. 'Christ, its cold.'
'You should wear something warmer. That suit has seen better days.' 
'I’ll buy another when we strike the lode.'
Bull laughed softly. 'Are you going to invite me to the celebration?' 
‘In return for saving my neck,’ Henry said crisply, ‘I’ll do better. A Swede has been recommended to me by the company supplying my equipment. He’ll be here next week to oversee the sinking of the shaft and supervise the work done in the mine. But I dare not hire miners from across the hill. That would be asking for trouble. What I had in mind was to offer your fellow diggers shares in the mine supplemented by a wage to subsist on until we strike the lode. But after what happened tonight... they respect you, Bull. I want you to put the proposal to them as my general foreman.'
Bull shook his head in rueful admiration. 'Now I know how you raised capital to start a company. You could talk a man into robbing his mother's grave!'
'My former employer may want to put me in one,' Henry said ruefully.
‘You mean the company?
Henry nodded. ‘As soon as I realised what was going on I gave notice. Word of what I am doing must have got back to the other side of the hill.'
'Those pegs were moved to stir up trouble and be rid of you?'
Henry spread his hands as if to say, ‘What other explanation can there be?’ He took the blanket from his shoulders and folded it neatly to one side. 'I owe you for what you did tonight.’
'Where are you going?'
'To try and get some sleep.'
'You'll freeze in that tin shack. Boxer won’t be back. You can use his until the weather warms up. What name will you call the mine?'
'Why?'
Bull handed the tin of nuggets to Henry. 'Now that I own ten per cent, I'd like to know. I'll talk to Big Charlie and the men in the morning ...'
****
Andrew and Henry rose from the bench to stretch their legs. The financier walked beside him as they strolled between the headstones of men who had forfeited their lives in the quest for mother-of-pearl. Some of the graves were empty. Their bodies had never been recovered from the sea.
Henry recalled, 'The Del Mine was my first enterprise. Once Bull persuaded the diggers to work for us they went at it with a will. Your father was a born leader. All the men looked up to him, trusted him and knew they could depend upon him. Shafts were sunk. The equipment arrived. I had enough funds to pay the men so they had food in their mouths through that bitter cold winter. Those who stayed on their own claims fared poorly. Some left. Some froze to death.
‘One morning, Bull had to walk back to his camp for the miner’s lamp he’d forgotten. He surprised a lad sitting on his bunk wolfing down a chunk of damper. The lad was too far gone with hunger to make a run for it. He'd been surviving on scraps stolen from the diggers. He had a thick cockney accent and said his name was Tug. Some said he should be punished. Bull learned that Tug's folks had come all the way from London only to die of pneumonia in their tent.’
They completed a circuit of the cemetery and sat down again on the bench. Henry  was unable to resist the cheroot Andrew offered. After they lit up, he resumed his tale.
‘One day the funds I needed to pay the men failed to arrive. Big Charlie refused to accept my assurance the money was bound to show up soon. He insisted nobody would work again until they were paid at least a portion of what they were due. Bull told him we were bound to strike the lode at any moment but Charlie was adamant. That was when Bull asked me to go down the mine and help him lay the charges.’
Henry glanced around, as if to ensure he was sitting on a bench in a graveyard. Then he admitted, ‘Confinement in dark places has always terrified me. Even though I was the owner of the company, I had never set foot below ground. Bull insisted he could not manage without my help. He persuaded a digger to operate the cage and lower us down the shaft.’
Henry shuddered at the memory.
‘Bull was anxious to get to the lode. Perhaps he used more powder than he should. The blast knocked out a support beam that struck me on the side of my head. When I came to, Bull was scraping earth away with his bare hands to pull me out. I told him to look after himself. Bull told me to shut up. He knew we could not wait for rescue because the men were on strike. By the time they realized we were in trouble we might be dead. He pulled me out from under earth and muck into a grotto used for dumping rubble. A tunnel fingered to it from another shaft. The mere thought of all those layers of rock above my head had me hunched over and shaking in my boots.
Then I heard Bull singing. Men of Harlech it was. I opened my eyes wondering what Bull was so happy about. He aimed the light from his lamp to where the charge had blasted rock away. We had hit the lode.'
****
As the coach carried them away from the cemetery Henry remarked, ‘Bull swore it was his Saint Christopher that told him to burrow toward the blasting area instead of away. The lode rewarded Sam with far more than he ever needed, yet he kept on tramping about with his dog, looking for another strike. Big Charlie became general manager of Del Mining Company. Your father brought Tug with us on the steamer to  Fremantle where Boxer was waiting on the sloop he bought to go looking for pearls. The rest you know.'
'Except why you and my father fell out.'
Evidently, Henry was not ready yet to volunteer that information. He asked, instead, 'What do you want to do when you finish the jetty, Andrew?'
'To leave on the first vessel that calls.’
‘Back to work for Gaston Engineering Company?’
Andrew eyed the attaché case on the seat beside Henry. 'Is your dossier on Andrew Duggan in there?'
Henry nodded without embarrassment. ‘De Longe Enterprises could provide lucrative contracts to an engineer with your qualifications.’
Andrew decided he'd had enough. 'Henry, we have yet to talk business and you’re leaving in a couple of hours.  There are a couple of things to which I need some answers.'
'So ask your questions.'
'First: the syndicate chairman is still firmly against building the jetty. Even though it’s well under way, I wouldn’t put it past Isaac to block the funds I still need for its completion. He’ll be back from the shell beds within the week for the syndicate’s annual meeting. If you speak to the board about what you have in mind for this town it will shore up my support by the other board members. Why can’t you stay a few more days?’
'Andrew, I sympathize with your concerns but I am already committed to a board meeting in Fremantle the end of this week. It has been years since I last visited Australia. Almost every day of my visit I am scheduled to meet with general managers and the boards of my various subsidiaries. And even I cannot divert the Michelle from her pre-arranged schedule. That is why I am installing Nigel Preston-White temporarily in Namaga to represent De Longe Enterprises.’
‘The fellow I saw you talking to last night?’
‘Pardon?’
‘At the dinner.’
‘Ah, yes. I would have introduced you, but Nigel only stopped in to say he was on his way back to the ship for some documents he left aboard.’
‘There seemed to be a lot of traffic on the sound last night. What were those life-boats really doing?'
'I thought that was bothering you.'
'It still is.'
'Nigel told me the crew were checking the depth at high tide.’
'They were taking soundings?'
'The captain wanted to find the best approach to the jetty when it's complete.’
Andrew conceded that was a sensible precaution. ‘I’m still waiting for the buoys to mark the channel.’ He changed the subject. ‘Your daughter... how long will she be staying in Namaga?’
‘Is her presence an imposition on you?’ Henry asked sharply.
‘No no,’ Andrew assured with a laugh. ‘It just seems strange to me that your daughter—or any woman for that matter—would want to stay in a place like Namaga. Especially when she can return to your ship and enjoy all that it provides.’
‘My sentiments entirely. But her whole reason for making this voyage was to see Major Carnivon. Despite me pointing out to her the settlement’s limitations, Adelaide insists on waiting here for his return.’
‘And if he doesn’t... return?’
‘Do you think he may not?’ Henry countered.
Andrew shrugged. ‘I never met the man so I’m in no position to judge his abilities.  Tug said he went inland with only a blackfellow and a string of camels. I think that’s an invitation to disaster. What’s your opinion?’
‘If we were talking about anyone else, I would agree. Who, in their right mind, would even contemplate this kind of expedition without a party of armed men to fend off any hostile natives? But I have discovered that Major Carnivon is one of those rare individuals whose faith in himself is like a protective shield. India, Afghanistan, here in Australia... He must have some guardian angel taking care of him. My instructions to Freddy were to send a message to the Del Pastoral office when he reaches the Overland Telegraph line. I am confident he will. On the other hand, should he decide it is not possible for him to return to Namaga, my daughter will leave on the Michelle when she calls again.’
The coach came to a halt at the bungalow. Andrew told the driver to wait. Henry  found a note on the writing bureau informing him she had gone out to the ship to accompany her aunt ashore. The two men returned to the coach.
 On their way down to the piers Andrew turned to Henry and said, 'It was you who moved those pegs—am I right?’
Henry nodded slowly. 'But not to encroach on Big Charlie's claim.'
'To set up my father.'
Henry fixed his sharp gaze on Andrew's face.
‘I knew the company across the hill had no qualms about how it got rid of the diggers. I needed a man they respected to sway them to my cause. And I'm proud of what I accomplished. Every shareholder and every digger who worked in the Del Mine made a lot of money.’ Henry turned to look out the coach window. ‘But your father did not see it that way. It was the day before I boarded the steamer back to England. We were celebrating our good fortune on the boat Boxer had purchased. I’d had more than a few and let slip how I risked being tarred and feathered to convince Bull to become my partner in the mine. Boxer thought it was hilarious. Bull tried to throw me overboard. Tug and Boxer managed to hold him down. On that sour note we parted.’
'Yet you came here years later to see him.'
'I hoped to patch up our differences. Bull had mellowed somewhat. He still called me The Fox and said I made use of him. But I could tell he was glad to see me for all of that. We talked about what he hoped to accomplish here. He also talked a lot about you.'
'He did?'
'Your father confided in me what happened at Whisper Bay when you were a lad.'
Andrew’s jaw tightened. 'He couldn’t have told you much. He wasn’t there when it happened.’
Neither spoke again until the coach came to a halt on the waterfront. Andrew stopped by his office to collect the mail going out to the steamship. Henry walked on to the pier to board the jolly boat.
****
Nigel joined Henry at the pier.
'The clerk gave us what we wanted,' Nigel said quietly.
'Well done. Where is Lombard?'
'Tucked away.'
'Tread carefully with Andrew Duggan,' Henry cautioned,
'I can handle a colonial.'
'This colonial is far shrewder than you think. And if he thinks you’re over-stepping the mark he won't hesitate to bundle you out of here. I’ve already made the appropriate preparations should Adelaide have to represent my interests.'
‘Henry!'
'Nigel, you are ruthless enough to go a very long way. But you still have much to learn.’ Seeing Adelaide coming toward them, Henry broke off their conversation. 'Hello, my dear. Where is Louise?'
'She was complaining about the heat. Some women took her to the hotel lounge for a cool drink.’
'It is a trifle warm,’ Henry acknowledged. ‘A word with you, Adelaide.’ He led her beyond earshot of Nigel. ‘I could not help noticing your attitude toward Andrew Duggan. A little diplomacy would not hurt. After all, you are a guest in his house.’
'Papa, I will treat Mister Duggan with every courtesy he deserves.’
At that precise moment Andrew approached them. As always, he was wearing his pearler’s whites. Adelaide took one look at him and burst into laughter. Andrew turned to Henry, 'I think your daughter has had too much sun.'
Henry extended his hand. 'It has been a pleasure to meet you, Andrew. Please forgive, Adelaide. She has her own unique sense of humour.'
'Don't forget your pills,' Adelaide reminded Henry as he climbed into the boat.
'Don't you forget your promise!' he called back to her.
Adelaide unfurled the yellow parasol to watch the departing jolly boat. Her father waved, his diminishing figure as the boat travelled ever further from the shore, somehow disturbing.
****
Adelaide introduced Nigel to Andrew. Their handshake was brief and perfunctory.  Nigel asked Andrew to arrange for a coach to transport the women up the hill. But at this moment, Adelaide was in no mood to put up with her aunt’s constant harping.
‘Can you keep her at the hotel for an hour or so, Nigel?’
‘If you wish,’ he said stiffly.
Nigel went to the hotel to check on Louise. 
'Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss de Longe?’ Andrew offered, after assisting her into the coach.’
‘No thank you. What do I pay the driver?’
Andrew waved the notion away. ‘Duggan Pearling Company is happy to oblige.’
The driver took her directly to the bungalow. There, Adelaide made directly for the hessian cooler—in which food and drink was kept cool by evaporation—to pour herself a glass of lemonade. She took it to the back veranda.  From this vantage Adelaide had an unobstructed view of all that spread inland.
 During past travels with her father she had seen more striking vistas. Yet, even in those places there had always been some evidence of human habitation. Searching the seemingly endless expanse of green and yellow and brown dissolving into distant haze, she could not find a wisp of smoke or hint of a single village or hamlet. She shivered, despite the sun’s warmth.
‘Where are you Freddy?’ she whispered. ‘Where in God’s name are you?’

*****
Chapter 15
Frederick contemplated the bleaching bones of creatures trapped in hard-baked mud where the water hole had long since evaporated. 
‘Boss!’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s over there!’
Timothy stabbed one hand toward the low hills of spinifex surrounding this dry waterhole but Frederick could not see anyone.
‘There’s nobody there, Timothy.’
‘I saw him, boss.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Like a bush blackfella.’
‘Then we had better go and find him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he might lead us to water.’
‘He might throw a spear at us.’
‘Timothy, you’re a born pessimist.’
‘What is a pessimist?’
‘A pain in the neck. We had better push on. There’s no water here.’
Timothy pointed to the flight of diamond sparrows winging overhead. 'Your magic is working, boss. They will show us the way.’
They travelled on.
The sun was well down on the ridges behind them when they heard the noisy chatter. It was coming from a pool where spinifex gave way to open clay pans studded with termite mounds. Sparrows and finches vied for roost in the bare branches of a dead tree nearby. Frederick sighed with relief. Since leaving the river, there had been no opportunity for the camels to slake their thirst. After they drank their fill and the canteens had been replenished, Timothy was able to find enough wood to build a small fire.
‘Stop glancing around,’ Frederick chastised as they ate their first hot meal in days. ‘You’re giving me indigestion.’
‘He’s out there, somewhere.’
‘Next, you’ll be telling me you saw an entire army of warriors ready to launch another attack on us. All right, we’ll sit watches tonight.’ Frederick was confident no warrior could get within spear range without his camels sounding the alarm. But Timothy was nervous and apprehensive. He would get no sleep otherwise.
Frederick took the first watch.
His back to the fire so its glow would not spoil his night vision, Frederick looked up at the great vault over his head where stars, planets and galaxies mingled in profusion. Then Frederick scanned the sea of termite mounds and shifted his gaze to the sand hills covered with spinifex—glad to leave behind this hardy growth. Its porcupine quills were daunting to men and camel alike.
Frederick was keenly aware he had narrowly escaped death—or severe injury at least—when the spear lodged in the pocket compact instead of his ribcage. And, thanks to Diogenes, the warriors had fled instead of pressing home their advantage. To avoid them, he had struck away from the river and made for a conical flat-top that offered high vantage to assess the terrain ahead. There, Timothy spied a narrow path up its southern face so they tethered the camels to begin the climb.
Making use of a pack-stay to fend off snakes, Frederick hefted theodolite and his saddle bag up the path. Timothy followed carrying the tripod and water bag. The view when they reached the summit took Frederick’s breath away. Miles upon miles of grassy plains and open timberland spread in every direction. In the near distance to the north, a limestone range cut its ragged knife edge against clear blue sky. To the south, huge flat-tops were visible. When he turned to the east, Frederick saw the distant purple silhouette of a mountain range across the entire horizon. From his saddle bag he took out the map that Carter had provided and after careful study it dawned on Frederick he might be the first white man ever to set foot in this place.
‘My my,’ he murmured.
The mere fact he was standing here was an accomplishment of sorts. And, being the first white man to set foot in what was obviously a pastoral wonderland, it seemed pointless now to continue his search for Carter’s survey party. The main object of his expedition was, after all, to map the most direct route possible from Namaga to the Overland Telegraph line. What was the point in detouring further north when the line lay directly to the east?
‘Set up the tripod, Timothy.‘
Frederick lodged the pack-stay in a crevice and it as his triangulation point, then   removed his journal from the saddle bag to record bearings on the distant flat-tops and other prominent features of the terrain.
‘Timothy, what is the name of the green bush that grows down there?’
‘Konkiberri, boss.’
Frederick noted it as Conkaberry in his journal. After restoring it back inside the saddle bag, he was about to yank free the pack-stay but changed his mind. The iron stay would serve as testimony he had been the first whiteman to stand on this summit.
The moon was high in the night sky when he finally roused Timothy to assume the watch. Handing over the rifle, Frederick told him to keep it planted between his feet. ‘If you see anything, make sure you keep it pointed at the stars when you squeeze the trigger. That way, you won’t shoot me.’
 Frederick tucked himself into his swag and was instantly asleep.
****
The Martini-Henry held firmly in his grip, Timothy peered apprehensively into the night. Somewhere, a frog croaked and was answered by another. The camels grunted and chewed. Birds flurried their feathers and settled again at their roosts. In the moonlight, the termite mounds assumed threatening guise: they looked like an army of warriors about to launch an attack. Timothy licked his lips and huddled closer to the fire.
Your spirit is the finch and the finch is a timid creature.
When Timothy was in his early teens, men clad only in the strips of bark that covered their genitals showed up at the mission. The priest had gone to Namaga for supplies so there was nobody to prevent what occurred. The men grabbed Timothy to check totem scars on his chest and arms, yanked down his trousers and inspected what dangled between his legs, and then whisked him across the gulf in a dugout canoe to the place where he was born.
You must guard against your instinct to flee at the first hint of danger.
The uncle who offered this counsel explained to Timothy how he came to be the timid soul that he was. ‘While your mother was picking berries a bird flew out of the bush to brush her face with its wing. That is how the bird’s spirit entered the infant forming in her womb. When you suckled on her breast she would whisper the name of the bird in your ear.“Lidget” she whispered, for that is the name of the finch and your spirit name.’
The uncle then recalled for Timothy’s benefit how he was separated from his mother. While she was gathering worms from dead logs in the river estuary, the canoe he was sleeping in drifted away on the tide. Years later, word filtered back to the clan there was a boy at the mission being raised by the gardeeya priest. The boy had the totem scars of their clan on his chest.
At the mission, Timothy was accustomed to bathing daily and dressing neatly. The elders made him remove the gardeeya clothing and walk about naked in the place where, they insisted, he truly belonged. They made clear this was his rightful place in the scheme of things. They explained that he had to be made a man before he could marry the woman who had been chosen for him.
Timothy managed to convince himself he really did belong among his people even if he felt more comfortable in a shirt and pair of trousers. He even welcomed the prospect of his coming marriage to a bride he had yet to lay eyes upon. What he failed to realise was what they meant by making him a man. The elders held him down, lodged a wedge between his teeth and severed his foreskin. After he recuperated from this ordeal, Timothy got an even greater shock. The woman to be his bride was an ugly old hag. Worse, the elders insisted the marriage ceremony required him to fulfil his obligation to her as a man.
That night, Timothy heeded his timid spirit and fled. Stealing a canoe, he made it back to the mission. The elders from his clan must have realised he did not belong with his people after all, for they never showed up again. Timothy was relieved. He enjoyed his role as an acolyte and interpreter for the priest. Then the spirit woman came hobbling in from Whisper Bay to die...
A termite mound moved.
Timothy riveted his gaze on the mound. It strongly resembled a warrior with spear in one hand, standing in the position of rest—his foot tucked behind the knee of his other leg. Timothy blinked rapidly. His eyes might be playing tricks on him in the gaining light. He scanned the sea of termite mounds to see if any of them had changed shape. No. His gaze flicked from left to right seeking the mound that resembled a warrior. He couldn’t see it any more. Timothy’s finger jerked on the trigger.
Birds flew from the dead tree in noisy protest. The camels shot to their feet. The Martini-Henry’s recoil sent Timothy flying backward. Frederick hurled the blanket aside and grabbed his pistol.
‘Who where you shooting at?’
‘He was out there, boss.’
‘Who was?’
‘That bush blackfella!’
‘Where?’
‘Over there... somewhere.’
All Frederick could see were the termite mounds. The sky paling, it was time to get up, anyway. He shoved the Frontier Colt back inside its holster. ‘Help me with the camels.’
****
To disguise his scent so the alien creatures would not sense his presence, Jiriga had rubbed the residue of crushed termites on his chest and limbs. Now, from his concealment among the termite mounds, he watched the two men heaving burdens on the backs of their alien creatures and debated with himself whether to return to Home Camp and report what he had seen, or find out first what had caused that sharp and sudden noise that startled him?
Jiriga was on solo patrol along the western extreme of Gadgeri territory. He had first glimpsed the intruders when they were approaching from the open timberland that extended west of the spinifex. He thought the two men and their alien creatures were spirits of some kind until they arrived at the pool. Spirits do not have to drink. And now that he knew they were mortals, Jiriga was able to summon the courage to study them from a closer vantage.
Of the two men it was the one with lighter skin who interested him most. The other, apart from the strange attire covering most of him, had dark skin and was obviously some foreigner. The one with light skin had hair like the sun and his eyes were unusual. They were the colour of an owl’s and as watchful as the hawk. They were accustomed to scanning distant horizons. They were desert eyes.
Jiriga was still pondering his next course of action when the intruders made up his mind for him. Instead of turning back they travelled on to the east—and ever further into the Land of the Gadgeri. Clearly, these strangers were either reckless fools or did not comprehend the crime they were committing. Nobody entered the Gadgeri's domain unless invited.
Jiriga knew he must find out what the intruders were doing here before he reported their presence to the council.

*****
Chapter 16
'That old black over there in the garden is getting on my nerves,' Louise grumbled.
 Adelaide swore under her breath. Her aunt had the capacity to spoil even this beautiful sunset. 'All he's doing is sitting there, Aunt Louise.'
'He's making me feel uncomfortable. I wish you'd tell him to go away.' 
 'I can't tell somebody to go away when he has more right to be here than we do.’
‘Where did Nigel go?'
'He had business matters to attend.' Adelaide turned the page of the book she was trying to read.
'Nigel is as bad as your father. Every time I look around he's gone somewhere.  What business would he find at dinner time in this awful place?'
Adelaide sighed and set the book aside. 'It had something to do with a board meeting.'
'A board meeting? Here!'
'Not papa's board,' Adelaide clarified. The rattle of crockery in the kitchen offered escape from her aunt’s grumblings. 'I had better see if Mrs Ferguson requires any help.'
Louise held up her empty glass. 'I'd like another gin-and-lime.'
In the kitchen, Adelaide eyed what little was left in the bottle. 'My God! She's gone through all this over the weekend?'
Margaret Ferguson remarked, 'Namaga can be very hard on women with time on their hands. Thank God, I have my children to keep me busy.'
Adelaide added a measure to the lime drink and despatched it with Dora to the front veranda. Some ten minutes later, Nigel strode into the kitchen.
'That pie looks delicious, Mrs Ferguson.'
'Tea will be served in a few minutes, sir.'
When they sat down at the table, Adelaide remarked, 'You're in a cheerful mood this evening, Nigel.'
'Indeed I am,' Nigel smiled. 'At this moment Arthur Lombard is on his way to the syndicate board meeting.' Nigel speared a morsel on his plate as if it were a target for his foil. 'I wish I was there to see the reaction when he walks through the door.'
Nobody expected Arthur to put in an appearance at the meeting tonight. He had moved out of the hotel to one of his luggers over near North Head. Everyone assumed he had done so because he could no longer afford a room after spending what money he had left on drinking himself to death.
As Andrew had feared, Herny de Longe's departure before the master pearlers got back from the shell beds had offended them. Their indignation over what they perceived as a snub threatened completion of the jetty. Isaac proposed the syndicate cancel all further payments to cover wages. Courtney seconded the motion. It was put to a vote. The abstention by one board member rendered the count equal. However, since Arthur Lombard had yet to show up at the meeting the chairman had the right to make the deciding vote. Isaac was about to assert his when Arthur walked in.
'Good evening, gentlemen.'
Every man at the meeting – including Andrew—stared at Arthur in astonishment. He was, clean-shaven, wearing spotless whites and cold sober.
Isaac rapped the gavel on the table.  'Arthur, a motion's been put to the board to cancel further payments for construction of the jetty. You have the deciding vote.’
'Well well,’ Arthur smiled. ‘How ironic.'
****
Andrew was at a window watching N49 make for the entrance to the sound when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Returning to his desk he saw a familiar figure at the doorway. 'Good morning, Isaac,' he greeted.
'Ain't anything good about it, young feller,' Isaac barked, flinging two plates of mother-of-pearl on Andrew's desk. 'You see that rubbish? That's all we're getting.'
'So find better shell,' Andrew returned brusquely.
'Don't you be telling me what to find or where to find it. It was me who taught you how it's done.’ Isaac grated, 'I suppose you're feeling mighty pleased with yourself right now, eh?'
'About what, Isaac?'
Isaac stabbed one hand toward the pile-driver just visible around the curve of the ever-extending jetty. Even at that distance the repetitious whump- whump as it drove home another jarrah pile could be heard clearly.
'About that!' Isaac barked. 'You know what that sound be?'
'The sound of progress?'
‘It’s our death knell,’ Isaac grated. ‘And you’re tolling the bell.' 
'Now hold it right there,' Andrew shot back. 'If you've got a bee up your arse about something, spit it out. You aren't talking to a lad on your lugger now. I might throw you back down the stairs.'
Isaac grunted and walked to a window. After a moment he said, 'I've got a lot of years tied up in this town, Andrew. I‘d be the last to want to leave. But, come the layover, I will. There’s a curse on this place.’
Andrew almost laughed. 'Not that again!'
Isaac turned from the window to contemplate Andrew beneath his shaggy eyebrows. 'It were better for you,’ he said quietly, ‘if you'd never come back. I’m telling this for your own sake, Andrew. You’re taking on far more than you think.'
Andrew felt a twinge of sympathy for the old pearler. When a cyclone took Isaac’s first wife and family it created a void in his life. Apparently, Sarah had not been able to fill that void. Isaac was still a lonely old man with no sons or grandsons to pass on the considerable fortune he had salted away over the years.
He said, 'I do have a bee up my arse. And I ain’t the only one.'
'About Arthur's vote—‘
'Damn right. You put him up to it!'
Andrew shook his head firmly from side to side.
'I was no less surprised than you, Isaac.'
'You expect me to believe that?'
Andrew returned the hard gaze.
’All right,’ Isaac conceded. ‘So who did? Who dried Arthur out and cleaned him up so he was sober enough to vote as he did?'
'I don't know,' Andrew said quietly. 'But I intend to find out.'
'You do that, Andrew. Something stinks around here. And it ain't just them bags of shell in your warehouse.'
****
Shortly after Isaac left, Joe climbed the stairs to Andrew’s office.
'I saw the supply freighter on my way in,’ Joe announced. ‘She ought to be here in a couple of hours.'
'What about those mid-channel buoys?' Andrew asked.
Joe shook his head. 'They weren’t at the depot. The Irishman who operates the paddle-barge up there passed on a cable from Port Darwin. It’s for some bloke with a fancy name.'
 Andrew took the envelope, saw the name and decided Nigel Preston-White would have to wait a little longer for the message intended for him. ' I know you just got back, Joe, but I see there’s a stiff breeze. Can you run me over to the cove?’
Her hull heeled over and sails quivering, the Pixie sped across choppy water to the cove. Joe guided the nimble craft about luggers riding their moorings while Andrew scanned them for sign of the man he had come to see. A pair of white trousers blowing from a halyard caught his attention. ‘Let’s try that one.’
‘This is a dry ship,' Arthur greeted as Andrew stepped aboard, 'I can offer a cup of tea. No booze, I'm afraid.’
Andrew asked Joe to wait in his sloop while he had a few words with Arthur.
'Tea will be fine, Arthur.'
Arthur disappeared below. 
A quick glance at the dinghy lashed down on the tidy deck confirmed Andrew’s hunch—Arthur was about to sail elsewhere. He came back on deck with a mug of tea.
Andrew found it too hot to drink and set the mug aside on the narrow seat.  ‘How soon will you be leaving?'
'As soon as you finish your tea.'
Andrew was glad he had acted on his hunch. 'You've sold out.'
Arthur's gaze went across the water to the settlement. 'I'll miss Sally and Terry. They were always decent to me.'
'Mind if I ask a couple of questions?'
'I may not answer them,' Arthur parried.
'De Longe Enterprises was the buyer?'
'Correct.'
'Preston-White made the offer?'
'Right again.'
'How close was his offer to your true worth?'
Arthur thought about that. 'It was accurate to the last bag of shell.'
'Did you provide the figures?'
Arthur laughed. ‘Me? I was too drunk to read a balance sheet let alone compile one. Preston-White locked me below deck. When I sobered up he handed me a stock-take of my warehouse and a balance sheet for the past financial year.'
'How did he get those figures?'
'I didn't ask. I did stop by my warehouse. The stock-take was accurate.'
'Do you have it on board?' 
’Why?'
‘I’d like to have it.'
Arthur shrugged. 'I have no more use for it.’ He went below and returned with a sheet of paper. 
Andrew glanced at it. 'Thanks, Arthur.'
'Is there anything else?'
Andrew wagged the sheet of paper. 'This tells me more than enough. But I will ask where you’re heading.'
'Roebuck Bay.’
Andrew bade Arthur good luck as he jumped back aboard the Pixie.
****
Andrew’s mind was racing. Arthur had given him much to think about. Motioning  to the freighter now about to anchor in the sound, he asked Joe to perform yet another service. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.'
'How can I refuse my only customer?' 
On their way back to the waterfront they crossed wakes with luggers heading back to the shell beds. Isaac did not return Andrew’s friendly wave. Joe made for the channel leading to the Duggan pier and slid the Pixie neatly alongside. At the quay, Tug was keeping a watchful eye on bags of shell being offloaded from N49. Instead of heading in that direction Andrew hurried to the bank where the teller said Wilfred was in a private meeting with an important client.
'They're expecting me.’
Andrew pushed open the door to Wilfred’s office before the teller had time to object. Wilfred and Nigel Preston-White glanced up in irritation. 
'Sorry to barge in Wilfred. I have an urgent cable for Mister Preston-White.'
Nigel held out his hand. 'Thank you.'
'I’ll give it to you outside.'
The hard expression on Andrew's face forestalled argument or protest.
Nigel said to Wilfred, 'We can resume our negotiations after lunch.'
Outside the bank, Andrew told Nigel Preston-White, 'You won't be resuming negotiations with Wilfred or anyone else in this town. Understood?'
'No, Mister Duggan. It is not understood.'
Andrew swung his right hand to lock Nigel Preston-White's elbow in his powerful grip.‘I’ll spell it out for you.  I don't care how you do business in London but in my town you don't abuse your host by pulling a fast one behind his back.'
'Mister Duggan, a civilised businessman does not make callous threats—‘
Nigel's words ended in a squeal.
'What makes you think we colonials are civilised? See that freighter out there? If you aren’t on board when she leaves you'll find out how rude and crude this colonial can really be,’ Andrew warned. ‘Joe Ferguson is down at my pier waiting to ferry you and your luggage out to the frieghter. Don’t keep him waiting too long.'
Andrew released his grip on Nigel's elbow, slapped the cable in his hand and walked on.
Seething with anger, Nigel ripped open the envelope to read the cable.
'REGRET TO ADVISE SIR DOUGLAS SUFFERED HEART ATTACK AND PASSED AWAY STOP LADY CLAIRE UNWELL STOP REQUEST YOU RETURN HOME IMMEDIATELY SIGNATURE GODFREY.
****
The moment Nigel announced his departure Louise insisted she was leaving with him. 'I have had more than enough of this sweltering hole. You can stay if you wish, Adelaide. I am going back to England. And don't try to stop me.'
Adelaide was not about to. 'I’ll have the coachman help you with your luggage.' 
 Nigel did not mention what occurred earlier between himself and Andrew Duggan but felt compelled to warn Adelaide about him. 'Be wary of  that fellow.'
‘I already am,’ she told him.
Nigel added, ‘I put your father's letter of authority with the other documents in the bureau. Take care, Adelaide.’
She walked with him to the gate.‘Please convey my condolences to Lady Claire.'
And good riddance to Aunt Louise, she thought, as the watched the coach descend the hill on its way to the waterfront.
****
Andrew found Tug in their office. ‘Where’s our clerk?’ he asked.
‘I sent him to the store for provisions.’
Andrew showed Tug the sheet of paper Arthur Lombard had given to him. Then he opened the cash book. 'Now have a look at this.'
Tug did. ‘Both written by the same hand.’
‘The hand that belongs to the bloke who is supposed to be working for us!’
Tug swore softly.
‘Arthur got this from Nigel Preston-bloody-White who works for Henry de Longe.  What’s Henry playing at, Tug?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What does Henry really want in this town.’
‘As long as he wants it in this town, who cares?’
‘I care. Henry is supposed to be investing in Namaga but the only money he’s spent was to buy Arthur’s business. I’ll lay odds Preston-White even paid Arthur's  crews to sail his luggers down to Roebuck Bay.’
‘Arthur’s vote made sure you got the funds you need to finish the jetty. For Chris’ sake, Andrew! Who sent the pile-driver—‘
‘What would that have cost compared to Bull’s outlay?’
Tug spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. And I haven’t a clue what game Henry’s playing. My game is poker. And since I’m heading back out tomorrow I’ll be at Chinaman’s tonight. Will you?’ 
‘I’ll be there,’ Andrew promised.
At the door Tug paused to ask, ‘What do we do about the clerk?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Feed him to the sharks.’ 
‘That’s a notion I’ll bear in mind. But first, I want to find out how long he’s been spying for Henry.’
Tug nodded slowly. ‘Good idea. I’ll see you tonight.’
Andrew folded the sheet of paper into his shirt pocket and slid the cash book back into the drawer. Through the window he could see the blue pennant fluttering atop the flagpole. Andrew left the office to head for the mole.
****
Andrew ate with Tom and the men in the canteen before heading back to town. By then, night had come on. The moon yet to rise, it was pitch dark inside the entrance to the emporium. He tripped over the man sitting at the foot of the stairs. 
‘Sorry Mister Andrew.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am Suhara’s brother, Kaito. You all right, Mister Andrew?’
Andrew brushed himself off. ‘What are you doing here?’
Kaito held a bottle up to the moonlight. ‘Too much saki. I sit down here for a moment. I better go back to my place.’
‘Do you need some help getting there?’
‘No no. Are you coming to see Suhara tonight?’
 ‘Not tonight.’
‘She wants to see you.’
‘But she lives in your house and you don’t get ashore to use it often. Tell Suhara I’ll see her another night. Are you sure you can make it back there?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Kaito said, lurching from the doorway to stagger toward an alley the other side of Pearl Way, clutching his bottle of saki.
Andrew climbed the stairs to remove some cheroots from the humidor. Then he was on his way to Chinaman’s gambling house. As he cut through the lane behind the beer garden Andrew glimpsed Kaito in the patch of light spilling from a shanty window. The diver’s hands were thrust deep inside his trouser pockets as he stepped away from the shanty to hurry on along the narrow, twisting lane—moving purposefully without any hint of a stagger. Kaito was not drunk.
So why had he pretended that he was?
****
Adelaide sat up with a start.  Moths fluttered about the lamp Peewee must have hung on the veranda after she dropped off to sleep in the chair. The remnants of her meal, she noticed, had also been cleared away. In her lap were the many pages of her father’s instructions she had been wading through. She read the final paragraph again.
Adelaide, in the event Nigel cannot act on my behalf I am relying on you to fill in for him until my return in November. I have every confidence in you, my dear. You are, after all, my daughter. And, while I have found your wilful behaviour with regard to women’s suffrage embarrassing, you have also demonstrated a fierce determination that I cannot help but admire.  See you in November. Love, Papa.
'Missus?'
She looked up from the page to see Peewee standing at the top the steps.
'Yes, Peewee?’
‘You wait for Boss Fred?'
 'Boss Fred? Is that what you call him?'
‘Boss Fred come up place bilong karakara.’
“Karakara?
Peewee pointed to the gold bracelet on her wrist. 'That one: karakara.’
'Is Boss Fred all right?'
'Karakara spirits make plenty trouble. I tell you bye 'm bye.'

*****
Chapter 17
‘That blackfella is around here somewhere,’ Timothy insisted.
‘I do wish you’d stop worrying about him.’ 
Frederick craned his neck to look up at towering cliffs. The mountain range he had seen in the distance from the conical flat-top presented a barrier that seemed to go on  forever. His hope of finding some access through it was fading fast.
‘Boss!’
‘Now what?’
Timothy eased Samantha alongside Abdul. ‘It’s him, boss.’
Frederick turned in the saddle to see what Timothy was looking at. The young warrior stood motionless, one foot tucked behind the knee of the other leg. He was wearing a loin cloth fashioned from woven grass, and a necklace of emu feathers about his neck. In one hand he held spears and a woomera. His most prominent feature was the scar down the right side of his face.
‘Where did he spring from?’ 
Timothy whispered, ‘Maybe he’ll go away.’
‘I don’t want him to go away.’
Ignoring Timothy’s apprehensions, Frederick ordered Abdul down and stepped from the saddle to walk slowly toward the desert black. ‘Hello?’
Dark eyes fixed on Frederick with a searching intensity. Raising his free hand to point at the camels, he spoke in some guttural language.
Frederick called to Timothy, ‘Did you hear that?’
‘I heard him, boss.’
‘So what did he say?’
‘I think he wants to know what we are doing here.’
‘You think?’
‘His talk is a little bit hard for me to savvy.’
‘Tell him we are trying to find a way through these cliffs.’
Timothy shouted the question but got no response. 
‘If you came over here,’ Frederick flung at Timothy in exasperation, ‘you wouldn’t have to shout. Never mind. I’ll try talking to him myself.’ Tapping his chest, Frederick pointed to the cliffs, the camels and the cliffs again. He was rewarded by a slow nod. Then the young warrior—Frederick estimated him to be in his late teens or very early twenties—motioned to the north and tapped his chest.
‘You savvy that, boss?’
‘Of course! Obviously, he knows a way through this mountain range and is going to show it to us. Timothy, I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you along on this expedition.’
Their guide loped ahead and maintained a steady pace until he paused at a billabong where Frederick and Timothy were able to replenish their canteens. Then he veered toward a steep slope that led up to a high ridge where boulders jutted like huge marbles. Frederick could not shake the feeling one might tumble down on him at any moment though the boulders had probably been resting up there for millions of years.  When their guide cut around an outcrop the boulders were no longer in view. 
A sheer drop plunged into a deep canyon to the left. Palms and clumps of thicket clung to its narrow tiers. Ahead, pillars of rock marked the entrance to a pass that was cast in deep shadow by the crags rising on either side. After leading them into the pass, their guide squatted on his haunches. Frederick dismounted and walked over to him. The youth stabbed his arm toward the sun, swung it in an arc to point along the pass and patted the ground at their feet.
‘Timothy! We’re camping here tonight.’
****
Frederick took the shell from his saddle bag and showed it to their guide.
Jiriga nodded and pointed to the west. ‘Namaga boh!’
‘What does he mean by that, Timothy?’
‘He said the shell is from the Land of the Namaga.’
Frederick was pleased with this confirmation. 'Tell him I am trying to find the Gadgeri.’
Jiriga thumped his chest with one hand. ‘Gadgeri.’
‘Did you hear that, Timothy?’
Timothy jerked his head in a nod. ‘He is a spirit.’
‘Rubbish! He just said he’s one of the Gadgeri.’
‘All Gadgeri are spirit blackfella. Now you see him… now you don’t.’
‘I can see this one plain as day. And I need your help to talk with him.’
‘I will try. What shall I ask?’
‘Start with his name.’
Timothy put the question in several dialects before he gained a reply.
‘He is Jiriga, son of Waibiri.’
Jiriga pointed at Frederick. ‘Moomooroo pindan,’
‘What was that about?’
Timothy answered, ‘He calls you, Desert Eyes.’
‘Really?’
‘He says we sleep now,’ Timothy added.
‘I could certainly use some.’
‘We better keep watch tonight, boss.’
‘Why? He has not threatened us in any way.’
‘He might make magic on us.’
‘How many times must I tell you ...' Frederick sighed. 'All right.'
Jiriga withdrew a good twenty paces from the camels. He did not stir again until the sky paled with the approach of dawn. Sitting the last watch, Frederick was already awake. He roused Timothy. They followed their guide through the pass and down the winding track to pause briefly where high crags ended and they had their first glimpse of what lay to the east.
Frederick stared in dismay.
The vast expanse stretching before them was as bald and as level as a billiard table. Along the plateau’s northern extreme, those ragged limestone ridges they had seen west of the mountain range knifed on into the distance. The eastern horizon curved in a broad arc that might be twenty or forty miles away. It was impossible to estimate distances over that featureless plateau. Frederick’s first thought was: how in God’s name are we going to cross that!
Jiriga loped on, undeterred. 
Shortly before noon he brought them to a group of sandstone monoliths jutting up from the plateau. Sculpted by the wind, one resembled a galleon in full sail. Just beyond, another stood like Atlas with the globe balanced on his shoulders. Apart from providing the only visible landmark, these natural wonders afforded welcome shade. When Jiriga took advantage of it to rest, Frederick offered the canvas waterbag.
Jiriga eyed it but shook his head.
‘Doesn’t he get thirsty?’
Timothy shrugged. ‘I told you, boss. He’s a spirit.’
‘Spirit, my arse. Ask him if there is a waterhole anywhere.’
Jiriga responded to the question by stabbing one hand directly to the south. And when he rose to lead on again, that was the direction he headed.
‘Where is he taking us?’ Timothy worried aloud as their guide sped on over bald clay pans toward an indefinite horizon where dust spirals dragged their serpentine tails into the stratosphere. A rising breeze stirred dust on the claypans. On occasion, the drifting dust obscured Jiriga from view. Then he vanished completely. Or so it seemed, until the illusion was explained.
A wide gully cut down into the plateau. Within moments Frederick and Timothy  were riding between walls of clay that reached above their heads. Then the gully they were in was intersected by others. Suddenly, Jiriga veered to the left.
‘Keep him in sight,’ Frederick urged.
Allowing Timothy to ride past him, Frederick fell back to bring up the rear of the caravan while Jiriga led them ever further into the labyrinth. The gullies twisted in all directions and gave off to yet more, both narrow and broad. Finally, the gully Jiriga was pursuing opened out into a natural amphitheatre where tiers of rock stepped  down from the plateau above. A solitary tree leaned over a pristine pool at the bottom of the tiers. There was even a carpet of grass about the pool.
Frederick removed some clay that had lodged on the butt of his Frontier Colt which had put to good use. Slipping the pistol back in his saddle holster, he told   Timothy to attend to the camels and joined Jiriga by the pool.
Jiriga splashed the pool's surface with the palm of one hand. ‘Nabba nabba!’
‘Nabba nabba,’ Frederick repeated with a smile.
The pool was so clear he could see the bottom clearly. Emulating the young warrior, he used one palm to sip from the pool. Its water tasted like the nectar of the gods. Jiriga beckoned Frederick to a shady corner of the amphitheatre where he drew a circle in the dust. ‘Timothy!’
‘Coming, boss.’
****
When Timothy joined them, Jiriga patted the circle and said, ‘Gadgeri boh.’
‘He says all the land inside the circle belongs to the Gadgeri.’
Jiriga then divided the circle with a herring-bone pattern.
‘That is the mountain range we just came through,’ Timothy explained.
‘What is it called?’
Timothy and Jiriga exchanged guttural words.
‘He said it belongs to the Wandjina.’
Jiriga's crude map indicated the Gadgeri’s territory embraced the Wandjina Range; the blacksoil plain to its west; and this plateau riven by deep gullies spreading far to the east. Frederick calculated an area roughly 20,000 square miles in  extent.
Jiriga thrust one hand up toward the sun. 'Gadgeri boh!'
Timothy translated. 'The Gadgeri are the People of the Sun.'
Jiriga pointed to the pool. ‘Namaga nah nabba nabba,’ he said.
‘The Namaga live by the water.’ 
‘Ah hah!’ Frederick hurried to extract the shell from his saddle bag and set it down before Jiriga. ‘Go on.’ 
Touching the pattern etched into the face of the shell, Jiriga then shook the wrist of one hand rapidly and hissed through his teeth.
‘A snake?’ Frederick guessed.
‘He means the rainbow serpent,’ Timothy clarified.
Frederick looked at the motif on the shell again. ‘It’s a snake with the head this end and the tail…’
Jiriga turned the shell so the head was facing east.  Touching the tail with his index finger, he repeated the word for water in his language and drew Frederick’s attention to marks along the serpent’s back. ‘Nabba nabba,’ he repeated as he touched each one.
At last, Frederick understood what Jiriga was trying to convey. The snake defined a route across this plateau, beginning from the pool where he was now. The marks denoted springs along the route. The pattern was a map. Frederick checked the time. It was almost two o’clock.
‘Ask him when we shall be moving on.’
After their brief exchange, Timothy announced, ‘Bye ‘m bye.’
Frederick took out his journal to copy what Jiriga had drawn in the dust.
Jiriga and Timothy engaged in further conversation.
‘What was that about? Frederick asked as he put the journal away.
‘He wants to know what you are doing. I said you were making a map so we can find our way here again. He asked why we want to come back here. I told him what you told me: Some day we will bring cattle to that place over by the river. I want to sleep a little bit, boss. All right?’
Frederick nodded absently. Timothy went to lie down in the shade.
 Putting the shell away, Frederick made use of the pool’s smooth surface as a substitute for the damaged mirror in his compact. Jiriga watched intently while Frederick trimmed his moustache and goatee. When he finished, Frederick said, ‘Scissors!’ He held them up for Jiriga to see. ‘You try.’
Examining the scissors closely, Jiriga reached out to trim a lock of hair from Frederick’s golden mane.
‘No no! I meant your hair!’
Jiriga tucked the lock of copper hair into the small dilly bag secured at his waist.
‘You may keep the scissors. I have another pair.’
Frederick set off up the tiers of rock to gain view of the open plateau. On the rim about the hidden spring he paused to contemplate the cliffs of Wandjina Range that were perhaps ten miles away. Walking in that direction, he got no more than thirty paces. The sheer drop into a gully prevented him going any further. Using his pocket compass, he walked due north, east and south, and in every direction his way was blocked by a deep gully. Frederick realised he had no hope of heading directly across this plateau on a camel, or even on foot..
On his way back down the tiers of rock about the amphitheatre he saw fossils everywhere. Their presence constituted a valuable scientific discovery. Frederick unfolded his clasp knife to prise loose the fossil of a small fish. Jiriga’s hand locked on his wrist. Dark eyes glared fiercely.
Frederick winced. ‘Sorry.’
Jiriga released his grip.
Frederick replaced the fossil, cursing himself for his stupidity.
****
Jiriga plucked an emu feather from the necklace about his neck and placed it in the circle he had drawn in the dust.  Then he turned a complete 360 degrees to come to a halt and face Frederick again. Frederick turned to Timothy for explanation but he was snoring softly in the shade. ‘Ah!’ Frederick surmised. ‘We must not harm emu in your land.’ Frederick nodded vigorously to indicate he understood the warning.
Jiriga withdrew beneath an overhanging rock to lie there, experimenting with the scissors in his hand. Frederick tucked the emu feather in his hat band before he too lay down in the shade.
Snip-snip went the scissors.
Timothy snored on. Camels chewed and grunted. Frederick used the brim of his hat to shut out the sun as he lay there, the rhythmic snip-snip of the scissors assuring him the Gadgeri warrior was still there. Frederick's eyes drooped. After what seemed a mere moment, he snapped them open.
The shadows had lengthened noticeably since he drifted off but the camels were still where they were supposed to be. Timothy’s chest rose and fell evenly. He was still fast asleep. Frederick went to the pool to dash water over his face. Then he realized that rhythmic snip-snip had ceased. He glanced toward the low overhang.
Jiriga was no longer underneath.
‘Timothy!’
Timothy jerked upright. ‘What is it, boss?’
‘We’re leaving. Now!’
The sun now dipping over the rim of the amphi-theatre, Frederick and Timothy had precious few hours before darkness to find their way back through the maze of gullies—providing they could find their way at all.

****
Chapter 18
Andrew was at the sink, shaving, when he heard the stairs creak. 'About time you got here,' he called out. ‘Where’s the balance sheet?’
‘Is that how you greet all your visitors?’
‘Miss de Longe!’ Andrew hastily rinsed his face. ‘Sorry, I was expecting my clerk. I won’t be a moment.’ He pulled on a shirt and tucked it into his whites.
Standing in the office doorway, Adelaide eyed her surrounds. The breeze coming through upper floor windows failed to dispel the odour of shellfish permeating from below. Only a bachelor could live here. No woman would be caught dead in the place. Adelaide corrected the thought. No woman apart from Sarah, Naomi and a few others.
‘Do come in,’ Andrew invited.
Adelaide entered hesitantly.
‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’
‘This envelope was delivered to the bungalow.’
Adelaide placed the manila envelope on the desk. It was addressed to the Namaga Syndicate. The OHMS stamped in the top right corner told Andrew it was from some Government department down in Perth. It must have been amongst the mail that came off the freighter. ‘Please take a chair,’ he offered.
‘Is it safe to sit?’
'I am not about to leap at you.'
'I was referring to the sagging floorboards. Those stairs are dangerous.'
'I'm thinking of having them repaired.'
'Repaired? They ought to be replaced.'
'The building is a little run down.'
'It looks to me as if it’s about to fall down.'
Andrew chuckled. 'If you're looking for a job you can help me tear it down. Shall we go to the hotel? I'll treat you to breakfast.' 
‘You mean lunch.'
'Is it that time already?'
'And I have had my lunch.'
'Then please enjoy the ambience of my humble office while I see what the bureaucrats sent to me.' 
Andrew opened the manila envelope to learn the Namaga Compound supervisor was being transferred to Bunbury. His replacement would be despatched eventually. In the meantime, the syndicate would have to make do with whomever he appointed to assume his duties. Andrew opened the safe and placed the letter inside. The door required a solid thump from his fist to keep it closed.
'That's a safe?'
'The lock seized up years ago.’ 
'Doesn't that worry you?’
'I only use it for documents. At least it's fireproof.’ Andrew cocked his head to one side and said, ‘I like your hair down.’
'Thank you.'
'And I liked the way you wore it at the dinner party. You had it pinned up.'
'So did Sarah.'
'Pardon?'
'Her hair was up and her claws were out.' 
The jibe flew right over Andrew's head. 
Adelaide nodded toward the safe. ‘Seriously, aren’t you worried about theft?’
Andrew smiled his winning smile. 'Imagine you're the thief. You sneak in here some moonlight night—‘ 
'Ha!'
'And bang on the door of the safe while I'm in bed—‘
'Ha, again.'
'Do I go on with this?'
'Do we have to pretend I’m the culprit? Why not Sarah?  Or Naomi?'
'Did I miss something at that dinner party?'
Oh boy! Adelaide thought. How blind men can be.
Andrew tried again. 'We'll suppose the culprit is a workman on the jetty. He grabs the loot and then what? If he tries to spend it in town people will notice. And nobody can escape this town if we don't want him to. Not even the Fox.'
Adelaide tucked her parasol under one arm and was on her way down the stairs before Andrew could say another word. He caught up with her outside. 'I was joking!'
'Go jump in the sound.'
'That won't help the Fox.'
Adelaide whipped up the parasol and released the catch. The blade flicked past Andrew’s face and pinned his shirt to the peeling weatherboard. ‘Don’t you dare throw that abominable insult to my father at me.’
Andrew looked into her eyes. Fury made them sparkle.
‘I did not mean it as an insult, Miss de Longe. I apologise. Would you mind?’
Adelaide took a deep breath and slid the blade back inside the parasol. Papa had told her not to take umbrage over what people called him and she usually ignored it when they did. But for some reason, Andrew Duggan got under her skin. Worse, he aroused feelings she had reserved for another man. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
Andrew grinned. ‘Never before has a woman attacked a man with a parasol in this settlement. We might have to lock you in the boab tree.'
'In the what?'
'I'll show you - if you promise not to attack again.'
'I won’t, if you promise not to call my father that again.'
'You have my word. Allow me to show you our boab tree.’
The huge boab stood in the natural park that covered much of the far side of Bungalow Hill. A door with a grilled window had been fitted neatly in its hollow boll. The window afforded some light and ventilation for the confined space within.
'This is where we cool down the Malay who goes berserk, or women who attack men with their parasols,' Andrew quipped. ‘Now let me to show you something else.’ He led on to the wells that pearlers used before springs were found on the other side of the hill. The windlasses, ropes, and buckets were still in good repair. Andrew observed, 'Miss de Longe, you didn't come to my office just to give me that letter. You came to challenge me over something Bert told you about the syndicate.'
'Do you know everything that goes on here?'
'It’s a small community. Word gets around. Before you say what is on your mind, allow me to present the syndicate's point of view. First, we value the midwife's services and what she is trying to do for those people over by the swamp. The look on your face tells me that is what you’re upset about.’
'Those toilets are abominable!'
'Because the people who use them don't keep them clean. That also applies to the homes our syndicate built for them. They were not the hovels they became. Bert fails to remember that—especially when she hits the bottle.’
'It sounds to me, you’re offering a lame excuse for failing to resolve the plight of families living in squalor,' Adelaide argued. 'But tell me more about the syndicate.'
Andrew obliged as they headed back across the hill. ‘My father set it up so the pearlers could cut costs and establish a secure base for their families. The capital of this colony is fifteen hundred miles away. It imposes a levy on every ton of shell we export and all we get in return is a supervisor for our prison compound. We have been promised all manner of government services but where are they? We have no hospital. No schools. Not even a police force. Yet we have to pay customs and duties on everything we ship in, plus a license fee on every lugger that is based here. The missionary used to perform baptisms, weddings and funerals but now the mission has been abandoned.'  Andrew pointed across the grassy slope. 'The Namaga Syndicate built the town you see down there. It may not have solutions to all our problems but without the syndicate there would be no midwife, no piers, no thoroughfares and I doubt there would be the kind of harmony that exists between the men and women who comprise the diverse community  that it is today.'
Abruptly, Andrew led on and said no more until they came to a cairn of stones that jutted prominently on the side of the hill. He motioned to the brass plaque mounted on one side of the cairn. 'My mother wrote the words etched into the plaque.'
Her curiosity aroused, Adelaide moved closer to the cairn to read what she soon realized was an epitaph.
BENEATH THIS CAIRN
LIE THOSE WHO PERISHED
WHO THEY WERE WE DO NOT KNOW
NOR WHAT BROUGHT THEM WHERE THEY CAME FROM
TO THIS PLACE, HOW LONG AGO?
THIS IS WHERE THEIR JOURNEY ENDED
HERE THEY FOUND ETERNAL REST
AND NAMAGA WILL LONG BE HAUNTED
BY THE ENIGMA OF THEIR QUEST
‘Those who perished?' Adelaide asked.
'I will enlarge over dinner at the hotel,’ Andrew invited.
'Will you provide a chaperone?'
Andrew sighed. 'You’re being difficult, Miss de Longe.'
'I have my reputation to think about.’
Andrew almost burst into laughter. Her reputation would be the subject of wild gossip whether or not Adelaide was accompanied by a chaperone. 'What about Tom? He’s a thorough gentleman.'
'I have not met Tom.'
Andrew pointed down to the mole. 'He’s my general foreman. When he isn't on the job he reads and reads and reads. He’s impeccable.’
'Even so,' Adelaide bridled,  'I should at least meet this paragon of virtue before-hand to ascertain for myself if he is suitable as a chaperone.'
From their vantage they could see the mole and the jetty now fingering into the sound. Andrew could also see the blue pennant fluttering atop the flagpole. ‘Tom wants to see me about something, anyway. Let’s go.'
****
Andrew saw Gorilla talking with some workmen on the mole. ‘Who’s operating the pile-driver?’ he asked, after introducing Adelaide to his foreman.
'Gorilla’s offsider. A couple of pilings weren’t capped properly. Gorilla decided to check the next batch and make sure they are.’
Andrew relaxed. 'I saw the pennant. What was it you wanted to see me about?’
Tom motioned to the plans spread on the bench. 'I need you to tell me where you want to locate the floating dock.’
'This might take a while,' he told Adelaide. 'Would you like to see how the work is coming along?'
'I would—providing I am not imposing.’
Andrew stepped outside and beckoned Gorilla who said he’d be happy to show Miss Adelaide along the jetty. 'Mind your language,' Andrew reminded him, in an undertone.
'I'll keep my bloody mouth shut.' Gorilla promised.
A quarter mile along the jetty Gorilla brought Adelaide to a halt. At that point the decking ended. A cat walk continued on over brackets of pilings that now reached about the jetty's curve toward its seaward end. A mobile derrick rested on rails spanning cross-beams to the next bracket. Below the derrick, green water swirled about the pilings. The tide was in.
 The derrick was lowering a beam to men perched on struts and braces below. Clinging to the cable feeding down from the derrick, a young rigger was riding the beam. He stood on it nonchalantly, grasping a heavy hammer with his free hand. His shoulders were burned brown by the sun. 'G'day, Miss Adelaide!' he called up to her.
She waved a hand in acknowledgment.
The rigger let go of the cable to return her wave.
At that precise moment the swaying beam glanced off a piling. Jolted from his perch, the rigger lost his balance. His head struck a piling as he fell into the water below.
Gorilla reacted before others even realized what had occurred. Nimble as his namesake, he slid down the dangling line to the swaying beam below. The rigger, dazed but conscious, was clinging to a piling. Green water swirled about him. Adelaide could see the young man was having difficulty retaining his grip against the powerful current. Gorilla signalled the derrick operator to lower him until the swaying beam was almost in the water. He grabbed the rigger in his powerful arms.
'Haul away!'
The winch operator hoisted them up. Gorilla held on to the rigger until they could both be set down safely. Blood spouted from the rigger’s forehead as he was laid on the new decking.
'May I?'
Workmen made way for Adelaide.
The rigger's face was covered with blood and he was still bleeding profusely but  Adelaide had seen far worse in the streets of London and  judged his wound was not as bad as it looked. Tearing a sleeve from her blouse, she wiped blood away from his eyes. She turned to Gorilla. ‘Is there a medical kit anywhere?’
 Gorilla despatched a workman to the site office. While she waited, Adelaide assured the young man she had stitched up men's injuries in the past. Andrew arrived at the run with a small kit. He watched Adelaide work deftly with the needle.While she stitched, the rigger's blood dripped through a gap in the timber decking to the swirling water below.
‘All done,' Adelaide announced. 'Can you sit up?'
‘Thanks miss. I'll get back to work.'
'You will do no such thing,' Adelaide admonished. 'Go and lie down somewhere out of the sun—for at least an hour.'
'You heard the lady,' Andrew ordered.
The rigger was helped away by a workman. The others went back to their tasks.
'You did that very well, Miss de Longe.'
 'My uncle taught me a little. He’s a surgeon.'
'I owe you a new blouse.'
'I ruined your whites that day at the swamp so now we are even.'
Andrew laughed. 'I've sent for a coach to run you back to the bungalow. It might be a while getting here. In the meantime, I must finish my business with Tom.'
'May I wait here until the coach arrives?'
'Of course. Thanks for taking care of the rigger.'
Andrew told Gorilla to stay with Adelaide. He was almost back at the mole when a prison gang carrying firewood for the pile-driver trudged past.
Jess tipped his hat. ‘G’day, Mister Duggan.’
The prisoners on this work gang were deemed hard cases by Wally Mott. Not only were they shackled at the ankles, each was linked to the other by chains. The chains forced them to walk in step. As the gang started along the narrow catwalk, the whip snaked out to flick at the legs of a prisoner who quickly adjusted stride so his weight was distributed evenly on each plank. Adelaide's gaze followed the prisoners, catwalk planks sagging beneath their feet as they trudged on. Jess turned to gawk at Adelaide. His bold gaze prompted her to turn away. Moments later, a sharp cry swung her around.
A prisoner was plunging from the catwalk. A plank had twisted under his foot. As he fell, he dragged the other prisoners in the gang with him. Adelaide saw the entire prison gang plunge into the sound. The weight of their chains dragging them down, they  flailed wildly to stay above the surface. 
'Do something!' Adelaide cried.
None of the workmen responded to her cry.
'Gorilla! Please! They'll drown!'
Again, Gorilla leaped to the rescue.
Barefoot, wearing only a pair of work shorts, Gorilla dived from the jetty to cut the water cleanly. Workmen gathered near Adelaide to watch as the operator of the pile-driver swam toward the prisoners being dragged away from the jetty by the powerful current.
'Somebody help him!' Adelaide cried.
'Stay where you are!' 
 It was the sad condition of the prisoners in the work gang whose ankles were chafed by their fetters and shoulders covered in weals that prompted Andrew to stride back along the jetty. Intent on giving Jess a piece of his mind, Andrew saw the prisoners flailing about in the sound and his blood froze.
Adelaide protested, 'Gorilla can’t manage alone against that current—‘
'Shut up.'
'What!'
'I said, shut up!' Andrew turned to a workman about to dive from the jetty. ‘You! Step back. Now!'
The workman stepped back.
 Andrew's attention returned to the prisoners thrashing about in vain effort to keep their heads above water. A powerful swimmer, Gorilla reached the nearest prisoner and began towing him toward the jetty. Linked to him by their  fetters, the rest of the gang bobbed along in his wake. Workmen on the jetty raised a cheer. Andrew scanned the water anxiously. Then he spotted them. Dorsal fins.
It was the blood from the injured rigger that drew the sharks. The cheer ended abruptly as the water erupted in broiling confusion. Workmen stood with mouths agape as Gorilla was flung from the water—an arm and a leg missing from his torso. His bubbling scream ended as he fell back and another shark dragged him under.
The anguish of men being torn apart set teeth on edge. Yet nobody on the jetty could turn away. All were transfixed by the savagery of what was happening before their very eyes. Holding her hands over her ears, Adelaide tried to shut out their screams as prisoners were torn apart, the water churning with sharks and dismembered bodies. Then, as suddenly as it began, the attack ended. Andrew stared down at the water where the only evidence of the horrifying shark attack was the crimson smudge drifting away on the mirror-smooth surface of the sound.
Andrew caught Adelaide as she fainted.

****
Chapter 19
One of Peewee's concoctions had put Adelaide to sleep. Looking down at her lying on the bed, Andrew thought her face looked even lovelier in repose. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close. Bert entered the bedroom.
'How is she?'
'Asleep. You got here fast.'
'I was at the pub. Your workmen were talking about what happened. You'd better get your arse down there, Andrew. After what I heard, those blokes might not go near the jetty again. I’ll take care of things here.'
Andrew was reluctant to leave Adelaide’s side but Bert was right. He had to get down to the pub and be there with the men. Sarah called out to him as he hurried past her bungalow but he ignored her and strode on. The public saloon was jammed when he got there. Tom, Willie, and Gorilla’s offsider Alfie were huddled at one end of the bar. When he joined them Alfie blurted, 'Gorilla said he'd only be gone an hour or so. He never came back.... '
'I shouldn't have brought her down there,’ Andrew admitted.
'You can't blame Miss Adelaide!'
Andrew caught Sally's attention. 'Have you got any of Terry’s brew?'
She motioned to bottles on a shelf.
'I think Alfie could use one. And I’ll have a rum. Tom?'
'I'll settle for a beer.'
Seeing Willie edging through the press of men toward him, Andrew asked what he was drinking and passed the order on to Sally. Then he asked Alfie, 'Can you take over from Gorilla?'
'I can if you give me an offsider.'
'You can have whoever you want,’ Tom offered.
Andrew turned to Willie. 'After what happened today, is there going to be a problem getting men to work tomorrow?’
Willie shook his head. 'They all know you're paying for the booze. Some might have sore heads in the morning but they'll be on the job.'
Nursing his drinks, Andrew stayed at the pub until the last workman staggered out the door. He was sober when he returned to his office. Gazing out a window at the pile-driver's silhouette just visible on the moonlit sound, Andrew recalled Isaac's grim prophecy: ‘That is this town’s death knell. And you’re tolling the bell.’
He shook his head irritably and made his way back down the stairs.
****
‘Suhara?’
‘Come in, Andrew.’
He removed his shoes and crossed to the futon that served both as a seat and a bed. ‘You heard what happened this afternoon?’
‘Terrible, Andrew. Terrible.’
‘Was I wrong to take that woman down there?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I feel responsible for how those men died.’
Suhara eased down beside him and took his hand in her own. ‘When I was a girl my father told me karma is karma. What will happen, will happen. He said that is why our people make good divers. We don't worry about the dangers down on the shell beds. We leave it all to karma and put them out of mind.’
‘Your people are wise in many ways.’ Andrew glanced about the room. ‘I was not planning to pay you a visit until tomorrow night so I haven’t brought any saki. Do you think Kaito has any in his room?’
‘Kaito does not drink saki.’
‘He doesn’t?’
‘Alcohol is not good for divers—you know that.’
‘Not when they’re diving,’ Andrew agreed. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to have a drink ashore when you have time to get it out of your system.’
‘Kaito says it is not wise for a diver to drink alcohol at sea or ashore. But I have some, so allow me to warm it for us.’ She went to the kitchen and returned shortly afterward with the rice wine warmed to appropriate temperature. She served Andrew first. ‘I do not agree with Kaito,’ she said. ‘I think there are times when it is good for a man to drink. It helps him to forget his cares.’
‘And for a woman?’
‘She may drink on occasion—but always with great care.’
That night they slept together and their love-making helped to dispel the guilt Andrew felt over the grisly fate of Gorilla and the prisoners. In the morning, Andrew noticed the pair of diving boots.  
‘Did Kaito forget his boots when he went back to the beds?’
‘He took them.’
Andrew pointed to the pair in Kaito’s room.
‘Oh those,’ Suhara nodded. ‘They are to be collected for repair.’
****
The clerk entered the warehouse while Andrew was at the sorting tables.
'I heard about the shark attack,' Ernest said. 
'These things happen.' Andrew frowned at the shell about to be bagged. As Isaac had complained, it was very poor quality.
'Would you like me to weigh these bags, Mister Duggan?'
'No, Ernest. I want to go over the last balance sheet.'
'Is something wrong with it?'
'I just want to look it over with you.’
The clerk relaxed. 'I'll wait upstairs.'
Ernest had the balance sheet out on the desk when Andrew entered the office. 'As you can see,' he pointed out, 'I took into consideration the depreciation Tug overlooked on some of your assets.'
'And your handwriting is a damn sight easier to read,' Andrew commented.
Ernest said smugly, 'Penmanship is my forte.'
'It certainly is. I don't think there is anyone in this entire settlement who can write the way you do.'
'Thank you.'
'So there's no question about who did this stock-take,' Andrew said, placing what Arthur Lombard had given him on the desk.
Ernest paled. 'I did perform a small service—‘
'Not only did you provide details of Arthur's stock and luggers you also made a copy of his latest balance sheet without Arthur’s consent.’
The clerk licked his lips.
'How long have you been in this town, Ernest?'
'Two and a half years,' he answered.
'Where were you before?'
'Queensland.'
Andrew's eyes narrowed. 'Who did you work for there? Del Pastoral?'
Ernest nodded reluctantly.
Andrew took a deep breath. 'If you want to leave this town in one piece, you'll answer my questions truthfully. Have you been sending Del Pastoral or De Longe Enterprises confidential information about the syndicate?'
'I have,’ the clerk admitted hoarsely.
Andrew held up his balance sheet. 'Did Preston-White ask for a copy of this?'
 'Yes,' Ernest got out.
'Did you provide him one?'
The clerk nodded.
Andrew stared at him as if he were an insect that should be crushed under foot.
'Do you realise what Isaac and the others will do to you if I tell them what you have just admitted to me?’
The clerk’s faced turned ashen.
‘Let me spell it out to you. They’ll take you out to sea, chum the water to lure the sharks and watch them tear you to pieces.’ Andrew got up from his desk to shake away the anger building inside him. ‘By Christ, you’d better leave Namaga on the next freighter that calls or I’ll feed you to the sharks myself.'

*****
Chapter 20
Jiriga sped toward the pool where he had left the intruders, confident they perished somewhere in the labyrinth that surrounded the amphitheatre. His only concern now was the state of their remains. The council had taken so long debating and then acting upon his report; Jiriga feared the bodies may have been ravaged beyond recognition by carrion. He wanted their features intact—especially those of Desert Eyes.
Jiriga’s status as a novice meant he could neither participate in the debate that ensued over his report, nor hear the arguments raised by Gadgeri elders over its outcome. The council obviously did not believe him, even when he presented the lock of hair snipped from the intruder’s head. For three days he had paced at the edge of the meeting ground, fretting over the lengthy deliberations of a ‘bunch of old women.’
What was there to debate? He had described the intruders and their strange creatures concisely and without embellishment. He told the council about the sharp noise that had prompted him to follow them instead of returning immediately to Home Camp to report their presence. And, because he was merely a novice who required the First Warrior’s endorsement before launching any attack, he had lured the intruders to Fossil Spring and into a trap. After slipping away, Jiriga had erased all tracks that might guide the intruders back to the open plateau.
The council had finally summoned him but instead of lauding him for his presence of mind, he was berated for failing to inform the council the moment he sighted the intruders entering Gadgeri territory. The ‘loud noise’ that he said warranted  pursuing them was dismissed as no more than a rock cracking on a cold night. Were it not for the lock of hair, the council would have attributed everything he saw and heard to the imagination of a novice seeking to improve his status to that of a true warrior. But since the lock of hair was, indeed, the colour of the sun  the council had decided to dispatch its First Warrior and a scout to accompany Jiriga on his return to Fossil Spring.
The First Warrior's hair and beard had turned grey with the passing of his years but even Jiriga and the young scout, Yabagundi, were put to the test by the grueling pace he set between the Wandjina Range and Fossil Spring. His wiry frame bore evidence of the sorties he had waged in the past against foreigners who dared to trespass in the Land of the Gadgeri.
Instead of approaching Fossil Spring by way of the sandstone monoliths to the north, he took a more direct route along gullies that angled from the west. There was nothing in those gullies to indicate the intruders had ventured in that direction.  It was not until the trio entered the gullies that Jiriga had used that they picked up the tracks of those strange creatures.The First Warrior placed a finger to his lips, indicating their pursuit would continue from that point in complete silence.
Jiriga was puzzled. The tracks led through the very gullies where he had painstakingly erased them after leaving Fossil Spring. It was incredible to him for the intruders to have found their way back through all the twists and turns without so much as a foray into intersecting gullies along the route. Then, where one gully turned into another, Yabagundi stabbed one hand upward to the mark gouged in the clay above reach of a man on foot. At the next corner he looked up and spotted another horizontal mark. There was a l mark, up high on the gully wall at every corner they turned. When they emerged from the gullies to see the tracks lead on toward those sandstone monoliths just visible away in the distance the need for silence ended.
‘Ah dee!’ Jiriga cried in frustration.
The First Warrior said they would camp that night at Fossil Spring. The moment they got there he sent Yabagundi to hunt for something to eat. ‘You reported to the council that Desert Eyes intends to bring more of his kind here.’
‘That is what the foreigner told me.’
‘Did you warn him we do not tolerate intruders of any kind?’
‘I tried, but I think he regarded the feather as a gift... not a warning.’ Jiriga stared glumly at the tiers of limestone stepping down to the pool. ‘Desert Eyes has a shell map.’
‘Why didn’t you mention that in your report?’
‘I tried, but every time I opened my mouth somebody questioned what I said. I even showed Desert Eyes how to read the map.’
The First Warrior was astounded. ‘You did! Why?’
‘To make them think I was trying to help them on their way. Then they would not watch me closely.’
The First Warrior sighed.
Jiriga was his son. And while he was annoyed at his son for failing to mention the shell map, he knew it was not really Jiriga's fault. There were elders on the council who did not want to believe what Jiriga had told them. Creatures on four legs with humps were beyond their comprehension. Worse, for the oldest members of the council, Jiriga’s description of Desert Eyes and his strange garb conjured memory of other intruders in the past: men with light skin who brought a terrible sickness into the land. The deaths and suffering it caused was something the elders did not want to even think about.
His son's report had given Waibiri, First Warrior of the Gadgeri, much to think about. And now that he had been told the intruder possessed a shell map, Waibiri realized Desert Eyes posed an even greater threat to the Gadgeri territory than the intruders who had trespassed here in the past.
****

Andrew walked up the garden path carrying a telescope and a bunch of flowers to be confronted by an entire coterie of maids gathered about Adelaide. She was teaching them how to sew. The shark attack on the jetty had inadvertently prompted her to renew acquaintance with needle and thread. The mere prospect of another nightmare filled with sharks devouring men limb by limb was enough for her to postpone going to bed by stitching away until she could no longer keep her eyes open. Her industry with needle and thread had perked the interest of Dora and her friends. When Andrew climbed the steps they scuttled away, giggling.
'More flowers!' Adelaide protested mildly. 'I'll have Dora put them in a vase—if we can find another vase.’ Andrew handed them to her and situated the telescope on its tripod along the veranda. ‘Who do you intend to spy on?' Adelaide quipped.
Andrew swivelled the telescope toward the distant entrance of the sound ‘The Capricorn Maiden is due in. Through this you'll see her tops’ls as she comes along the passage much sooner than we can down on the waterfront. When you do, I'd like to know right away.'
‘I’ll send Dora with a message. Thank you for the flowers.'
'Bert told me you've had some bad nights.'
'Bert baffles me,' Adelaide confessed. 'She fusses over me as if we had never said a cross word to each other.'
'Bert is rough around the edges but has her good points. Tom and the men asked me to convey their regards.'
'I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for what happened to Gorilla—‘
'You haven't left the house in days,' Andrew cut in. 'It would do you good to get out one evening.'
'It would,' Adelaide agreed.
'And I have yet to take you to dinner,’ he reminded. ‘I'll arrange with Tom—‘
'Do I need a chaperone?'
'You said you did.'
'A woman is allowed to change her mind.'
Andrew grinned. 'You must be feeling better. You're back to being difficult.' Andrew put on his hat. 'I’ll be busy tonight with the Maiden due in. I’ll book us a table later in the week. Goodbye for now.'
On his way down the hill, Sarah called out to Andrew but he strode on without breaking his stride. Sarah shifted her gaze uphill to glare at the Duggan bungalow.
‘Why did that bitch have to come here?’
****
When Adelaide saw the Capricorn Maiden coming through the passage she sent Dora to alert Andrew. Within the hour the Pixie was racing across the sound to meet the schooner. Through the telescope Adelaide could see both Andrew and Joe in the cockpit. The schooner fell off the wind so passengers could board Joe's sloop. One was a thickset man with flaxen hair. He sat near Joe. A woman with long black hair and Eurasian features sat next to Andrew. Even through the telescope, Adelaide could see the woman was beautiful. 
Joe made directly for the jetty where the floating dock was now in place. After the Pixie drew alongside, Andrew jumped out and a mail bag was handed up to him. Then the man with flaxen hair helped the woman to the dock where she promptly flung both arms around Andrew in a warm embrace. Adelaide’s head jerked back from the telescope.
‘Well!’
It was several moments before she placed her eye to the telescope again. Now the woman was walking arm in arm with Andrew along the jetty; the two of them laughing and engrossed in lively conversation. The woman carried herself well and her dress reflected excellent taste. When they reached the mole both got into the waiting coach. The man who had come ashore with them heaved the mail bag up to the pillion then strolled over to the foreman’s hut to disappear inside. The coach headed toward the waterfront.
Adelaide returned to her sewing but found it impossible to concentrate on the dress she was making. She wondered who the woman was. It was obvious that she and Andrew liked each other—very much. No wonder he was so anxious to know the instant the schooner arrived.
 ‘Ouch!’
A spot of blood appeared where she had pricked her finger with the needle. Adelaide swore under her breath. Andrew Duggan’s lady friends were his affair, but… but what? Well, for a start, he should have had the decency to wait until his lady friend had come and gone before inviting another woman—namely herself—to dinner. Was she merely visiting? Or had she come to stay? Adelaide got up from the table and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. That was when Dora finally got back from Chinatown.
‘Dora, I sent you to the store ages ago.’
‘I’ve been talking to Misty a little bit.’
‘When I send you on an errand I expect you to return immediately. Why doesn’t this kettle boil?’
‘You got to light the stove first, missus.’
****
It was late the following morning when Andrew paid Adelaide another visit. Getting no answer to his knock on the front door he continued around the side of the house to find her sitting under the pergola. 'Hello there.'
'Good morning, Mister Duggan.'
'So what do you think of the Maiden?'
'I have only seen her from a distance.'
'She's even more beautiful, up close.'
'I'm sure she is. Is she enjoying her visit?'
'Who?'
'The maiden.'
'I'm talking about the schooner.'
'I was confusing the one with another.'
Andrew‘s brow wrinkled in confusion. He looked up the interlacing vines that made the pergola such a shady nook, then back down at Adelaide in the wrought iron chair. ‘How would you like to join us for a picnic on the beach this evening?'
'Thank you,’ Adelaide replied, ‘but I do not think that is a good idea while the maiden is in port.'
'Why not?'
'Because, Mister Duggan, I am not about to endure another evening with some woman staring daggers at me.'
'What are you on about?'
Adelaide exclaimed, ‘Are you really so naive? I am sure that woman has no more desire to meet me than ... Sarah.'
'What does Sarah have to do with this?'
'Please!'
Andrew was completely at a loss. 'I’m inviting you to a picnic to meet Delilah.'
'Delilah! Is that really her name?'
'What's wrong with "Delilah"?'
'Judging by what I glimpsed, nothing at all.'
'So you've seen her.'
'Only from afar.'
Andrew battled on. 'I thought you might like to meet Delilah. She’s a woman whose company I think you'll enjoy. And after what happened on the jetty, I'd hate for you to miss one of the few treats Namaga has to offer. The coach will be here at five o clock to pick you up. No need to show me out,' Andrew added. 'I know the way.'
 When the coach pulled up outside the gate, it was the man with flaxen hair who climbed down. He strode along the path with a rolling seaman's walk, his face deeply lined from years before the mast.
 'So you’re Henry's daughter,' he said without preamble. 'Young Andrew was right: you’re as pretty as a picture. My name is Boxer.' He beckoned the boy and girl lingering shyly by the gate. 'These are my young 'uns. Say hello to Miss Adelaide.'
'Hello,' they said in unison.
Boxer chuckled with fatherly pride. 'Don't be fooled by their innocent faces. They’re a pair of tykes.’ He said to them, ‘Be off with you and mind your manners with Mrs Ferguson. She’ll bring you down to the beach.'
They ran on across the hill.
'I realize I’m a bit early, Miss Adelaide. Mind if I sit awhile?'
Adelaide replied, ‘It was good of you to come for me but I have decided to forgo the invitation—‘
‘We figured you'd say that. So I got here early to have a word with you.'
'About what, if I may ask?'
Boxer said, 'Young Andrew's a bit thick in the head at times.'
You can say that again! Adelaide thought.
‘You might not want to set foot anywhere near the sound but you’ll have to some day,' Boxer pointed out. 'And, tonight, you can see something that might help put behind what happened there. Delilah said I weren't to come down there without you—even if I have to hoist you over one shoulder.'
Boxer pulled out a chair, lit his pipe and hooked one bare foot over the veranda rail. His engaging smile did not fool Adelaide for a moment. He meant what he said. Inclining her head meekly, she went inside to change. 'Will this skirt and blouse be all right?' Adelaide asked when she came outside again.
'That they are,' Boxer approved, knocking out his pipe and striding ahead to open the coach door. On their way down to the beach he ventured, 'I hear your father will be coming back to Namaga.'
'In early November.'
'Then I hope to see him again.'
'I'm afraid he never mentioned you to me.'
‘I only met him in passing, you might say. And that were before you were born.'
'You have a West Country accent.'
‘Wiltshire. Went to sea when I was a lad and I ain't never going back to that turnip patch no more!' Boxer's deep laugh filled the coach. It came to a halt at the mole. They walked around the workmen's quarters and then on along the beach to where people were gathering in groups, both large and small.
'Why are they here?' Adelaide asked.
'You'll see,' was Boxer's obscure reply.
'Miss de Longe!'
Adelaide turned to see Sarah, Daphne, Claire, Lorraine, Agnes, Mildred, Naomi and Nancy sitting on folding chairs. The card table positioned convenient to them was laden with drinks and sandwiches. Claire beckoned Adelaide. 'Do join us, Miss de Longe!'  Lorraine, Agnes, and Nancy nodded like toy ducks. Sarah glared frostily.
'Thank you but I’m joining another party.'
Naomi slurred as Adelaide moved on toward Andrew, ‘She’s down here because he’s down here.’
Andrew was sitting with Delilah. He rose to make the introductions. 
'Adelaide, meet Delilah. Delilah, this is Miss de Longe.'
Delilah was even more beautiful close up than she appeared through the telescope. She remarked, 'I have been burning with curiosity, Miss de Longe.'
'Oh?'
'Men are so transparent,’ Delilah observed. ’Their evasions are even more revealing than what they choose to confide.' She said to Boxer, 'I’m sure Miss de Longe would like to sit down.'
Boxer got down on his knees to spread a blanket.
Delilah turned again to Adelaide. 'What ever you do,' she warned, 'do not marry a sailor. They are hopeless on dry land.'
Only then, did Adelaide see the ring.
Delilah’s added with a smile, 'I think Andrew has finally met his match. Don't stand there with your mouth hanging open, Andrew. Open the champagne!'
****
‘There we were, Miss Adelaide, me and Bull baling to keep us afloat and Tug at the helm trying to get us to shore. We'd never have nursed her through the passage to find this place if we didn't have to fix that hole in our hull.’ Boxer was describing how Bull Duggan discovered the sound they were now looking at from the strip of beach.  ‘Tug was just a lad back then. And he was so tired from all that baling, he was asleep when we ran up on this beach. Mind you, the tide was all the way in; else we’d have been stuck on the mud somewhere out there.'
Boxer pointed to mud flats left exposed by the out-going tide. The night had come on while he was talking and tidal pools reflected the winking stars. Adelaide was suddenly aware of the absolute silence about them. She looked around to see all the people on the beach were gazing out toward Duggan Passage.
'What are they looking for?'  
'Watch,' Delilah urged.
'What am I to watch?' Adelaide whispered to Andrew.
'You'll see,' he grinned.
Joe Ferguson came over with Delilah's children.
'Sorry. We got down here later than we planned,' he apologised.
'Thank you for keeping them out of our hair,' Delilah told him.
 Joe went to sit with his own family as a huge and bloated moon rose over the entrance to Namaga Sound.
Inch by inch the moon's wake stabbed with geometric precision across the mudflats. Then the magic happened. Reflected and refracted by the mudflats, shafts of moonlight rose as golden steps, one upon the other, toward the dangling huge full moon. No child fidgeted. No parent moved. Adelaide was transfixed. Every man, woman and child on the beach watched in fascination until the splendid illusion was complete. Adelaide joined in the collective sigh of appreciation. No words were adequate to describe what they had just witnessed.
'Bull called it our Stairway to the Moon,’ the skipper of the Capricorn Maiden recalled, quietly. ‘I hope he got to climb it.'
****
Out beyond South Point and North Head, a whirlpool churned across the deep chasm in the sea bed that was Duggan Passage. The passage separated the two reefs extending to seaward. The wreck that claimed the life of Bull Duggan—and others before him—lay submerged at the edge of the southern passage where it had lodged decades ago. The constant grinding of its sturdy hull as it was pushed and pulled by conflicting currents had worn coral away. Now, only two submerged pinnacles of rock held it back from the abyss. The whirlpool was all that was needed to give the wreck a nudge.
Was it mere coincidence that brought Peewee to the knoll this night?
Squatting there on his haunches, he gazed out at the passage where he had witnessed in his youth the departure of that ill-fated ship as it tried to escape a cyclone’s fury. The ship was driven against the reef and went down with all on board. Peewee knew what else went down with the ship. Karakara. He could feel the the anger of the karakara spirits trapped down there inside its rotting hull.
Nudged by the whirlpool, the  hull yawed from side to side. Coral crumbled as it begin to slide, stern-first, toward the deep chasm that was Duggan Passage. Its motion was arrested suddenly by a shelf of  rock that jutted from the edge of the chasm. The abrupt halt to the wreck’s downward slide was too much for a rotten bulkhead.
As it caved in, water surged into the compartment to eject chests and objects that shot to the surface. Some disappeared again beneath the moonlit waves. Others drifted with the current that whisked them, as if linked by some invisible thread, up the seaward coast of the cape toward a place that was named Whisper Bay.
****
Frederick’s riding boots were not suited to walking. Their soles now paper thin, he kept to defiles where sand had been deposited by the wind. The sand helped cushion his feet from the sharp fragments beneath.
The terrain they were negotiating had little similarity to Gully Flat—the name he had given the bald plateau they were now leaving behind. Here, low ridges thrust up in all directions and every ridge assumed a different aspect when seen from another. Stands of lancewood interrupted the confusing horizon and the ground was littered with fragments of quartz and sharp stones. A multitude of burrows presented yet another hazard. The two men were forced to tramp beside their camels and the sun still had a fierce bite though it was now July.
 ‘That one is good tucker!’ Timothy enthused as a snake slithered by.
 ‘I am not about to risk snake-bite for a meal.’
‘We’ve got to eat proper tucker some time, boss.’
‘What’s wrong with the food we have?’
Timothy dismissed the provisions they carried in tins with a grimace. ‘Better than nothing,’ he conceded. ‘But I’m getting plurry tired.’
 ‘It’s hot. What do you expect?’
 ‘We got to eat real tucker. We got to eat meat to make us strong.’
‘And where are we going to find it? I haven’t seen any game in days.’
‘I will find good tucker soon,’ Timothy promised.
Frederick spotted a patch of green. ‘Is that a soak over there?’
‘We got to keep going, boss. They’re coming after us.’
‘Are you still worrying about the Gadgeri?’
The trap had been neatly set, Frederick had to admit. Were it not for the marks he gouged in gully walls while they were being led to that hidden spring, he and Timothy would still be looking in vain for some way out of the labyrinth. But he was confident they had put enough distance between themselves and the Gadgeri warrior not to be troubled by him again. He was too weary to argue with Timothy.
’We’ll pause here for rest and push on later.’
Timothy asked for the binoculars and scrambled to the ridge they had just crossed to keep watch. Frederick took off his boots to inspect the hole in one sole. It was now as big as a florin. Shaking out stones that had lodged inside, he put the boots on again, eased back against a boulder and closed his eyes. It seemed only moments later when Timothy shook him awake. 
‘They’re coming, boss. Plurry fast!’
Frederick grabbed the binoculars and climbed the ridge to scan to the west. He saw three figures appear suddenly on a ridge. They were loping in his direction. Frederick scrambled back down to help Timothy with the camels. As he led them from the soak to the open plain, Frederick felt another stone lodge in his boot but there was no time to shake it out.
*****

Chapter 21
Jiriga shook his fist at the fleeing caravan.
Motioning Jiriga and Yabagundi to squat, Waibiri reached for a shard of quartz to scratch a rough map of the terrain about them. 'Are you sure the intruder understands how to use the shell map?'
Jiriga nodded ruefully. ‘I showed him how.'
'Then he will make for Goanna Hole.' Wiabiri pondered the ridges and other features of the landscape he had drawn in the dust. 'Their creatures travel more swiftly over open ground so this is the route they will take.' His finger traced a route that detoured about the ridges. Then he slashed a more direct line to Goanna Hole. ‘This is the way we shall go. By the time they get there, we  will be ready to launch our attack.' 
Waibiri was about to toss aside the shard when he glimpsed the bright yellow vein running through the quartz. Karakara. Careful to replace the karakara where it had been dislodged, the First Warrior rose to his feet and led on.
****
Close to sundown the following day, Frederick and Timothy tethered their camels near the stand of trees surrounding Goanna Hole. Timothy built a fire to cook the goanna he was able to trap for their evening meal. He baked the entire lizard in the coals and then removed its tail to separate the triangular wedges of white meat he placed on chipped enamel plates. Frederick was pleasantly surprised when he sampled  the fare. It was like eating a combination of chicken and lobster.
‘Timothy, this is absolutely magnificent! Well done.’
‘Plenty of good tucker in the bush, Boss Fred. You just got to know what it is and where to find it.’
Frederick motioned with his fork to distant beacons in the night. ‘Whose fires are those, do you think?’
‘Jaru I reckon. Maybe Gurindji’.
‘Well, they’re too far off to worry us. And at the pace we have been travelling, we must be well ahead of the Gadgeri by now.’
Timothy was not so confident. 'Mebbe,' he allowed, ‘Did you throw that karakara away?'
The nugget was in Frederick's boot when he finally took it off the previous evening. Though small, it was almost pure gold.
‘This meat is delicious, Timothy. We must have goanna more often.’
Timothy was not so easily side-tracked. ‘Karakara spirits made big trouble for the Namaga.’
‘Is the tea ready,’ Frederick asked.
‘They will never leave us alone,’ Timothy insisted.
As he reached for the billy, a spear slammed into his shoulder.
Frederick grabbed his rifle and leapt away from the fire. The spear intended for him missed by mere inches. He fired at the figure flitting through the trees. Then another came at them out of the night. Frederick fired again. The figure stumbled away. Diogenes bellowed. Then Frederick heard a gurgling scream.
‘Timothy?’
His voice tight with pain, Timothy hissed, ‘Put out the fire, boss.’
Frederick scattered earth over the flames. ‘How bad are you hurt?’
‘We got to get the spear out.’
‘I should wait until I can see what I’m doing.’
‘Do it now, boss!’ 
Frederick took out his clasp knife. ‘Bite on this.’
Mercifully, there was no barbed head to the lancewood spear. One knee bracing  Timothy’s shoulder, Frederick yanked suddenly. The spear came free. Frederick dashed hot tea from the billy over the wound and tore the sleeve from his shirt to fashion a bandage. He could hear the camels bellowing out there in the night—though more distant now. Using his shirt to fashion the crude sling he draped over Timothy's shoulder to support that arm, Frederick endured the mosquitoes homing in as he sat watch with pistol and rifle, ready to shoot who came near.
****
A bright red line was stitched across Waibiri’s ribs. His woomera had been shattered by the bullet that knocked him off his feet and almost claimed his life. Yabagundi had managed to bring down a camel just before he was mauled by another. Jiriga wanted to launch another attack.
Waibiri shook his head. 'Now Desert Eyes is ready for us. Our spears are no match for his weapon. Yabagundi is seriously hurt. You will go with him and make sure he gets home safely.’
Waibiri made a poultice of clay and secured it firmly about torn flesh on Yabagundi’s thigh. The scout was young and strong. In time the wound would heal. When the pair were ready to set out for Home Camp the First Warrior took Jiriga aside. ‘My son, it is true I always demand more of you than any novice or warrior under my command. I do so because I see in you some fine qualities. But, at times, you are impatient. You must learn to curb your impatience if you are to wear this amulet some day, on your arm.’
Waibiri tapped the amulet that was the First Warrior’s badge of office.
Jiriga insisted, ‘I want to hunt down Desert Eyes and finish him.’
Waibiri confided, ‘The council ordered me to find out if your report was true and, if it was,  to ensure the intruder had left our territory if he had not perished at Fossil Spring.  This we have established.’
‘But he has the shell map. If he uses it to bring others—‘
‘That is why I am sending you back,’ Waibiri cut in. ‘To explain to the council why I must keep after Desert Eyes and make sure he does not return. Understood?'
'Aye aye, Waibiri.'
Satisfied, Waibiri summoned the young scout. 'Yabagundi, you will inform the council Jiriga has earned the right to call himself a true warrior.’
Yabagundi saluted the First Warrior.
Waibiri grasped Jiriga’s shoulder. ‘My son, I am proud of you.’
****
Aphrodite lay where she had collapsed with a spear in her throat; the packs and equipment she had been carrying scattered or whisked away. Solomon had been driven off to perish from his wounds. Frederick dared not linger to look for the missing equipment. Thankfully he still had the compass in the pouch on his belt.
But there was no denying the attack had cost them dearly. Apart from Timothy suffering a wound to his left shoulder, they had lost two camels and been deprived of most of their ammunition and provisions. To persist with his expedition under these circumstances would be foolish. Frederick’s priority now was to make his rendezvous with Paddy to replenish his supplies. 
The depleted caravan swung north, Timothy’s left arm in a sling,  Frederick praying the Irish Princess would be waiting for them at the junction in the Victoria River when they got there.
****
The ground open, they were able to move swiftly on their camels. Then the terrain closed in on them and to keep heading north, they were forced to make their way along an escarpment where the going was treacherous underfoot. Timothy's wound healing nicely, he was able to discard the sling. The soles of Frederick’s boots had worn paper thin. He could feel every stone as he limped beside Abdul along the escarpment.
'You orright, boss?'
'I'm fine.'
But Frederick was not all right. He was finding it hard to stay on his feet. 
‘We stop now.’ Timothy urged.
‘Not yet,’ Frederick rasped.
‘Gonna be dark soon. We must camp.’
‘Where?’
‘That cave.’
Frederick peered where Timothy pointed. He could barely make out the cave. .  Everything swam before his eyes. He had to grab Abdul's stirrup for support.Timothy managed to catch hold of him as he sank to his knees.
‘You plurry sick, boss.You stay here.’
Frederick could do little else.
Timothy checked the symbols daubed in ochre on smooth rock about the cave's entrance. ‘They tell us this cave is safe place for all men on walkabout,' he assured  Frederick. 'Nobody will make trouble here. And we got good water in that gnamma hole over there.'
‘We must keep going!’
Timothy wagged his head from side to side. ‘You got fever. You got to lie down or you will die. You can’t go anywhere if you’re dead.’
****
Jiriga helped Yabagundi into Home Camp. When he delivered his report the elders were not impressed. They had not authorized their First Warrior to pursue the intruder over foreign territories. Only the rainmaker endorsed Waibiri's decision. 'You say he will kill Desert Eyes?'
'And bring the shell map back to us.'
The rainamker nodded approval. The shell was good magic for bringing rain. He wanted to get his hands on it. 'Where did it come from?'
' From the Land of the Namaga,' Jiriga answered.
An elder voiced his dismay.’The Namaga gave an intruder a shell map! Haven't they learned anything?’
The leader of the Gadgeri finally spoke. 'We must end their stupidity. Jiriga! Yabagundi attests you have earned the right to be called a true warrior. Now you can demonstrate your father’s faith in you. You will deliver our warning.'
‘But my father—‘
‘We will send a party to help him. You will leave immediately for the Land of the Namaga. You can have two novices to serve as scouts.'
Jiriga raised his left arm in salute. ‘Aye aye!’
Council elders returned Jiriga’s salute—their endorsement of his new status as a true warrior of the Gadgeri.

****
Chapter 22
Wally Mott tramped along the pier, an overseer behind him carrying his bags. Mott paused at the end of the pier to inform the overseer, ‘The reason I’m leaving you in charge, John, ’is because you’re good with figures. Most of the others can’t even write their names.’
‘Thank you, Mister Mott.’
‘Whatever you do, don't forget your budget requisition for the next quarter or the syndicate won't supply the funds.'
'I'll attend to it.'
'In my desk drawer is the list of men you're to lay off.’
'Lay off?'
'I was a bit short on my estimate for this quarter,' was Mott’s explanation. He was not about to confide in John Glebe where the money really went. 'You won't need those men, anyway.'
‘But they’ll raise hell—‘
'I warned you: this job ain't easy. Maybe I should pick somebody else?'
'No no!'
'Good. Just make sure you overlap shifts so you've enough men on duty for the change-over. And don't take any nonsense.'
'I'll make sure the prisoners—‘
'I wasn’t talking about prisoners!’ Mott stared balefully at the Duggan Pearling Emporium, just along the waterfront. Duggan's chewing-out over what happened at the jetty still rankled. Andrew Duggan had blasted him about Jess gawking at Miss de Longe instead of keeping his eyes on the job. Mott was glad to see the back of Duggan and the rest of the bloody syndicate. None of them appreciated what he’d had to put up with over the years. As far as he was concerned, the bloody compound was a disaster waiting to happen. The sooner he was on his way, the better.
'You're to keep Jess on compound duty,' Mott told Glebe. 'I don’t want him overseeing any more work gangs.’  
Ernest stepped around Wally Mott to ask the man in the dinghy if there were any berths available on the coaler. The seaman told him there was. Ernest passed down his suitcase and climbed in.
Mott handed a ring of keys to John Glebe. ‘A word to the wise, John: keep the overseers in line, the prisoners where they’re supposed to be and the bloody syndicate happy and who knows? The Department might make you Supervisor instead of sending some other bloke to replace me. You’ll find a couple of beers waiting in the cooler.'
'Thanks!’'
Mott got into the dinghy to sit beside Ernest. The seaman rowed them away.
****
Striding from the pier, John Glebe crossed Pearl Way to enter Shinju Alley where he saw a splendid riding crop in the saddler’s window. He went inside. Glebe felt the Namaga Syndicate could afford it. He also felt that the new (Acting) Compound Supervisor was entitled to hire a coach instead of having to waste his precious time and energy travelling those three miles back to the prison compound on foot.
When Glebe stepped down from the coach whacking his thigh with a riding crop, the man on the  outer gate raised an eyebrow. Glebe acknowledged him with barely a nod. In the Watch Room he signed the log book—as required by all personnel at the beginning and end of each shift. Leaving the Watch Room, Glebe stepped into what would now be his office. When he entered, Jess was sitting on the only chair with his feet up on the desk, sipping a beer.
'What are you doing in here, Jess?'
‘I’ve still got another five bloody hours to put in.'
'Then why aren't you where you are supposed to be?'
'Who cares? Jess chuckled. ' Mott's gone. And he forgot some beers in the cooler.‘
‘Those beers were for me,' Glebe snapped. 
‘So? We're work mates. Share and share alike.'
‘I happen to be the Acting Supervisor now.’
 ‘So who gives a shit?’
‘And from now on my name is Mister Glebe, to you.’
'Come off it, Johnno!’
 'I’m about to put some men on unpaid leave. Do you want to be one of them?'
Jess could hardly believe his ears. ‘Now wait a minute—‘
Glebe raised the riding crop. ‘Get out of my office!
'Eh?'
'Now!’
'All right! I'm going!'
Beer bottle in his hand, Jess stomped out of the supervisor's office.
Approaching the a high sandstone wall that surrounded the actual prison, Jess flung the empty bottle. It shattered against the heavy door that was its only access. Urinating against the wall, Jess vented his anger.
‘What a prick! I'll give him fucking Mister Glebe. I’ll shove that fucking riding crop up his fucking arse. See if I don't!'
****

Frederick tossed and turned beneath the blankets Timothy had piled on him, the sweat pouring down his face as demons surfaced from his sub-conscious to torment once again. They took him back to India—to men caught in an enfilade that was cutting them down—to the cries of the wounded and the dying. He was screaming for artillery but there was to be no artillery. His superior officer was not where he should have been to launch the counter-attack.
Though he was drowning in his own sweat, Frederick felt so cold, his teeth were chattering. And now he was back in Afghanistan, naked and spread-eagled on the side of a mountain where a man with burnoose on his head and knife in one hand loomed over him.
What are you doing in these mountains, infidel?
I have come to buy camels.’
One can buy camels more easily in Kabul.
Only mekrauas. I also need kandahars. They have more strength.
The man kneeled. The blade sliced between Frederick’s nose and upper lip. He screamed in agony. Blood trickled from the excruciating wound.
You are a Britisher. We have searched your clothes. You have no money. Who will pay for the camels?
The agent for De Longe Enterprises—when they are delivered.
The tribesman wiped the blade clean and went to join his companions while Frederick shivered in the icy wind off snow-laden peaks. The man returned with his clothes and motioned Frederick to put them on.
I am Amin Mamoud. My father will sell you the camels.
In his delirium Frederick trekked once again with Amin and fierce tribesmen of Afghanistan who delivered him safely with the consignment to Karachi. His sub-conscious regurgitated the human misery he witnessed where people maimed them-selves to beg for food and lepers were consigned to pits to eke out a subsistence in hell.
While the fever ran its course, Timothy took care of Frederick and their camels, looking around fearfully every time he refilled the waterbag from the gnamma hole. His apprehension was justified. Waibiri was watching.
Watching and waiting for the intruder to move on from the cave that was a recognised haven for all travellers. And when they did move on, the First Warrior of the Gadgeri would kill both Desert Eyes and his worm at the first opportunity.

****
Chapter 23
Ah Choy’s residence was a modest shanty in Chinatown. Mrs Choy invited Adelaide inside and offered tea. While the tea was being made, two small faces peeped at her through a curtain of beads. She wiggled her nose at them. The children ducked out of sight when Mrs Choy placed the tea tray on the table. Then the wealth-iest man in Chinatown—and perhaps the entire settlement—entered to incline his head in a gracious bow of greeting.
Ah Choy’s tailored white shirt and trousers did not quite disguise his plump proportions. After his wife chased their children to some other part of the house, Ah Choy extended his pudgy hand and said in perfect English, ‘Most gracious of you to call on us, Miss de Longe.'
'I hope I am not imposing on your time.'
'Not at all.'
He raised the cup of delicate porcelain to his mouth, the pearl on his pinkie finger catching the sunlight shafting through a window. Adelaide sipped tea and pondered how to raise the issue that brought her here. 'This tea is excellent, Mister Choy. It has a pleasing fragrance.'
'You must take some with you,' he offered.
'I couldn't possibly accept what must be hard to come by in Namaga.'
'Tea is one of the few commodities we have in plentiful supply. The schooner brings it here from overseas.'
 'Then I will accept your gracious offer. And I must compliment you on your faultless English. Hong Kong?'
'I learned English in Hong Kong,' he confirmed.
‘What brought you to Namaga—if I may ask?’
'Pearls,' he replied.
 'I thought the Chinese were more interested in gold.'
'I am not averse to gold, Miss de Longe. But my skills are better employed here than on the goldfields. Allow me to show you.'
Ah Choy led her into the workshop attached to his house. 'The pearl,' he said, 'is formed by layers of nacre the bi-valve secretes over a grain of sand or some irritant in the mantle.' He directed Adelaide's attention to a bench covered with green felt. 'Many shells are opened before a pearl is found in one of them. Then it must be removed from the mantle and polished—as I was doing a little while ago.'
Adelaide marvelled at the dexterity of those pudgy hands performing this delicate task, peeling a layer of nacre from the pearl which he polished to full lustre. After his demonstration they returned to the living room and another pot of the fragrant tea. Adelaide decided she had better bring up the reason for her visit or they would be drinking tea all day. 'I came to inform you that De Longe Enterprises recently purchased the Lombard Pearling Company.'
Ah Choy's face remained impassive—which implied he already knew of the transaction. Or was he as good at being an inscrutable oriental as he was at polishing pearls? Adelaide continued, 'This means, of course, that De Longe Enterprises is now a member of the syndicate with sufficient shares to warrant a seat on the board.'
Ah Choy showed no reaction to that statement, either.
'I also came to inform you that my father has given me the authority to represent De Longe Enterprises while I am in Namaga.'
Ah Choy inclined his head.
'At the last syndicate meeting you abstained from voting on Isaac Weinberg’s motion to block further funds for the jetty.' Her knowledge of what occurred behind closed doors still failed to prompt any visible reaction. 'May I inquire if the active participation of De Longe Enterprises will now encourage your support of the jetty project—should the issue be raised again before it is completed?'
'I can not answer that question, Miss de Longe.'
'Am I being too inquisitive?'
'In my experience it is wise to avoid predicting what one may or may not decide until he must make that decision.' Ah Choy called something to his wife in Chinese. She entered from the kitchen to present Adelaide a tea service of delicate china. Ah Choy said, 'Please accept our humble gift.’
 ‘You are being far too generous.'
'Not at all,' Ah Choy countered. ‘This is our way of thanking you for rescuing that child from the swamp. And you will find this tea particularly helpful for gaining a good night’s sleep.’ He handed her a package beautifully wrapped.
The children grinned at Adelaide through the bead curtain as she left.
****
John Glebe was going over the list of overseers presently employed at the compound and trying to decide who to lay off when one of them knocked on the door to his office. ‘What is it, Jess?’
'We’ve got two new prisoners in the yard. Clive flushed 'em out.’
'Flushed them?'
'From under the town hall,’ Jess answered. ‘They wouldn't come when told so Clive put a couple of rounds into 'em.'
'He did what?'
'From the shotgun is all. That brought the bastards out in a hurry.'
'How bad are they hurt?'
'Nothing serious.'
Glebe rose from his chair. ‘I suppose I had better take a look at them.’
Clive was on duty outside the compound door. He swung it open to admit John Glebe and Jess. The moment Glebe saw the new prisoners he pointed his riding crop at Jess. 'You told me they weren’t seriously hurt. They look like they’ve been through a mincer!'
'They've got thick hides,’ Jess dismissed.
Glebe called out to the overseer keeping an eye on prisoners working in the cookhouse. ‘Arnold!'
'Yes, Mister Glebe?'
'I want you to deliver a note to the Duggan bungalow. Jess, you will stay here and take over from Arnold.’
Glebe turned on his heel and left the yard.
Jess fumed. Here at the compound there was nothing to do but stand around until your shift was over. In town with a work gang, he could at least sneak a beer or two to while the day away. Jess shook his fist at the air. ‘Fuck you, Glebe!’
****
When Adelaide got back to the bungalow she sat down to read again the letter from her father that had arrived on the coaler. My dear, Nigel’s departure may be a blessing in disguise. His attitude toward colonials could have put us on the wrong foot with Andrew Duggan. We are depending on him to build the jetty so the syndicate must remain committed to our initiative. The board approved my proposed link to the Overland Telegraph PROVIDING  I can guarantee all requisite shore facilities in the settlement. On another matter:  the survey party has contacted Del Pastoral to announce it has completed its work. Our application for one of the new leases has been approved. As a gesture expressing respect for the one I love, I  am naming the lease, Adelaide Downs.
Papa.
In the letter, Henry had included his latest evaluation of the Namaga Syndicate's worth and, if necessary, who Adelaide would have to deal with to purchase shares. 
Adelaide was pondering the list to decide who she would visit next when the  note from John Glebe was delivered at the bungalow. She unfolded it to see a request for Peewee to bring his 'native medicines' to the compound. Adelaide read it aloud to Peewee who went to get his cooliman and left with the overseer. Since the note had been directed to Andrew, Adelaide told Dora to take it to him at the emporium.
'Mister Andrew gone, missus.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘With Mister Joe on his boat,' Dora told Adelaide.
So much for our dinner engagement. Adelaide was not amused. He might at least have let her know  it had been cancelled. Well, she had other priorities. The next board member on her father's list was Toshira.
The way Toshira uttered his name, it sounded like a sneeze.
Toshira bobbed his head constantly during their conversation and every time he did, the motion required him to slide thick spectacles back up his nose. Adelaide found it hard to keep a straight face.
Toshira was eager to assure Miss de Longe he wanted Andrew to complete the jetty—which meant he would not be willing to sell his shares. At her request, he provided a brief tour of his pearling emporium. Toshira’s wife and children were sorting and grading shell at the tables. On her way to the door Adelaide saw cabinets containing various items of jewellery. A heart-shaped pendant caught Adelaide's eye.
'May I try on the pendant?'
The pendant featured a beautiful pearl in the centre of the heart. She admired the delicate craftsmanship and asked how much it cost.
'So sorry. Not for sale.'
'I'll pay what you ask.'
'Is only for show.'
'Show?'
Toshira explained. Apart from Ah Choy and himself, there was no craftsman in the settlement capable of the delicate workmanship required to produce what was on display. These items had been sent back from Japan as samples to show buyers when they came to Namaga. Adelaide glanced wistfully at the pendant on her way out. 

When Glebe led Peewee into the compound Jess was told to stay outside. Jess was incredulous. 'You're going in there with no overseer?'
'I do not require you at this moment.'
Jess wagged his head in derisive amusement. 'Your funeral, Johnno.'
The riding crop came up sharply. ‘You say that one more time,’ Glebe warned.
Jess swung the door shut after him.
The new prisoners—mere youths—were now manacled to steel rings embedded in the stone wall about the yard. The sun beat down on them fiercely. The water pails within their reach were empty.  Flies swarmed about lacerations inflicted by shotgun pellets. One had a deep gash to the leg. Peewee noted the necklaces of emu feathers about their necks.
Peewee said, 'I will put medicine on your wounds.'
Both were surprised he spoke Gadgeri. One snarled, 'We don't need it.'
'You do, if you wish to survive in this place. '
'They will not keep us here. We are not worms.'
'You think the men in this place are worms?'
'They must be or they would not be here.'
Glebe interjected, 'What are you talking about?'
'I tell them they got to behave, boss. Got to explain little bit more yet.'
Glebe nodded his approval.
'You listen to me,' Peewee urged the youths. 'Maybe I can help you get out of here.' He turned back to John Glebe. 'They got to have some water, boss.'
'You will find a bucket over there at the tank.’ 
Leaving Peewee to provide the youths some water and treat their wounds, Glebe marched back to the compound door. His loud rap gained no response. He used the handle of his riding crop to pound on the observation panel. It finally slid open.
'Is that you, Mister Glebe?'
'Who the hell do you think it is?'
 The door was finally unlocked.
'Next time, keep the panel open.'
Jess sniggered as Glebe marched back to his office.
Peewee set the pail of water within reach of the youths. The older of the two demanded, 'Why should we listen to you, old man?'
'Because I know what they will do to you if you don't. It would be foolish for two Gadgeri novices to die for no reason.'
 'How do you know who we are?'
Peewee motioned to their necklaces. 'I have been to where you come from.'
They glanced at each other and then eyed him closely. Again, it was the older youth who spoke. 'What clan are you?'
'My people are the Namaga.'
Their reaction was immediate and unpleasant. They spat in his face.
Peewee sighed, picked up his cooliman and walked to the compound door. His heart heavy, and filled with a terrible sorrow, he made the long walk back to town. Instead of returning to the poinciana tree he continued on to the knoll and squatted there to dwell on the hatred so many had for his people, the Namaga, and what the gardeeya had inflicted on them all...
****
Before the gardeeya there were men with brown skins who came in fragile proas to harvest trepang. They called this shore Kaju Djawa and the sea cucumber they cured in bays and inlets they sold in the Moluccas to merchants from Asia where trepang was valued as an aphrodisiac. Peewee was still a boy when he saw a ship sail into the sound that was much larger than any proa.
Even the longboats that brought the strangers ashore from the ship were as large as some proas. The men in them had pale skin and their garb was colourful. Their hats impressed the elders who sent young Peewee down to the beach to find out their purpose. When they hefted barrels from the longboats and made obvious drinking motions, Peewee led the strangers to the wells on the side of the hill.
When they returned to the beach some chests were brought from the longboats and their spread out on the beach: beads, axes, sticks of tobacco and other items—none of which Peewee had ever seen before. The man with the biggest hat presented it to Peewee with a broad smile. Wearing the hat proudly, Peewee described what he had seen as best he could to the elders who wanted to know what the strangers wanted in exchange.
A delegation of elders trouped down to the beach, They were shown a small nugget. The elders nodded recognition. Many had seen karakara in places while on walkabout. Using pantomime and gestures, they conveyed to the strangers that kara-kara was to be found inland, in the Land of the Gadgeri.
The strangers were pleased to hear this. While they spoke a strange language, Peewee was blessed with a sharp intelligence and, with the aid of the man who gave him the hat, soon grasped the meaning of sigfnificant words to enhance their further exchange. Within a matter of days he could both understand and pronounce these words. He was even able to convey to the elders what the strangers wanted: to see the place where karakara lay strewn about.
And so it was arranged for a party of Namaga men, some carrying chests swinging from poles across their shoulders, to head inland with the strangers. Because he was now regarded as their interpreter and an engaging young fellow, Peewee was allowed to participate in the walkabout. The party paused briefly at camps along the way where chests were steadily divested of their contents, and the Namaga were accorded the welcome they deserved for spreading such largesse among the clans. The strangers were regarded with affection and respect.
Nobody could have anticipated what occurred when the strangers were shown the karakara that lay all about, in the Land of the Gadgeri. They went crazy. They emptied the chests and began filling them with what was not theirs to take. Peewee tried to explain to them the karakara must not be removed. That it was inhabited by spirits who would bring down terrible magic on any mortal who dare disturb them. That was when Peewee first witnessed the awesome power of the deathsticks.
Until that moment the strangers had not used their weapons, even to bring down game, leaving the Namaga to wonder why they carried the peculiar sticks on their shoulders. Those who did not fall to the deathsticks were forced to carry the chests, now laden with karakara. On their way back to the coast, Peewee managed to slip away and race ahead to alert his people. But he was already too late. Only his wary approach saved him from their fate.
The strangers had sent others of their kind ashore. But they were clad in rags and bore little semblance to those who came first. And they were camped a good distance up the hill from the first group. Peewee noticed that some of them wore hoods to conceal their faces. The strangers in colourful garb and impressive hats had established themselves just above the beach. He could see too, that every Namaga male had been put in chains.
That night Peewee got very little sleep. The screams from women being raped and the cries of anguish from their men kept him awake. This abuse was merely a harbinger of what was in store the following day when the party returned bearing those chests heavy with karakara. The chests were rowed out to the ship. Then some of the Namaga,  youths and young women,  were herded into the longboats. From the cover of trees about the knoll, young Peewee saw men killed, mothers and daughters raped, and children bludgeoned to death. Then the  last longboat headed back to the ship, leaving behind the strangers who were camped up on the hill.
Perhaps it was the heavy black cloud racing over the Land of the Namaga that  prompted the strangers to make a swift departure. Yet, even as the ship weighed anchor to make for the passage and the open sea, the rising wind tore limbs from the trees. Peewee was forced to lie there with his head down, clinging to tussocks as he watched the departing ship being flung about by the screaming wind. Then it entered the passage and was gone from view.
Peewee knew what was happening. The spirits were furious at the Namaga for helping the gardeeya remove the karakara from where it belonged. Huge waves flung themselves at the shore to come crashing down, tearing away yet more sandhills and spilling foam into the swamp. Entire trees were blown from the hill. Nor did the gardeeya escape the wrath of the spirits.The ship was driven against the reef out beyond North Head and South Point and there it sank with all on board.
Sadly, the Namaga who, like Peewee, had eluded captivity suffered a fate even more devastating than those on board that ship. Men, women and children succumbed to an evil magic that was brought on them by the strangers who remained behind. The terrible sickness spread among clans who would always blame the Namaga for foisting it upon them when they brought the strangers into their lands.
***
Frederick could only hazard a guess at the date. His fob watch had stopped while he was shivering under blankets in the cave. Emaciated by fever, he hunched on the river bank and prayed he was not too late for his rendezvous with Paddy. Timothy was also on the verge of collapse. The trek from the cave had taken its toll on both of them and they had eaten the last of their rations. There were only two bullets left for the rifle. They would not be able to fend off another attack.
Get here before dark, Paddy!
Frederick castigated himself for bringing this predicament upon Timothy. He had presumed it would be he who had to protect his companion during the expedition. Instead, it was Timothy who had taken care of the white explorer while he was ill. Frederick now realized that behind Timothy’s talk of spirits and magic there was the fabric of a culture that had ensured the survival of an entire people for thousands of years. Whether or not Timothy called them spirits or phantoms, the Gadgeri had reduced this expedition to a desperate bid for survival.
Above Frederick's head, clouds of twittering bats blackened the evening sky as they left their roosts. He glanced back to check that Timothy was sitting watch with the Martini-Henry. The Frederick began scanning the river again for sign of the paddle-barge.
Downwind of the camels, Waibiri watched the foreign worm point the shiny stick at an emu stalking to and fro. The camels munching on shoots nearby were all that prevented Waibiri from launching his attack. He had learned to be wary of these creatures. He had kept his distance from them during the trek from the cave to the river.
The clamour of the bats was so loud, even Waibiri’s keen ears failed to detect the sound of churning paddles as the Irish Princess rounded the junction in the river.
Frederick saw the paddle-barge first. ‘Timothy! He’s here!’
‘Orright, boss!’
Now Waibiri saw the approaching craft. He had never seen its like before but he sensed he could not risk postponing his attack any longer. He stepped from thicket to issue his challenge.
‘Gadgeri boh!’
Timothy spun around. Waibiri raised his spear. The Martini-Henry against his shoulder, Timothy squeezed the trigger. Waibiri was hurled backward as a crimson hole blossomed in his chest.
The rifle’s loud report brought Frederick racing from the river bank.
A wisp of smoke curled from the rifle’s barrel as Timothy stood gaping at the man he had just shot. Then Frederick eased the rifle gently from Timothy's grip.Yet to comprehend he was dying, Waibiri looked up at the intruder with hair like the sun.
His vision clouded as the First Warrior of the Gadgeri slipped away silently on  his final journey—to join the ancestors at their campfires up there in the night sky.
*****

BOOK III

Chapter 24
‘G’night, missus.’
‘Goodnight,’ Adelaide called back from the kitchen.
Peewee added his empty plate to others in the pail where they would soak over-night and went back to the poinciana where he assumed his habitual squat. Moments later a hand clamped over his mouth.
‘Nod if you understand my talk, old man,’ a voice murmured in his ear.
Peewee nodded.
‘If you cry out I will break your neck. Understood?’
Peewee nodded again.
The hand came away from his mouth. ‘You are Namaga, true?’
‘True.’
‘I am Jiriga of the Gadgeri. I must talk with you. ’
‘About your comrades?’
‘And other things’
Peewee motioned his head toward the pool of lamplight spilling from a bungalow window. ‘It is better we talk where the gardeeya cannot hear us.’
 ‘No tricks.’
‘I am too old for tricks,’ Peewee said dryly as he led Jiriga into the night.
****
The lights of Chinatown were a welcome sight for Andrew and Joe after their brief voyage up to the abandoned mission. The two men were bone weary, having slept little since they left the settlement. Joe made use of the lights to guide the Pixie to the water-front while Andrewn tidied up the cockpit. The full tide allowed Joe to negotiate the channel and berth at the pier. They furled sails, set fenders and hurried ashore; Joe eager to assure Margaret he was home again. Andrew made directly for the emporium intent on getting some sleep.
The instant he stepped through the doorway he discovered the stairs no longer swayed and creaked under foot. When he lit the lantern to enter his office realized the entire stairwell had been replaced, complete with a new banister. Grateful and impressed by what the carpenters had accomplished during his absence, Andrew set the lamp down on his desk. That was when he saw the package.
Andrew recognized it instantly. The carpenters must have chanced on it in the small cupboard under the stairwell during their renovations. The wrapping damaged—no doubt inadvertently—Andrew hefted the package up from the floor. The diving boots tumbled out. He did not have to look at the initials etched on each boot to know they were the very boots he had worn when he was a diver. There also seemed to be nothing wrong with them.
So why would Kaito send my boots up to Port Darwin for repair?
Slipping off his shoes to try them on, Andrew felt something tucked into the left boot. He reached inside and pulled out a small metal box with a serrated lid. Andrew eased the lid off what once contained wax matches to find the pearls wrapped in wool.
‘Shit.’
Andrew glanced at his watch.
It was a little after eleven and a Thursday night, which meant Suhara would be working at Chinaman’s—the gambling hall in Chinatown. Andrew tucked the pearls away and stowed his diving boots in the wardrobe before heading for Shinju Alley. As he had anticipated, at this late hour it was deserted and Suhara was not home. There was no lock on the door so he had no difficulty slipping inside.
In Chinatown, everyone was keenly aware of the risk of fire. Nobody left a lamp burning when they went out but there was enough light spilling from the shanty next door for Andrew to make out the entrance to Kaito’s room. He went immediately to the low bed and looked underneath. The diving boots he had seen there during his last visit were still there. Andrew slipped his fingers inside.
He was careful not to disturb anything on his way out.
****
LORD FRED DEAD?
Del Pastoral Company has taken out a lease of 75,000 acres in the Kimberley district of Western Australia. The company already owns extensive holdings in New South Wales, Queensland and the Northern Territory. It is a subsidiary of De Longe Enterprises based in London which has just launched a float for shares in a telegraph link with the Kimberley Coast. This is cause for concern here in Australia. Whoever controls our industries and communications must inevitably control our future. Henry de Longe argues, we colonials should be thankful there are the few like him willing to take the initiative. Yet surely it is premature for De Longe to be launching this float? The man he is counting on to map the telegraph link has not been heard from in  months. And given the hostile nature of the natives and the terrain where he went, one can only assume Lord Fred has perished somewhere out there in the vast Unknown.
The newspaper had been brought ashore from the coaler that delivered supplies to Namaga. Andrew read the article over breakfast. It prompted him to pay Ah Choy a visit. ‘Have you read this?'
Ah Choy nodded.
'You can't tell me this article was published without Henry's permission. So why would De Longe admit to the press he has not heard from Carnivon? Especially when he’s just launched a float to raise capital for the telegraph line?’
Ah Choy said, ‘What is the present value of Syndicate shares, Andrew?’
Andrew shrugged. ‘You tell me.’
‘It is ten per cent higher than it was when Arthur Lombard sold out to De Longe.’
‘It is?’
‘The newspaper is only ten days old and an entire bundle was delivered from the coaler. We seldom get such an excellent service in Namaga.’
‘Meaning, someone wanted to be sure we saw that article.’
‘It will bring down the share value considerably. That would provide an advantage to anyone who wants to purchase them. Whoever owns the syndicate owns this town.’ Ah Choy remarked, ‘Miss de Longe paid me a visit.’
‘To make you an offer?’
‘To inform me that she has replaced  Mister Preston-White as her father's agent in Namaga and has the authority to represent De Longe Enterprises in all matters.’
 ‘Anything else?’
‘I gather she also paid a visit to Toshira. He mentioned she was interested in a certain item in his jewellery display.’
‘So she’s made him an offer already.’
‘Now that is an assumption, Andrew. You've heard that old Chinese proverb haven't you?'
'Which one's that?'
Ah Choy smiled. 'Confucious say: only monkey gamble on assumptions.'
****
On his way back to the emporium Andrew spotted the registration number on the lugger at one of the piers. Sacks of shell were stacked along the pier, ready for transfer to a warehouse. Andrew walked over to hail the owner of N33. Invited to a steaming blend of coffee and rum, Andrew joined Allen on deck and raised his noggin in salute. The hot toddy made his eyes water.
‘When did you get in, Allen?’
‘Yesterday.’ 
With a drink in his hand Allen was a warm and jovial fellow. But Andrew knew him to be far from jovial out on the shell beds. Allen pressed his crew and divers hard.
‘So you’re finding shell out there,’ Andrew remarked.
‘Some,’ Allen conceded. ‘But the beds are mighty deep.’ He inclined his head toward the diver who was inspecting his air hose closely. ‘Hiroshi’s getting to be a real pain in the arse. He’s forever checking his equipment. And he refuses to dive without his lucky charm.’
‘You said the beds are deep.’
Allen shook his head in disgust. ‘It isn’t just that, Andrew. He’s stroppy with the pump tenders and he keeps belly-aching about bad karma. It upsets my crew. I’m about ready to piss him off.’
A master pearler had complete authority over his divers and crews and how he dealt with them was his business. So Andrew refrained from saying aloud that he thought that was a harsh decision. Instead, he asked, ‘Have you spoken to Tug lately?’
Allen nodded. ‘He’s worried. So is Isaac—all of ‘em. The fleet will stay out there until Festival but after that?’ Allen shrugged. ‘Anything you want me to pass on to Tug?’
‘I’d like to send him a note. Do you have something I can write on?’
‘Sure.’
Allen went to fetch pencil and paper.
Andrew weighed what to tell Tug.
In one of the diving boots under Kaito's bed he had found a wad of money and a brief note. The money confirmed what Andrew suspected when he found the pearls in one of his own boots. The note made clear who had been the go-between for Kaito and the buyer in Port Darwin. It was too late now to feed Ernest to the sharks. The clerk had fled Namaga. But some day the syndicate would catch up with him. In the meantime, it befell Andrew as the master pearler of Duggan Pearling Company to deal with the diver smuggling pearls off his vessels. He was thankful that Suhara had no knowledge of her brother’s larceny. She would not have left that wad of bills where it could so easily be stolen, otherwise. Yet her brother must suffer the rough justice that would be meted out to him on the shell beds.
 Allen brought pad and pencil up on deck.
Andrew nodded toward the diver who was still inspecting his equipment and asked, ‘Do you really want to get rid of Hiroshi?’
‘Too right, I do!’Allen answered.
‘I have a suggestion.’ 
****
‘There you are!'
Andrew almost jumped out of his office chair. ‘Thanks for having the stairs fixed,' he said ruefully. 'Now I never know when somebody’s coming. Tom, you might have knocked.'
'Why don't you close the door?' Tom countered.
'It’s about to fall off its hinges—another job for your carpenters.’
‘How was your trip to the mission?’
‘Pull up a chair. I want you to tell me what you think.’ 
Tom dragged a chair to the other side of the desk.
Andrew began, ‘I got a letter from the missionary society. They wrote to ask if the residence at Mission Point needed any repairs.’
'You raced up there just to find that out?'
'No no.’ Andrew took a cheroot from the thermidor on the desk. ‘The envelope was addressed to Mister Duggan so I thought it was meant for me. It wasn’t until I was half way down the first page that I realized it was intended for my father. I couldn't believe what I was reading!.’
Andrew chose that moment to light the cheroot. Tom knew that was a ploy to heighten his curiosity.
‘That's why I made the trip up to Mission Point—to have a look for myself. But when we got there I found the door to the chapel wedged shut. We couldn’t get the damn thing open. But Joe had enough rope on the Pixie to rig a hoist for me to shin up to the opening  above the door. The priest told me, when I was a boy, that hole was cut into the wall so the sun would shine through and on the altar, every Easter. Anyway, there’s no glass in that window and you’ll never guess what I saw when I looked inside.’
Tom folded his arms. 'I won’t, so why don’t you just tell me?'
'Shell. The entire altar has been decorated with mother-of-pearl. And instead of the few old benches I remembered, there were decent pews. I used the rope to lower myself inside and saw they’d been treated to prevent termites destroying them. It must have cost a small fortune to ship in those pews and decorate the entire altar.’
‘So?’
‘So it didn't cost the missionaries one penny.’ Andrew wagged the cheroot as if to emphasise his next point. ‘My father donated the prime quality shell, imported the pews and shipped it all up to Mission Point.'
'You didn't know?'
'Not until I read that letter from the mission society. What do you make of it?'
'It sounds to me like a decent gesture. Why are you so worked up about it?'
'Because my father never wanted the chapel there in the first place.’ Andrew wagged his head in bemusement. ‘Why did he go to all that expense and effort when he  blamed the missionaries for my mother's death?’
‘He did?’
‘I won't get into that.’ Andrew ground out the cheroot. ‘I have to find some explanation, Tom, so I'm planning a trip to Whisper Bay.'
‘When?
' During the festival. I figure you’ll be able to handle things without me.’
 Tom nodded. 'Do you still want me to give the men weekends off?'
'They’ve sure earned it.'
'The syndicate won't like it.'
'Those men have put in ten hours a day, six days a week since they got here. They deserve a couple of Saturdays off during the festival.'
'I'm not saying they don't,' Tom clarified. 'I'm just worried what Isaac will do.’
‘The funds have already been approved. I’ll make up an extra set of pay envelopes before I go, just in case I’m not back in time to do that the following Friday. You’ll find the envelopes under the floorboard.’ Andrew motioned to the floorboard the safe was resting on.
****
Glebe watched while the prisoners were ushered into the cages. The overseers slid doors shut and locked them. Arms reached through the bars into the trough outside each cage for loaves of damper and chunks of roast pork. Glebe checked his clip-board to ensure all the prisoners were accounted for and then marched from the compound with overseers trailing in his wake. Outside the Watch Room entrance he tucked the riding crop under one arm and stood on the uppermost step to address the men.
Jess nudged Clive. 'Look at him. He thinks he's a bloody brigadier.'
'We’ll have to salute next,' Clive sniffed. 'What's he up to now?'
'I think we're about to find out,' Jess said, darkly.
'Is everyone here?' Glebe asked unnecessarily. When nobody uttered a word he continued, ‘Due to circumstances beyond my control I had to lay off some men. I have retained those of you who have worked here the longest.'
'And you ain't one of 'em!' Clive shouted.
Glebe ignored him. 'And now that I have had time to evaluate how best to handle the workload, I have drawn up a new roster.’ 
'What's wrong with the roster we've already got?' Jess demanded.
'It favours some and is unfair to others,’ Glebe snapped. ‘You, Jess, have not done a night shift in months.'
'Mott set it up that way so—‘
'Mister Mott is not in charge now. You will begin night shift on Monday evening. Or would you prefer I reinstate one of the men I laid off to take your place?'
'I didn't say that!'
'Then I expect you to show up for duty on Monday and on time.'
Jess choked back his anger.
Glebe looked down at his clipboard. 'Jess will remain on day shift through Sunday. Clive, you will also work that Sunday.'
Clive shook his head in protest. ‘No way! Sundays I meet my mates at the pub. You can't do that to me, Johnno!'
Glebe’s face mottled with anger. ‘Anyone who calls me Johnno again will no longer have a job here at the compound.’ He pointed the riding crop at Clive. ‘You will be here to work on Sunday or you don't work here at all.'
****
Adelaide was down on her knees pinning up the dress she was making for Dora when Andrew paid her a visit.
‘Good afternoon, Miss de Longe.’
‘Why it’s Mister Duggan! I thought you had left Namaga for good.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see your note until this morning.’
‘I won’t be a moment. Please come up and take a seat.’
Adelaide finished pinning up the dress and told the maid to change out of it in the bedroom. She asked Andrew if he would like some lemonade and went to the kitchen to fill two glasses. When she brought them to the veranda, Andrew had opened the news-paper on the table to the article on page two.
‘Thanks.’ He took the glass and nodded to the newspaper. ‘Any comment?’
‘I have never read such rubbish in my life.’
‘Rubbish?’
‘It implies my father is taking advantage of people who live in these colonies.’
‘Don’t you think Mathews has a point?’
‘Who?’
‘The fellow who wrote the article.’
‘I did not bother to note his name. He obviously wants to stir up controversy. But nobody back in Britain is preventing anyone in these colonies from doing what my father is doing. But the hard truth is, nobody else here is doing it. And before you challenge me on that, I shall give you a perfect example: the Namaga Syndicate.’
‘Now wait a minute—‘
‘The syndicate board,’ she cut in, ‘has the funds to build the jetty. But the board turned their backs on your father when he sought their help to finish it. And the only reason you are getting those funds today is because my father plans to build an abattoir in this town—which they could have done had they the gumption.’
Adelaide did not allow Andrew a chance to respond. She had her dander up.
‘And now, because De Longe Enterprises has bought into the syndicate, those who care less about what becomes of this town are counting the profits they expect to reap. Will they contribute toward building the abattoir? Like hell they will! They’ll grab what they can and sail off on their luggers to look for easy pickings elsewhere.’
Adelaide’s eyes sparkled with anger.
Andrew waited until she took a sip of lemonade.
‘All I’m saying, Miss de Longe, is your father’s interest in this town does not give him the right to take it over.’
‘Where on earth did you get that notion?’
‘From you,’ he told her. ‘While I was away you approached Ah Choy, Toshira, the banker, the chandler and even Naomi. I came here to save you the walk down the hill and tell you point blank: my shares are not for sale.’
‘You could have saved yourself the walk up the hill. De Longe Enterprises has no interest in buying your shares.’
Andrew was caught completely off guard. ‘It doesn’t?’
‘Mister Duggan, my reason for visiting the people you mentioned was to separate those who are committed to this town’s future from those who are not. That is why the writer of that article annoys me. He fails to understand that it requires men of vision like my father to encourage others to believe in themselves and their future. Until the people of this continent are prepared to develop and make full use of its resources, what right do they have to complain if men like my father take the initiative?’
Adelaide’s sentiment echoed Andrew’s own feelings—about Namaga and Australia as a whole. He was a staunch supporter of the growing cause to unite the colonies in a single federation independent of the Crown. His mind flicked back to the newspaper article. ‘Regardless of our views, Miss de Longe, it must have come as a shock to read what he said about Lord Fred.’
 ‘What do you mean?’
‘We all know that he meant Major Carnivon.’
Adelaide flung up her hands in exasperation. ‘I wish that writer would get his facts straight. Freddy is not a lord. Nor will he ever become one. Richard, his older brother will inherit the peerage. I do hope that article is not published in England. Lord Carnivon will be most upset.’
Again, Andrew was caught off-guard. ‘I gained the impression Major Carnivon is a close friend of yours.’
‘Indeed he is.’
‘Then surely the prospect he may have perished must have upset you?’
‘Freddy isn’t dead.’
‘He isn’t?’ Andrew added hastily, ‘I mean, how do you know?’
‘Freddy has survived unscathed from what many would regard as impossible situations. He’s like that, ’Adelaide smiled—the smile making Andrew even more envious of Major Frederick Carnivon. ‘Should anything happen to Freddy, I would know. Now, may I ask you something?’
Andrew nodded woodenly.
‘I have been making a dress for Dora to wear to this festival. But she is vague when it comes to what the festival is all about. Please enlighten me.’
 ‘It lasts ten days. During Festival things get a little wild around here.’ Andrew knew that was an under-statement if ever there was one. ‘On the eve of Festival there’s a lantern walk. I’d like you to join me—and for dinner in the hotel beer garden afterward.’
Adelaide did not hesitate. ‘It sounds wonderful. What shall I wear?’
‘Something that will go with pearls,’ was Andrew’s reply.
*****

Chapter 25
Peewee's face creased in a wry smile when Jiriga joined him on the knoll.
‘So you require my help after all.’
‘The gardeeya guard the place day and night,’ Jiriga said, ruefully.
Though Peewee had tried to tell the Gadgeri warrior it was impossible for his comrades to escape from the prison compound, Jiriga had just wasted days and nights lying on his belly watching the comings and goings of the gardeeya.
The pindan scrub edging the bare claypan that surrounded the high perimeter fence was the only place where Jiriga could observe their activity without being seen by the guard on the gate. Some twenty paces inside the gate was the Watch House. Beyond that, was the wall about the actual compound. Finally, Jiriga admitted that even if he managed to scale the outer fence undetected,  the high smooth wall might be too difficult for him to climb.
‘You said the gardeeya allow you in there,’ Jiriga mused aloud. ‘If you speak to my comrades—‘
‘They will not listen to me.’
‘They will if you tell them Jiriga said they must.’
‘I can only go in there when the gardeeya send for me.’
‘When will that be?’
‘When the spirits decide,’ was Peewee’s ambiguous reply.
****
The black pennant fluttering at the foremast of a lugger as she made for the water-front held no meaning for the workmen on the jetty. But for everyone else in Namaga, its significance was instant.
Andrew broke off his meeting with Tom at the mole to head back to the quay. The  steam locomotive busy out on the jetty and there being no hansom available, Andrew had to walk. By the time he got to the quay the anxious crowd was dispersing. Andrew stepped aboard N49. 
‘It weren’t Tug,’ were Duke’s first words.
Andrew sighed with relief. ‘So where is Tug?'
‘With Isaac on the Salome. They’re trying to find decent shell.’
‘Did Tug get my note?’ 
‘He wasn’t happy when he read it. Allen’s mighty hard on divers and Kaito’s part of the family, so to speak. But Tug figured you must have good reason to switch Kaito with Hiroshi so he made the exchange anyway.’
‘So that was Hiroshi you brought in?’
Duke wagged his head. ‘Kaito.’
‘Kaito?’
‘It was his first dive for Allen.’ Duke’s face hardened. ‘He said Kaito came up too fast. I don’t believe it. Kaito would never make that mistake. For my money, Allen brought him up too fast.’
‘So why didn’t Allen bring him in?’
‘Because the cheap son of a bitch said he was now short one diver and we should give Hiroshi back to him.’
‘Jesus. I hope you didn’t.’
‘After we got Kaito on board, Tug told Allen to piss off. We put Hiroshi on the Salome to help Isaac.’ 
‘How is Kaito?’
‘Bad. He can’t use his legs and he’s hurting.’ Duke frowned. ‘I didn’t see Suhara down there on the quay.’
‘She’s probably over at Chinaman’s setting up for the night.’
‘Somebody must have told her by now,’ Duke guessed.
‘And there’s something I have to tell you,’ Andrew said. ‘Let's have a drink first.’ 
The hotel lounge deserted, Andrew led Duke to a table so they could continue the conversation in privacy. There, Andrew revealed to Duke how he had chanced on the pearls in his diving boot and his subsequent check of the pair in Kaito’s room. ‘The money and Ernest’s note explain how they were smuggling the pearls up to Darwin. What I can’t figure is how Kaito got hold of my boots.’
‘I can clear that up,’ Duke told Andrew. 'Bull borrowed Kaito’s boots to make the dive on the wreck. Since Bull didn't surface again, Kaito didn’t get his boots back. Tug loaned Kaito yours until he got another pair. I guess he must have forgotten that Kaito still had them.’
That mystery solved, Andrew asked, ‘So what do we do about the shell-opener or whoever was supplying the pearls to Kaito?’
Duke’s smile was almost sad.
‘Andrew, there ain’t a shell-opener, air-pump tender or diver in the entire fleet who doesn’t steal pearls. The question is: how much does he steal?  Isaac says if they steal no more than ten per cent he has nothing to complain about. And Tug reckons it’s better to have a good diver who steals ten percent than a lousy diver who steals nothing.’
****
The Irish Princess chugged into Namaga Sound and made straight for the floating dock. Leaving Bung Eye on board to make sure nothing was pilfered, Paddy walked along the jetty—a substantial portion of the decking now in place—to rap on the site office door and ask where he could find whoever was in charge of Duggan Pearling Company.
‘Perhaps I can help you?’ the foreman volunteered.
Paddy showed Tom the lading bill for mid-channel buoys, weights and chains that he had brought down from Cambridge Gulf. ‘I was stupid enough to take them off the freighter that delivered them to the depot by mistake,’ he grumbled. 'The lading bill says the stuff was ordered by Duggan Pearling Company.’
‘The man you’re looking for is Andrew Duggan.’
‘Where do I find him?’
Tom pointed across the mangroves to the waterfront. ‘Try the Duggan Emporium.’
Paddy trudged along Pearl Way to the emporium. The Malay in the warehouse directed him to the pub. There, Sally told him Andrew had been and gone.
'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—‘
'You might try his bungalow,’ Sally suggested. ‘It’s the one with the white gate at the top of the hill.'
Paddy was on the verge of collapse by the time he got to the bungalow.
‘I’m afraid Andrew isn’t here,’ Adelaide told him.
Paddy cried, 'Where does one find this fellow?'
The Irishman looked so weary and dispirited, Adelaide invited him to a drink of lemonade on the veranda. When she came back from the kitchen, Paddy asked, 'This is the Duggan bungalow, is it not?'
'It is.'
'A Mrs Ferguson works here?'
'She does,' Adelaide confirmed.
Paddy removed a small envelope from his shirt pocket. 'This is for some groceries Mrs Ferguson provided Major Carnivon. He said he forgot to leave payment—‘
‘Did you say, Major Carnivon?’
‘I did…is there something wrong?’
‘You’ve actually seen him?’
'I delivered provisions to him up the Victoria River.’
Adelaide was stunned. 'Is he ... all right?'
Wondering what he had said or done to cause this woman such distress, Paddy admitted, 'I've seen him looking better.’ Her face white as a sheet, Paddy suggested, 'Perhaps you ought to sit down, miss ... miss - .'
'De Longe.’
‘De Longe?’ Paddy stared at her. 'You wouldn’t be Adelaide de Longe?’
‘That’s my Christian name.’
Paddy was equally shaken. ‘Miss de Longe, the major gave me a letter for you.’
‘I’m… I’m most anxious to read it.’
Paddy tugged at one ear. ‘I’m afraid you can’t.’
‘Why not?’
 ‘Because it’s on its way to London,’ Paddy told her.
‘Why on earth did he send it there when I’m here?’
 ‘Because he doesn’t know you’re here. Neither did I. You see, when I got back to the depot I sent the letter off on a freighter. The major thinks you’re in England.'
****
Margaret Ferguson knew what it was like to be a shell widow. She had lived in dread of what might happen to Joe when he was diving for shell. The endless days and nights—the nights sometimes unbearable—waiting for his safe return from the sea had almost destroyed their marriage. The day Joe heeded her pleas to abandon the business, Margaret went down on her knees and thanked God. Nevertheless, she had not forgotten what it was like to be a "shell widow". Margaret had an abiding compassion for the kin of pearl divers and felt, strongly, that master pearlers whose fortunes were derived from men who risked their lives ought to offer far more than mere sympathy if something happened to them.
'Yes?' was Sarah’s cool greeting when Margaret knocked on her door.
Good afternoon to you, to.  Aloud, Margaret said, ‘Mrs Weinberg, you may have heard about the diver who was brought in from the shell beds suffering the bends?’
‘I have,’ was the reply. ‘So?’
‘The Women's Association is raising funds on his behalf.’
'Charity will not reduce his pain,’ Sarah pointed out, stiffly.
Steel crept into Margaret’s voice. ‘Kaito’s pain can be reduced if doctors in Port Darwin or Perth prescribe suitable medication. But Suhara cannot afford—‘
'Suhara?'
'His sister. Suhara wants to take Kaito for treatment –‘
'How much money does the woman need, Mrs Ferguson?'
'Well, she will have to accompany her brother…‘
But Sarah was not listening to her. She nodded toward the carriage waiting outside her front gate. ‘Is that carriage available?’ 
'The blacksmith loaned it to the Women’s Association so we can—‘
‘Raise funds,’ Sarah finished impatiently. ‘I can save you a lot of time and effort.'
‘Pardon?’
'If you take me to this Suhara.’
Margaret wondered if she had heard Sarah correctly. ‘Mrs Weinberg, Suhara will require enough money not only for Kaito’s treatment but also to pay for their berths on a vessel and accommodation. You are willing to cover those costs?’
'That depends on Suhara. Shall we go?'
Margaret could see no reason to object. As the coach conveyed them down the hill she tried to fathom what was going on in Sarah Weinberg’s mind. Margaret had once confided in Joe, 'There’s something distinctly odd about the woman.'
Joe had laughed. ‘'Because she married a man old enough to be her father?’
Margaret conceded the circumstance may be a contributing factor. Over the years she had gained the impression that Sarah lived in a world of her own making. Sarah refused to participate in the Women’s Association or its various functions. Margaret had been hired by Sarah to cook for her on special occasions and, when she posed even a simple question about a recipe or how many were expected for dinner, it took Sarah an age to respond. It was if she was in another place in her mind and had difficulty finding her way back from wherever it had gone.
'This is where Suhara lives, Mrs Weinberg.’
'Pardon?’
‘I said: We are here.'
'Oh.'
Suhara said, 'Good afternoon,' but did not invite them in. 'I have heard that you are trying to help my brother, Mrs Ferguson. I must tell you that we don't want charity but thank you for your concern.’
'Oh dear,' Margaret murmured. ‘I did not mean to cause offence.’
Sarah cut in, 'I wish to speak to Suhara privately.'
Margaret took the hint. 'I'll wait in the carriage.'
'I am not here to offer charity,’ Sarah declared. ‘I want to trade. Can we talk?’
Suhara allowed Sarah into her living room. Sarah ignored the cushioned seat that was offered, her gaze travelling over Suhara's figure. She could see why men were so attracted to this young woman. Sarah’s glance flicked to the other room. Through the open doorway she could see a figure lying on the cot, his face creased in pain.
‘Kaito?’ she asked.
‘Kaito,’ Suhara nodded.
Sarah changed the subject abruptly. 'Andrew Duggan is one of your ... clients?'
'Why do you ask?’ was Suhara's wary response.
‘I am prepared to pay what you need to take care of your brother if you perform a service for me.’
‘What service?’
Sarah explained what she had in mind. ‘Well?’
Suhara’s glance went to her brother in agony on the cot and then back to Sarah. ‘It can be arranged.’
‘Then you tell me how much you need and that too will be arranged.’ Almost as an afterthought, Sarah remarked, ’I would like some of the perfume you are wearing.’
‘You may have the bottle.’
‘When can we do this?’
Suhara had to think for a moment. Then she remembered that Andrew would be throwing a party for his foreman at Chinaman’s…
****
Paddy’s accounts of his journey down the coast from Darwin with Frederick—liberally spiked with his lively humour—had both of them laughing. He saw no reason to mention that Frederick and Timothy were being attacked by hostile natives when he met them at the river. Or that he had transported them a good distance up-river from their rendezvous to throw off further pursuit. Paddy's anecdotes were interrupted when a note arrived from Andrew inquiring if the owner of the paddle-barge was looking for him at the bungalow. At the end of his note, Andrew had added, 'Will Friday night suit you for dinner?'
Adelaide asked Paddy, 'When does the major expect to get back to Namaga?’
‘December was his estimate.'
'December! I leave for England in November.’
Paddy remembered the major was heading for the telegraph line. ‘Perhaps I can get a message to him…‘
****
Chinaman’s gambling hall was crowded. A blue haze of smoke from cigars, pipes, and cheroots hung over the tables despite window shutters opened to admit the night breeze. Namaga’s golden maidens were kept busy serving the drinks and when they arrived, gamblers flourished their money to demonstrate they could afford what other service might be available.
Andrew had arranged privately with Ah Choy for a tempting girl to cater for Tom's every whim. Tom could hardly keep his mind on poker. The girl massaged his shoulders, re-lit his cheroots and stroked his thighs. Her fingers were having a noticeable effect on him. Finally, with a glazed expression on his face, Tom tossed in his cards and paid no further attention to the game.
Invited to help celebrate his thirtieth birthday, Willie and Alfie envied Tom sitting there with a golden maiden on his lap. Yet neither would have been surprised if he was still a virgin. Tom was shy by nature and, much as he enjoyed the girl’s attentions, it was clear to his mates that they embarrassed him. Tom was relieved when Suhara came over to their table and told the girl to bring another tray of drinks. 
‘How‘s Kaito?’ Andrew asked.
‘He’s feeling better now that we have raised the money to get him to Perth.’
‘Already?’
Suhara nodded.
‘Will you be at the cemetery tomorrow night?’ Andrew asked.
‘Of course.’ Suhara motioned to Ah Choy sitting at the table reserved exclusively for his use. 'Ah Choy has invited you to join him for a brandy.’
 Immaculate in his pearler’s whites, Ah Choy motioned Andrew to the vacant chair across from him. His gaze roved over the smoke, the rattle of dice, the click of mah-jongg tiles and the activity at the tables. He said nothing until Suhara had served two snifters of brandy and left them to their conversation.
Ah Choy ventured, 'The luggers will be in soon. You know what that means.’
‘We’ll have enough board members in town to provide a quorum.’
‘And should Miss de Longe make an offer?'
'She’ll make it—that’s for sure.’ 
Ah Choy twirled the brandy in his snifter. 'Perhaps I should put it another way. If the lady is not available to sway those who would be swayed ....'
‘Are you suggesting we lock her in the boab tree until Festival is over?' 
'That would be a trifle extreme,’ Ah Choy conceded. He scanned the tables again to ensure the girls were keeping the gamblers gambling, ‘It occurred to me that during the festival, our town is no place for an unattached lady of quality. Surely Miss de Longe would prefer to spend the time elsewhere?’
‘Like, where?’ Andrew posed.
‘I was thinking of a pristine paradise up on the cape, perhaps?'
'You mean, Whisper Bay.’
Ah Choy allowed a smile.
‘You crafty bastard!'
Ah Choy inclined his head. 'Thank you for the compliment.'
****
Andrew had some difficulty climbing the stairs to his office. He fumbled for the lantern but could not find it in the dark.
'Androo?'
'Suhara?'
'You said you wanted me to come.'
'I did?'
Suhara had served his last drink before he left the gambling hall. 
'Did that girl take care of Tom?'
'Oh yes,' Suhara assured. The cot squeaked beneath her.
'What are you doing?'
'I’m here to make you feel good.'
'But I haven't paid you.' 
'You don’t have to pay me. You like?’
'I like ... I like ....'
She helped him undress. His eyes closed. At the edge of sleep, Andrew thought he heard whispers. The drug slipped into his drink now taking effect, he could only lie there meekly as fingers moved sensually over his body. They found what they were seeking. His eyes remained closed as soft hair brushed lightly over his belly and thighs.
In the morning he woke with a ravenous appetite and the fragments of an erotic dream flitting through his mind. Then he noticed the distinctive perfume lingering in the alcove.What happened last night was far more than some lurid fantasy.
****
The first item demanding his attention that morning was the mid-channel buoys brought down from the depot. Since the Irish Princess with her winches and workable platform was ideal for the task, Andrew paid the Irishman to disperse them. Then Andrew went to meet the luggers coming in from the shell beds. Seeing Peregrine gliding to her pier along the waterfront, he hurried in that direction.
Rodney shook his hand warmly. ‘It’s been seven years since I last saw you.’
 ‘More than seven, Red Rod. When do you expect Tug to get here?’
‘Tug’s gone looking for more shell.’
‘What? During the festival?’
‘That’s what he told us. Are you coming to the pub?’
‘Hadn’t you better get home and see your wife first?’
Rodney declared, ‘With us married blokes, thirst comes first. Will you join me?’
‘After I get to the bank. See you in an hour or so.’
The barquentine that brought the carnival people every festival with their tents and animals also brought a stack of mail for Andrew to wade through. Then he went to the bank.The banker’s plea he did not have enough coin to meet the additional withdrawal for wages fell on deaf ears.
‘Wilf, the men are paid for the most part in promissory notes issued by your bank. Nearly all  the notes find their way back to your bank via the pub or China-town. I’ll round out the second set of wages so the entire payment can be made in notes. And while we’re talking about that, you can dig out some of those bank notes drawn on the Commercial Bank for Tom's pay.’
It was not until around two o’clock—more than an hour later than they had agreed upon— that Andrew made it to the pub to have a drink with Rodney. The crew of Peregrine exchanged meaningful glances when he entered the saloon.
‘Where’s your skipper?’ Andrew asked.
‘He went to deal with his missus.’
‘We were going to have a drink together.’
‘He said for you to wait. He’ll be right back.’
Seeing Ah Choy beckon him, Andrew took his rum to the lounge.
‘Courtney sent me a note,’ Ah Choy announced. ‘He wants to set a minimum price for Syndicate shares.’
‘Somebody must have showed him that article in the newspaper.’
‘Have you invited Miss de Longe up to Whisper Bay?’
‘I just learned Tug won’t be back here right away.’
‘Why do you need him?’
‘If she goes she’ll demand a chaperone.’
Ah Choy clicked his tongue in dismay. ‘You disappoint me, Andrew. We are speaking of a woman accustomed to doing precisely what she wants. Surely you can enamour her with the prospect of an idyllic escape from this den of iniquity?’
 ‘She’s got a mind of her own.’
‘Then use some of that charm you inherited from your father. And remember—faint heart never won fair maiden.’
‘Who wrote that?’
Before Ah Choy could reply, Rodney came striding into the lounge.
‘Andrew!’ he bellowed. ‘I want a word with you!’
‘I’ll be right there, Rodney. We’ll talk about this later, Ah Choy.’
Andrew rose from the table.
Rodney’s round-house punch caught him completely off-guard.
Fortunately, Andrew’s reflexes were quick. The punch merely grazed the side of his head as he ducked under it. Ah Choy deftly grabbed his drink to step aside. Then Andrew was too busy fending off more punches to ask Rodney what he was upset about. Customers from the saloon bar crowded into the lounge to watch the fight. 
Rodney landed a blow that rattled Andrew’s teeth. He managed to connect with his left hook but Rodney merely grunted as blood spurted from his nose. Then Terry was between them. He bounced Rodney off his huge girth and shunted Andrew aside. 
‘I’ll kill him!’ Rodney panted.
‘After you’ve had a drink,’ Terry ordered. ‘Sally! Two beers.’
She brought them promptly.
Terry handed a beer to each and told them to down it immediately. Then he asked what the fight was about. To which, Andrew replied, ‘I haven’t a clue.’
Rodney growled, ‘It’s about my wife and you know it.’
‘What about her?’
‘You and her have been having it off!‘
‘We’ve what?’
Sally intervened, ‘I know what this is all about.’
‘I’m glad somebody does,’ Andrew muttered.
Sally turned to Rodney. ‘Your wife has not been having an affair with Andrew—or anyone else.’
‘That’s not what I heard!’
‘What you heard was old gossip. I bet Naomi knows nothing about it.’
Rodney frowned. For that was precisely what Naomi had told him.
‘But they were seen together! My missus was stark naked!’
‘Is that what you’re on about?’ Andrew demanded. ‘For Chris’ sake, she was pissed as a parrot. All I did was pick her up from the lawn and put her to bed. Joe Ferguson was with me. Naomi probably doesn’t remember a damn thing.’
‘Satisfied?’ Sally demanded.
Rodney looked about in confusion.
Terry added, with no-nonsense determination, ‘Now you can pay me for two beers and the damaged furniture.’
****
Adelaide’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Your face!’
‘I walked into a Rodney round-house punch.’
‘So I heard.’ Adelaide almost giggled. ‘You are a sight.’
‘So are you, Miss de Longe.’
‘Did I put on the wrong dress?’
‘The dress is fine. You look beautiful.’ Stepping up to the veranda, Andrew folded the umbrella and set the lantern he was carrying down on the table. ‘I should have known we’d get a shower tonight. It always does the eve of festival.’
‘Do let me have a look at that cut over your eye.’
‘The cut’s fine. I stopped by Toshira’s on the way here. His wife put something on it. This is for you.’ Andrew took a jewellery box from his pocket. ‘Open it.’
Mystified, Adelaide undid the fine thread wrapped about the box and eased back the lid to see the pendant with the pearl she had admired so much.‘But Toshira said it was not for sale.’
‘Nor was it,’ Andrew confirmed. ‘Toshira agreed it would look far better on you than displayed behind glass.’
Adelaide looked up at Andrew’s face. He smiled awkwardly, the black eye making the smile almost comical. ‘It’s from you, isn’t it?’
‘Me and Toshira,’ he told her. ‘Ah Choy is not the only one who appreciated your efforts to save that boy in the swamp. Want help with the clasp?’
‘Please.’
Andrew fastened the clasp behind her neck. ‘Perfect!’ he announced. ‘Let’s go.’ 
His umbrella shielding them from the light rain, Andrew and Adelaide joined the lantern procession when it passed the front gate. From the brow of the hill it followed a path across the slope to the divers’ cemetery. The shower passed and everyone furled their umbrellas to light candles that were set down on various gravestones. With the candles, they placed tiny bottles of saki and donations to the families of divers who had perished on the shell beds. Andrew showed Adelaide to the obelisk in memory of his father. He asked her to wait there while he spoke to Suhara.
‘I am sorry about what happened to your brother.’ he said.
Suhara was looking down at her father’s grave. She replied, ‘Even though you knew that Kaito deserved his punishment?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘After they brought him home, Kaito told me what he had been doing.’
‘What happened out there was an accident, Suhara.’
Suhara looked up at him.
Andrew insisted, ‘Allen, the others… they didn't know he was stealing.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Yes.’
‘More fool you.’ Suhara took a deep breath. ‘I am leaving Namaga.’
‘When?’
‘On the ship that came in this afternoon.’
‘So soon?’
Her eyes rested on his face. ‘For years I have wanted to leave. There is only one thing that kept me here… but it was not to be.’ Suhara’s gaze shifted to Adelaide who was now talking to Toshira. ‘She is very beautiful.’
‘Yes… she is.’ Andrew took from his pocket the small package containing the pearls and the money he had removed from the Kaito’s boots. ‘Something to help you and your brother make ends meet.’
Suhara accepted the gift, ‘Did I tell you that Bull took care of us after our father’s death?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘There are many things about him I do not know.’
‘You are still as naïve about this place as you were when you left seven years ago, Andrew.’
 ‘I shall miss you, Suhara.’
‘Be careful, Andrew. Do not let the curse on this town destroy you.’
****
With the liberal use of coloured lanterns, Sally had converted the hotel beer garden into an entrancing fairyland. Andrew ushered Adelaide to the table he had reserved for them. They were greeted from the next table by an all-too-familiar chorus.
'Happy festival, Andrew. Happy festival, Miss de Longe.'
‘Happy festival ladies,’ Andrew returned to Agnes, Nancy, Daphne, Lorraine, Grace and Claire. Then he asked, ‘Where’s Naomi?’
'Rodney’s home,' Agnes tittered.
'She dragged him off to bed, eh?'
The ladies were suitably shocked.
Andrew turned his backs on the ladies wagging their fans in agitation. ‘Maybe now, they'll leave us alone,' he grinned.
'I wish they had found somewhere else to dine tonight.' 
'There’s nowhere else to go in this town. We’ll pretend they aren't here.' Andrew summoned the cook who doubled as waiter at the hotel. 'Wong!'
Wong’s pigtail flipped to the other side of his head when he turned toward them.
'Hullo Mistah Androo. Hullo, Missee.' Wong bowed politely. The pigtail flipped over the other ear. 'You wanna ordah tuckah now?'
'We’d better, or you won’t have any left in the kitchen. Right, Wong?'
'Good ideah. You ordah foh lady, Mistah Androo?' Wong turned to Adelaide and again the pigtail flew. Then he beamed at Adelaide to reveal buck teeth. The eyes behind thick lenses of his spectacles were huge and round.
 Andrew asked, 'Do you mind, Miss de Longe?'
Adelaide barely managed to choke down the mirth bubbling inside her. Wong grinning with his buck teeth and pigtail flapping this way and that—it took a supreme effort to keep from bursting into laughter. ‘Please do!’ she pleaded.
'Wong!' Andrew began. 'What's on tonight?'
'I got numbah one fly lice. Plentee clab.'
'You've always got fried rice. Blue crab or mud crab?'
'Broo clab.'
'Sounds good to me. Broo clab for you, Adelaide?'
'Broo clab?'
'I mean blue crab.'
Adelaide nodded and shoved the serviette in her mouth.
'Blue crab for Missee and me,' Andrew ordered.
'Two broo clab,' Wong echoed.
'Got any oysters?'
'We got some lock oystah! I keep for you. Got numbah one sauce. Then I got big fellah speshal for Hung Ting. You savvy, Hung Ting, Mistah Androo?'
'Chinese feast. Right, Wong?'
'Right! You get pohk. You get shlimp. You get this one lotus what-you-call-him. And noodles. You betcha you get noodles! Plurry plentee!'
'Perfect! And you tell Terry I want a number one bottle of wine. Chop chop!'
'Chop chop, Mistah Androo.'
Wong trotted away. Andrew turned to Adelaide, his smile changing to a frown of consternation. 'Are you all right?'
Adelaide's face was turning purple.  She removed the serviette and gasped for air. 'Fried lice! Broo clab! Wight or wong? Help!' Adelaide gasped.
Wong was suddenly at their table again, this time with a bottle of wine. He held it up. 'This one numbah one with broo clab!' 
Adelaide screamed with laughter.
Wong peered at her through his thick lenses. ‘Missee okee-dokey?’
'The wine will do just fine, Wong.'
Wong set down the bottle, handed Andrew a corkscrew and went off shaking his head, the pigtail flapping from side to side. Adelaide wiped tears from her eyes. 'Please distract me,' she pleaded, 'or I’ll never stop laughing.'
'What shall I talk about?'
'You were telling me about Whisper Bay.’
‘So I was. I think you should accept Delilah's invitation and pay her a visit.'
'It is tempting,' Adelaide allowed.
‘Especially now,’ Andrew stressed. ‘Things can get rough during the festival.’
Wong brought the food to their table: rock oysters, blue crab, shrimp, pork, rice, and things that looked suspicious but tasted delicious. Throughout the meal, Adelaide was aware of a Sarah’s green eyes boring into her back. She refused to allow anything to spoil this magic evening. Terry came over to offer an after-dinner drink but Andrew declined.
'I've got a payroll to make up,' he told Terry.
Terry glanced at Adelaide then back to Andrew. ‘Tonight?'
‘And I have to make an early start tomorrow.'
‘Miss de Longe?’
‘I have had more than enough to drink, Terry, but thank you for the offer.
He set the bill down in front of Andrew. 'Do you want Sally to make up a hamper for your trip?'
'I’ll ask her on my way out. Thanks.'
The publican moved on. Andrew turned to Adelaide.
'I have to tell Sally what I’ll need. Will you come with me to Whisper Bay?'
Adelaide weighed the invitation.
She had journeyed half way around the world to be with Frederick who, she now knew, was alive and well. He was also hundreds of miles away and it would be nice to get out of the settlement to see what else this land had to offer.
'I would love to go if it means no inconvenience to you.‘
'None at all, providing you’re ready to go at sunrise.'
'Then I had best pack for the trip.'
Sarah seethed as she watched Andrew leave with Adelaide’s hand resting on his arm. Her fingers twisted the dessert spoon she was holding completely out of shape.
****
Andrew delivered Adelaide to the bungalow and had the hansom cab take him back to the emporium where he made up the pay envelopes for Tom. It was a tedious and time-consuming chore. He was yawning as he stowed them under the floorboard.
'Hello, Andrew.'
He was beginning to wish the stairs had not been repaired. He almost jumped out of his skin. 'Sarah?'
'Sorry if I startled you.'
'How long have you been there?'
'Long enough to know where you keep the family jewels,' Sarah smiled. 'Not to worry, darling. I shan’t breathe a word to anyone.' Sarah stepped into the light. She had changed from the dress she was wearing at the restaurant into the green gown. It revealed much of her cleavage. 'Do finish what you are doing,' she urged. 'I like to watch. You are nice to watch.'
Andrew lowered the floorboard to hide the pay envelopes and heaved the safe back in place. 'It's late, Sarah. What are you doing here?'
'Isaac won't be ashore until tomorrow. So tonight I am staying with you.'
Andrew had to laugh. 'You must have had a little too much wine with dinner.'
'No no. I'm just a teeny weenie bit tiddly.'
'I'll put you in a coach.'
'Why?'
'Because you can't stay here.'
'Why not? Take me to bed.' Sarah tugged away the comb. Her hair cascaded over bare shoulders. 'I want you to ravage me, darling.'
'For Christ sake! You're a married woman!'
'I married a fish.'
Andrew could not help laughing at that remark. Then Sarah came toward him.  He backed away from her but the swivel chair behind the desk blocked his retreat. Sarah pressed up against him.
'Look, Sarah, I like you—‘
'I know you do, my darling. So much time wasted.' Sarah gripped Andrew's shoulders, sat him down in the chair and kneaded his taut muscles. He was surprised by the power of her grip. She said huskily, 'I knew you wanted me, Andrew darling. I could feel it the other night ... God it’s been so long. We’ll leave in the morning. Just you and me. It will be heaven up there at Whisper Bay.'
Andrew flung off Sarah's hands. The chair scooted across the room.
'I'm not taking you anywhere.'
'Do it to me,' she urged, in a throaty whisper. 
'Get out of here, Sarah.'
Sarah parted her bodice. ‘'Do it! Now!'
'Do yourself up!’ 
Sarah looked at him, her face a mixture of fury and despair. 'You said you were going to.’
‘Going to what?’
‘Take me to Whisper Bay!’
‘I did?  When?’
‘When you went out to the wreck.’
‘Sarah, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘I waited and waited and waited… But you never came back… '
Andrew stared at her in bewilderment.
Sarah frowned and her expression changed completely. Reality was intruding on her fantasy. ‘Everybody in town knows.’
‘Knows what?’
‘About Bull and me.’
Andrew had heard enough. ‘Get out.’
Sarah laughed harshly. ‘Tug must have told you.’
Through his teeth, Andrew grated, 'Leave, Sarah.’
She looked down at her open bodice. Buttoning it, she said with a frightening intensity, 'If you take that de Longe bitch to Whisper Bay, you’ll wish you hadn’t. That’s a promise. I keep my promises.’
Sarah turned abruptly and hurried down the stairs. Andrew went to a window and saw her hail one of the coaches outside the hotel to take her home.

*****
Chapter 26
Dora whirled about in her new dress.
'Look, Mister Andrew! Miss Adelaide made it for me.'
'Very pretty. Here's a shilling to spend at the fair. Stay away from the sailors.’
Andrew helped Adelaide to the pillion seat, climbed up beside her and flicked the reins. Despite the early hour he glimpsed Sarah glaring at them through her window as the coach-and-pair rumbled by. Andrew remembered to collect the picnic hamper from the hotel on his way out of town. He took the track that led around the sports ground where side-show tents for the festival were now being set up in the early morning mist. The coach rocked on past the prison compound looming out of the mist, to their right.
‘Something really ought to be done about those poor men.’ 
Andrew was brooding over Sarah’s revelation about her affair with his father. He followed Adelaide’s gaze to the prison gang that had just emerged from the compound's outer gate. 
Adelaide fretted, ‘Do they really have to be chained up all the time? ‘
'Miss de Longe. would you take the reins for a while?'
Andrew passed her the reins and pointed ahead. 'After we pass Three Mile bore there's a junction. Take the track that bears to the left.’
He leaned back, pulled down the brim of his panama and closed his eyes. It seemed only moments before the coach came to a sudden halt   He sat up quickly. 
'What's wrong?'
'That!' Adelaide declared.
She was pointing to the primitive wurleys about Three Mile bore where naked black children squatted in the dust. 
Andrew took the reins. ‘Hang on.’
He slapped the reins hard. The hackneys broke into a canter.
'What are you trying to do? Kill me?' Adelaide cried as the coach sway wildly rounding the curve at the junction.
'I am trying to shut you up!'
'All I said was—‘
'I don't want to hear it!'
'You don't want to hear anything!'
'Not from somebody who doesn't know what the hell she’s talking about.'
'Rubbish! I know about sickness. I know about squalor. And I know about disease. There is no excuse for some of the things I have seen in your settlement.'
'Now you listen to me, Miss de Longe!'
'No. You listen to me, Mister Duggan!'
They were still shouting at each other when the coach topped the rise overlooking Dead Man Beach. Andrew had to abandon their argument so he could concentrate on guiding the coach about mounds of rock as it bounced and swayed down to the beach. Shore birds wheeled about and above them, the coach speeding on over firm white sand at the water’s edge. Breakers crashed down on coral reef to the left. To their right, cliffs sheered up to cloudless blue sky. The dazzling white beach seemed to go on forever. Adelaide let down her hair and flung both arms wide.
'This is too glorious to waste on argument!’ she cried. ‘Especially when the person you are arguing with refuses to listen to your point of view!'
'You’re damn right about that, Miss de Longe!
Adelaide laughed.
Andrew grinned—their argument set aside for the moment.
****
The high-water mark was clearly etched along the cliffs that edged miles upon miles of pristine white sand. It was not until they reached the creek at its northern end that Andrew told Adelaide how Dead Man Beach got its name. ‘Years ago, a man with a donkey team set off from the bottom end of this beach when the tide was only half way out. When it came in again he was trapped somewhere along the cliffs. Neither he nor his donkeys were ever seen again. Now you know why we had to leave so early this morning,’ he added as they forded the creek to head inland across a grassy plain.
Two station hands greeted them at a bore were they were building stockyards. After she was introduced, Malcolm and Jamie went with Andrew to bring down an emu—allowing Adelaide privacy while she bathed in the water trough. That evening, she dined on emu steaks and potatoes roasted in the campfire. Andrew helped Adelaide rig the mosquito net and tuck it under her swag.
'It keeps out other nasties as well.'
Though her bed was merely two blankets folded over a strip of tarpaulin spread on hard ground, Adelaide slept soundly. She rose at the first tinge of dawn to find the men already having breakfast. Over baked beans and damper, Andrew announced Malcolm and Jamie would accompany them for the rest of the journey to Whisper Bay. En route, they pointed out things of interest.  Adelaide clapped her hands in delight when they drew attention to kangaroos sitting on their haunches with ears pricked up. Through the trees she glimpsed cattle and was told they were now crossing a portion of the property that Andrew’s father had pioneered here on the cape. That night they camped by a billabong where ibis, herons, cranes, wild fowl and wild duck abounded.
Again, camp was broken at sunrise and shortly after, they were journeying along a rutted track that swung back toward the coast. When they reached a high bluff over-looking the shore, Andrew brought the coach to a halt and led Adelaide to its edge. There, he pointed down to an emerald lagoon. ‘Whisper Bay,' he announced.
Adelaide looked down on waves breaking over the reef outside the lagoon’s narrow entrance. The wind tugging at her skirt, she held on to is as she turned to gaze back along the coast they had travelled. It was just possible to make out the distant white sands of Dead Man Beach. Looking down again at Whisper Bay, she noticed the house that was almost hidden by rainforest near the lagoon’s crescent shore.
'If I lived there,’ Adelaide said, ‘I would never want to leave.'
'My mother felt that way too,' Andrew’s gaze went to the bastions of rock guarding the lagoon’s narrow entrance. On the low shelf beneath the nearest headland was the cross that marked her grave. 'She got her wish.'
Malcolm and Jamie on the driver’s seat, Andrew rode inside the coach with Adelaide for the remainder of their journey. They travelled through a world of shifting shadows where lianas dangled, birds called in eerie ringing tones and tree ferns veiled soft light filtering down through the canopy above.
'Andrew?'
'Mmm?'
'You've scarcely spoken to me since we stopped at the bluff.'
'Every time I do, we get into a roaring argument.'
'Because I state my opinions?'
'Because you haven’t been here long enough to voice opinions.'
'What utter rubbish!'
'See what I mean?'
****
John Glebe left the Watch House to check on the two youths. When he entered the compound they were still manacled to the wall. Clive and Jess were sitting nearby in the shade. Glebe pointed his riding crop at the empty water bucket. ‘I distinctly recall telling both of you to make sure the bucket has water in it for the prisoners. Fill it now.’
Muttering under his breath, Clive took the bucket to the tap.
‘Jess, did you find out their names?’
‘How can we if they don’t talk the local lingo?’
‘There must be a prisoner in this compound who speaks their language.’
‘I wouldn’t trust one of those bastards to tell me the time of day.’
Glebe glanced to the cages that housed the more truculent prisoners. ‘I think these two can be released from the wall so they can move about during the day.’
‘What if they climb the wall?’
‘No prisoner can climb that wall.’
‘He might if another prisoner helps him up. It happened once. But that was before you came here—Mister Glebe.’
Clive set the down the pail of water.
Glebe snapped, ‘Put it where they can reach it.’
Clive was sorely tempted to tell Glebe where to shove the bucket but kept his mouth shut.
Glebe checked his wrist watch. ‘I have to go into town. These two can remain shackled to the wall for the time being.  See if you can find out more about them.’
Glebe left the compound.
Clive swore and kicked the bucket over. ‘I ain’t carrying water for niggers!’ He rounded on the two youths. ‘What are you two staring at?’
Jess yanked one up from the dust by his hair. He used the whip handle to goad the other to his feet. ‘What name bilong you?’ he barked in their faces.
They stared at him blankly.
Clive flipped up a youth’s loin cloth to eye what was underneath. ‘So you’ve been cut, eh? They nipped off your foreskin to make you a man, right? Well, let’s see what kind of a man you are.’ Clive reached down to grasp the youth’s testicles and squeeze savagely. He was rewarded with a gasp before the glob of phlegm landed on his face.
‘You black bastard!’
Prisoners watching from the cages bore scars inflicted upon them by prison overseers. Most had resigned themselves to what occurred in this place. Yet none was completely inured to the plight of two youths unable to fend off the blows raining down on them as Jess and Clive vented their ire over the extra duties Glebe had imposed.  While none of the prisoners uttered any protest, the anger they had stifled was rekindled inside them. With every savage blow delivered by the gardeeya, their anger grew…
****
The house at Whisper Bay reminded Adelaide of a villa where she had holidayed in Spain. Every wall was at least a foot thick and white-washed both inside and out. The furniture was large and heavy, the ceilings high, the floors paved with slate. French doors giving off from the huge dining area opened out to a wide flagstone patio over-looking terraces that stepped down to the crescent beach.
Over dinner, Adelaide devoted her attention to the lobster Delilah served for their evening meal while Andrew was briefed by Malcolm and Jamie on the general state of the property. The two stockmen would be leaving for Namaga in the morning to enjoy a well-earned break. The station hands went back to their quarters. Delilah reminded her children, ‘It is way past your bed time. Say good night.'
'G'night, Uncle Andrew. G'night, Aunt Addie.'
'Good night, Jennifer. Good night, Tony.'
They scampered off to their rooms.
The maid, Lena,  came in to clear the dining table. Delilah urged her guests to relax while she went to help Lena with the dishes. Andrew invited Adelaide to join him out on the patio. As they stood gazing down at the lagoon, he remarked, ’When my father, Boxer and Tug left Fremantle to look for pearls, they sailed north and made landfall right here, at Whisper Bay. It was not until Boxer saw the sea way up over the beach and surging into the rain forest that Boxer realized they had entered the lagoon on a king tide. He figured they had better leave right away or they might not clear the reef once they were outside the entrance. They almost didn’t. A wave slammed their ketch against a rock. It was holed below the waterline. They rigged a temporary patch but had to bale water constantly until they beached the ketch at Namaga.’
Andrew drummed his fingers on the patio rail.
'Why don't you get your cigars?’ Adelaide urged. ‘Then we can both relax.'
Andrew went back inside and returned with a lit cheroot in his hand.
'After the hole in the hull was repaired,' Andrew resumed, 'they realized Namaga was as good a place as any to start looking for pearls. They found plenty. More than enough to use the sound as a base and for Bull to bring my mother to live there. One morning she went picking wildflowers and almost tripped over muskets, iron pots and the like, lying in the grass. Things no black ever made. Then she saw human bones and skeletons. From that day she hated the settlement. She took to brooding over why they had never received a decent burial. She felt the place was evil and told my father she couldn’t stay there.' Andrew tapped ash from his cheroot before he added, 'Bull wasn't about to leave but he didn't want her to be miserable. He remembered the lagoon up past Deadman Beach, forged the route we followed, and brought her here. My mother loved Whisper Bay. This is where I was born.'
 Malcolm hailed from the path so Andrew went to see what he wanted.
Delilah came out to the patio.  
Adelaide asked, 'How did Andrew's mother die?'  
'She was speared by blacks—in this house.'
Adelaide sucked in her breath.‘No!’
'Three men were working here at the time,’ Delilah enlarged. ‘A station hand, a Chinese cook and a Malay servant. Bull had gone down to Namaga but was due back  for Andrew's tenth birthday. Instead of trying to row a dinghy across the reef, Boxer and Bull put ashore at the mission, about half a day's walk from here. Boxer said the first thing they noticed was how quiet it was at the mission. Usually, the place was crowded with blacks.
'The priest told them the blacks had gone bush for some corroboree. It was late in the day so they spent the night there instead of trying to find their way down here in the dark. When they arrived the next day, a station hand lay dead on the track. The Malay was outside the stables where he had been almost hacked to pieces. The Chinese cook was hanging from the branch of a tree by his pigtail with a spear in his chest. Bull and Boxer had to break down the door. Andrew had barricaded it from inside. They found him on the kitchen floor cradling his mother’s body in his arms.'
 Hearing Andrew coming down the path, Delilah added quickly, 'Those days are over now, else I would not have moved in with my children. And they’ll be jumping all over me, first thing in the morning.'
Andrew stepped up to the patio to announce, 'The wagonette needs a wheel replaced. I told Malcolm to take the coach.'
'But you'll need it,' Delilah pointed out, 'to get back to Namaga.'
'Malcolm's got a load of vegetables and fruit to sell down there. I told him. as long as the coach is back in time, there's no problem.'
Delilah stifled a yawn. ‘I’m off to bed. It’s a lovely night. Why don't you take Adelaide for a walk on the beach?’
****
The sea sighed softly as it swept up the beach to slip back again into the starry lagoon. Slipping off their shoes, they walked barefoot on the glistening sand, Andrew pointing to a peculiar craft moored to a coconut palm. 'Ever seen one of those before?'
Adelaide shook her head.
'It's called a lakatoi. The Melanesians sail them.'
The deck of the lakatoi was lashed to twin hulls. Each had been hewn from the trunk of some huge tree felled in the rainforests of New Guinea. The mast was stepped from one hull and the sail lashed about the boom. 'She draws only a few inches of water so she can skip over the reef when it's submerged. Did Delilah tell you what happened to my mother?'
'She told me.'
'That saves me having to explain what I don't like to talk about. My father had the lakatoi shipped here after the attack in case it was needed to escape by sea. We use it to meet a vessel beyond the reef, or paddle about the lagoon when we go for a swim.'
'What about ... sharks?'
'The reef keeps them out of the lagoon.'
Adelaide savoured the texture of the sand beneath her feet as they walked along the moonlit beach. She heard what she thought to be the rustling of palm fronds. But when she looked up at the palm trees, they were not moving. The night was absolutely still. Yet the sound, soft and sibilant, grew more pervasive. It was intense and eerie—as if people were communicating a secret message to each other ... in urgent whispers.
'That sound ....'
'I wondered when you would notice.'
Adelaide moved closer to Andrew. 'It's a little frightening.'
Andrew motioned along the beach and said, ‘Old Peewee claims spirits come here to pass on secrets.'
'To who?'
'To those who understand what they are whispering.'
'What are they whispering?'
His arms reached about her. 'That I should hold you.'
Adelaide made no attempt to move away. 'And then?' 
'That I should kiss you.'
Their lips met and suddenly they were clinging to each other in a fierce embrace. When, finally, they paused to look into each other's eyes, Adelaide murmured, 'My my, Mister Duggan.'
'Was it to your liking, Miss de Longe?'
'I want more - if you call me Adelaide.'
'Dare I be so forward?' he teased.
'If you take one step backward.'
'A step back? Why?'
'Because I asked you to, Mister Duggan.'
Andrew stepped back a pace. Water surged about their ankles. 'Now what?'
'Keep going,' Adelaide urged.
'Another pace and we'll be up to our waists.'
'You said it was safe to swim.'
Adelaide clinging to him, they fell into the water. It was warm and sensual and she could feel Andrew’s growing erection through soaked cotton trousers as she clung to him. He parted her blouse to kiss the hardening nipple.
'Wouldn't it be easier if we got undressed?’ she gasped.
They undressed each other.
They made love and then swam naked in the lagoon to make love again in the water. Neither noticed the whispering had ceased when they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms on the beach.
****
Glebe got back to the compound later than he intended. The log book showed Jess and Clive had gone off duty. Though it was after sunset he decided to make a cursory check on the new prisoners and ensure they had been furnished drinking water, as he had ordered. When Glebe saw what Jess and Clive had done to them, he feared the worst: they might die and that would not sit well on his record.
Aware the midwife drank heavily and, most likely, would not be available at this hour, he told the man on duty at the gate to expect Peewee. Glebe had nobody else on duty to despatch so he was forced to make the long walk to the Duggan bungalow himself.
The bell woke the overseer on night duty. He reached for the key ring and went to see who was at the outer gate. 'Is that you, Peewee?'
'I bring medicine.'
The gate swung open and was closed again after Peewee entered.
The overseer took Peewee to the Watch House, inspected the contents of his basket, sniffed potions that were in small gourds, turned over leaves, ran his fingers through berries and picked up a thick wad of clay. 'What's this for?'
'Make 'im poultice. Keep flies off.'
Satisfied, the overseer lit a lamp for Peewee and led him to the heavy door in the compound wall. 'You'll find the prisoners across the yard. I'll leave the panel open. When you're ready to come out, shove the lamp up to the panel and swing it from side to side. Savvy?'
‘Savvy, boss.’
Peewee used the lamp light to find his way across the yard. When its light fell on the two youths he sucked in his breath. Then he set the lamp down to exam them. Both had suffered a terrible beating. But they were alive and conscious. Tending their wounds, he spoke softly. Then he placed the lump of clay at the base of the compound wall and sprinkled dust so it would not be obvious. Unravelling a portion of the basket's handle, Peewee slipped out the chisel he had stolen from the blacksmith's shed.
Taking it to the nearest cage, Peewee spoke softly to the men behind the bars. The chisel was passed from hand to hand and hidden out of sight.

*****
Chapter 27
The festival began with a contest that was unique to Namaga. It drew even the carnival folk who took a respite from setting up their side-shows to join the boisterous crowd in the hotel beer garden. There, tables and chairs had been removed to make way for a circuit marked with pegs and buntings and a temporary stage. On the stage was a bath tub. Terry stepped up beside it to raise both hands in a plea for silence.
'Good afternoon,’ he greeted. ‘On behalf of the Festival Committee I extend a cordial welcome to our visitors off the barquentine, the men building our jetty, and all of you who live here in Namaga. For the benefit of those who have not seen this event before, allow me to draw your attention to our contestants.’
All heads swung toward the group of men standing near the stage in their under-wear and trying to affect a nonchalance they did not feel.
‘I have to say,’ Terry confided, ‘they are the ugliest bunch of blokes I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon. You can also plainly see what is dangling between each pair of hairy legs!'
The crowd roared with laughter.
'Ladies, please!  I’m talking about the taper that is tied to each man’s waist. When the taper is lit, its wearer will have to run the circuit in our beer garden wearing diving boots. Whoever completes the circuit before he is forced to douse the burning taper wins a keg of beer.'
To ensure the crowd derived maximum entertainment from the event, Terry had each man run the course separately. The first contestant happened to be a diver but, while he was accustomed to wearing the cumbersome boots underwater, on dry land he had no advantage over those who had never worn them at all. He set off with smoke trailing from the taper between his legs and half way around the circuit the flame began licking at his underwear. The crowd went into hysterics over his frantic efforts to climb to the stage in those cumbersome boots and douse the flame in the tub.
Women in the audience were no less bawdy than the men, urging contestants on or shouting lewd comments as one contestant after the other was forced to make that desperate scramble for the tub. The winner of the event was the second to last contestant who managed to complete the entire circuit before resorting to the tub. Willie was carried from the stage by his fellow workmen into the public bar where they helped him drink the keg of beer.
****
The pile-driver idle this weekend, no firewood was required at the jetty so work gangs had been confined to the prison compound.  Prisoners were allowed the freedom of the yard during the day. On occasion, the overseer on duty outside the compound door would peer through the observation panel to see prisoners either squatting or standing or moving about but doing nothing untoward. What he could not see was the use being made of the chisel that Peewee had sneaked into the compound.
 The prisoners were maintaining a constant screen to obscure the overseer’s view, situating themselves between the door and the two Gadgeri youths while other prisoners took turns chipping sandstone and adobe away from loops anchoring their manacles to the compound wall. While prisoners chipped, others whisked away the fragments to disperse them inside cages the gardeeya seldom entered. The clay that Peewee had brought in with the chisel served to camouflage what material had been removed.
****
The barquentine that brought the carnival folk also brought a contingent of sailors and while Terry could handle the occasional fight between a sailor and some workman, he did not want to contend with a full-scale brawl between the two factions. He had put it to Willie, ‘Any workman who starts a fight in my pub won’t be allowed inside again.’ 
Terry’s warning was taken seriously, the workmen gritting teeth and allowing the sailors to jostle them at the bar until one finally told the offending sailor to step outside. Cheered on by his mates, the rigger broke the sailor’s nose and gave him a thorough hiding. Two evenings later, sailors jumped the rigger as he was heading back to his quarters from the pub. He barely made it back to the quarters. His mates had to staunch the flow of blood from a knife wound.
Friday night was always a big night at the pub for the workmen. And, since Tom had granted them the entire weekend off, Sally was astounded when not a single work-man showed up at the saloon. ‘You don't think they've all come down sick?’
Terry shook his head. 'Willie took some booze back to their canteen. They're up to something.'
Whatever the 'something' was, it did not happen that night.
Most, if not all, of the lugger fleet had returned from the shell beds to celebrate the annual festival. On Saturday morning, Isaac—with Allen, Courtney, Wilfred and Maxwell in tow—paid a visit to the mole.  Isaac rapped on the site office door. When Tom opened it, Isaac asked, 'Are you the foreman?'
 'I am,' Tom replied politely.
Isaac motioned to the deserted jetty. ‘Why aren't the men working?'
'It's Saturday.'
'I know what day it is. That weren't my question.'
'The workmen have been given the weekend off.'
'They aren't supposed to have weekends off.'
'It's Festival.'
'That don't make no damn difference,' Isaac dismissed.
Wilfred held up the contract. 'The agreement between the Namaga Syndicate and Duggan Pearling Company stipulates there shall be no interruption or alteration of the existing work schedule until the jetty is complete.'
'We're ahead of schedule,' Tom pointed out. ‘And they’ll be working next Saturday.’
Wilfred continued as if Tom's remark had no bearing on the issue. 'The clause stating all further funds will be cancelled if there is any disruption will now be invoked.'
'You must be joking!'
'He ain't,’ Isaac stated. ‘No more payments. That's that.'
The delegation trouped away.
Tom stared after them in disbelief.
Andrew was not due back until the next weekend. Tug had yet to return—from wherever he had gone on N49. Since Andrew had assured him the wages due the coming Friday were stored under the floor-board at his emporium, Tom decided Andrew would resolve the dispute when he got back to town. In the meantime, he would keep what he had just been told to himself.
****
That evening, the master pearlers who had accompanied Isaac to the mole gathered at his house. Every one of them was of the same opinion. The syndicate had no hope of recovering its costs this season. What little shell they had harvested was of poor quality and there were too few pearls found to warrant the effort. Divers were disgusted. The crews had grown surly. For these master pearlers it was a matter of when, not if, they should bail out of Namaga. And how it could be done with minimum fuss.
Courtney and Maxwell argued, the best time for their departure was during the festival when folks in town were distracted by the carnival. Isaac agreed but cautioned against them withdrawing funds from the bank before the day of their unannounced departure. Wilfred had not been invited to this meeting. 
‘Wilfred might do something stupid,’ Isaac warned. ‘He might refuse to hand over our money. Or worse, call an emergency meeting.’
Even with Andrew and Tug out of town, there were enough board members ashore to constitute a quorum. If they voted to block all withdrawals of Syndicate funds from the bank it would cause a panic that might have dire consequences. Isaac cautioned they must keep their mouths shut and avoid saying anything even to the crews of their luggers be told until it could no longer be avoided. If everyone kept his mouth shut and refrained from making a withdrawal from the bank until they were ready to leave, the exodus could be pulled off before anyone realised it was happening.
****
Every morning, Delilah’s children dragged 'Aunt Addie' off to explore their wonderland. Tony showed Adelaide where turtles laid their eggs. At low tide he steered her to King Canute's Kingdom; a pool where fish of incredible colours and different shapes darted. Pointing at a mound of fire coral in the pool, Tony told her, ‘That’s his castle.’ In the lagoon they saw cowry shells fit for a mermaid's necklace. Agile as goats, Tony and Jennifer scampered up the path to a lofty crag where sea eagles nested. While heights did not trouble Adelaide, even she felt queasy looking down on surging waves slamming against the cliffs, far below.
The children called their perch the Ogre's Armchair.
Adelaide relished every moment as she ventured with two delightful children on their daily excursions while Andrew hacked away at vines threatening to strangle the trees he helped plant when he was a lad. Andrew's reason for bringing Adelaide to Whisper Bay was not solely to whisk her away from board members in Namaga anxious to sell their shares to De Longe Enterprises. On the other hand, he had not anticipated what transpired since they got here.
Now, they spent every night on the beach before making their discreet return to the house at dawn. Andrew recalled Sally’s warning about a special woman walking into his life. That woman most certainly had. So what was he going to do to make sure she did not suddenly decide to walk right back out of it?
****
The culmination of every festival was the presentation of the Bougainvillea Crown  and the fireworks display.And every festival, the panel of judges was confronted with a difficult decision over who was the prettiest girl in Namaga. Wearing the dress Adelaide had made for her, Dora paraded before an enthusiastic audience. Men whistled approval. Women applauded. Judges reduced the number of contestants to five finalists and each finalist was presented individually, the winner chosen by the applause she drew.
 Dora almost fainted when she was asked to step up on the stage so the presiding judge could adorn her with a crown of bougainvillea blooms.
****
Glebe looked up when an overseer entered his office. 'What is it, Eric?'
'You'd better warn Jess and Gordon not to go inside, tonight.'
'Are you expecting trouble?'
'There hasn’t been any trouble,’ Eric answered. ‘That’s what I’m worried about. There’s only one gang out getting firewood for the pile-driver. All the rest have been cooped up inside since Festival started. Something doesn't feel right. I think—‘
'Eric, I don't have time for what you think,' John Glebe gestured at the papers on his desk. ‘I have to finish this damn budget. Have the two young prisoners been moved into a cell as I ordered?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'You said you wanted the cells cleaned out first.'
'Weren't they cleaned today?'
‘There are some nasty bastards in those cells, Mister Glebe. We aren't about to clean them until the other blokes come back on duty.'
'You have a point,' Glebe conceded. 'Who's on duty with you at the moment?'
'Arnold. And we're about to go off shift. So where are Jess and Gordon?'
'The evening shift won't be here for half an hour yet—a slight oversight on my part when I re-arranged the roster. You and Arnold won't mind working another half an hour until they come on duty.'
Eric bristled. 'We do mind. We mind very much. You've fucked up our shifts, our days off and our lives.'
'Now, Eric. I'm warning you—‘
The desk shook under the blow from Eric's fist. ''Don't you warn me. We've had a gutful of you talking down to us and acting like you're King Shit. We aren’t putting in one extra minute! Do you want to let us out? Or shall we leave the gate open?' 
****
Misty ran up the hill to visit Dora. ‘You wanna come with me tonight?'
'Where you going?'
'To the fair. We can have some fun.'
'Your missus gonna be plurry mad.'
Misty laughed. 'Missus said she doesn’t need me no more. She's leaving.'
'True?'
'They’ve been moving everything out.'
'I saw that,' Dora nodded.
'Missus said we don't need a pass, tonight. Coming'?'
Dora shook her head. 'Mister Andrew told me I got to stay away from sailors.'
'You ain't gonna have no fun sitting up here by yourself—even if you is the winner of the crown. That's for sure.'
Misty was right. And the house was a lonely place with Miss Adelaide away. Even Peewee had gone off somewhere. 'When you coming by?'
'Missus want me to help finish packing some boxes. Then I'll come.’
Misty ran back to the bungalow where trunks and furniture were being loaded on a covered wagon. Down on the waterfront, sailors were loading boats with sacks of shell to be ferried out to the barquentine. Dora went inside to put on the pretty dress.
****
 ‘Now remember,’ Willie reminded his fellow workmen, 'we're going to be nice to the sailor boys.'
'Are you out of your flaming mind?’
'And while we're letting bygones be bygones at the pub, Alfie will mention—loud enough for the sailor boys to hear—we're all going out to Three Mile tonight.'
Alfie was confused. 'What are we going there for?'
'For the black velvet, of course.'
Alfie paled. 'Those gins have the pox!'
The grin that spread over Willie's face was downright evil. 'Exactly.'
'Jesus! I wouldn't wish the pox on my worst enemy.'
'You think we should forgive the sailor boys for knifing one of our mates?’ Willie challenged. ‘Should we turn the other cheek? Let the bastards jump somebody else?’
Alfie posed, ‘How are we going to con them into it?'
‘First, we make up some torches with poles and rags,’ Willie began. ‘Best we wait until dark before we help them find their way out to Three Mile ....'
****
Rodney stepped outside his bungalow to watch the Salome glide across the sound. Isaac had told him of the decision he reached, with Courtney, Maxwell and Allen.  They had chosen the last day of Festival to leave and had invited Rodney to go with them. But Rodney had just spent a lot of money fixing up this bungalow so he declined their offer. He wondered if he was making a mistake. 
Naomi came to his side. 'A penny for your thoughts, darling.'
Rodney nodded toward luggers cutting across the sound. 'They could at least have waited for Tug to get here.'
'Sometimes, people can't wait.'
'It still seems wrong. They're sneaking away like they have something to hide.'
Naomi wished they too, were leaving—and not just because she was pregnant. She held her tongue and went back inside. Rodney’s gaze lingered on the Salome.
The previous night, Isaac’s crew had transferred most if not all of his furniture and possessions to the vessel. But Sarah was not on board. Isaac said his wife would travel down to Roebuck Bay in a spacious cabin on the barquentine instead of being cramped in the limited confines aboard his ketch. The barquentine would not be leaving until the carnival folk had packed up their tents to move on.
****
Misty went off with a sailor, leaving Dora to wander alone among the side-shows. Jugglers juggled and acrobats cavorted. A magician conjured coins out of thin air. She gasped when a woman climbed into a box and was sawn in half. With the coins Andrew had given her, Dora bought a necklace of coloured beads as a gift for Adelaide. She also bought liquorice, peppermints and a drink called sarsaparilla. Savouring the drink she had never tasted before, Dora heard familiar laughter and turned to see Misty with two sailors. One on each arm!
'Dora! You wanna come jig-a-jig with us?'
A sailor had his hand down Misty's blouse. Dora shook her head. One of the sailors reached for her. Dora eluded him by mingling with the crowd gathering to watch the firework display while the carnival folk began dismantling their tents. Catherine Wheels whizzed around and around. Rockets climbed into the night to burst high over the swamp. In Chinatown, sailors were trying to push their way into shanties along Shinju Alley.
But word had spread in Chinatown about the sailors jumping and knifing a man on the waterfront. The golden maidens wanted no part of them. Some of the sailors made for the hovels by the swamp seeking black maids, while others were now heading out to Three Mile Bore after hearing at the pub about the black velvet. The jetty workmen said it could be had for a bottle of booze....
About to go home, Glebe stepped out of his office and saw the procession of torches moving toward Three Mile bore. Jess was manning the gate to the outer wire enclosure. Glebe checked his watch. ‘Jess, you had better check the yard.'
'I’ll have to wait for Gordon.'
'Where’s Gordon?'
'Fixing a cuppa.'
'He can make his tea afterward.'
Jess sighed. ‘Whatever you say, Mister Glebe.’
Jess went to the Watch House leaving Glebe to let himself out the gate. 
'Glebe says we're to check the yard.'
Gordon stumbled across the room. 'Here! Get this into yer.'
Jess took a pull on the bottle that was handed to him.  ‘Are you pissed?’
'Of course I’m pissed. How else can a bloke do this job?’
Jess laughed. Gordon lurched beside him to the compound door. Jess told him to stay there while he checked the yard.
Gordon burped. ‘Thanks. I’ll let you out.’
‘Like hell you will.’
Jess was not about to risk leaving the keys with Gordon who might pass out while he was inside the compound. Hooking the key ring to his belt, Jess raised the lamp and swung the door shut behind him before ambling toward the cages.
Jess had never seen any point in making the night round. The prisoners secured behind bars in cells and cages were not about to go anywhere so why check on them?  Keeping well away from the bars—he had been overseer too long to make any stupid mistakes—Jess walked slowly past cells where eyes smouldered with hatred as they followed his every step. Then he went to check the two trouble-makers still chained to the compound wall. The water bucket was empty.
‘Did we forget to fill the bucket?’
Jess clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. These two had proven more stubborn than any prisoner in the compound. Glebe had even written a report about what he and Clive had done to them. ‘You want something to drink?’
 Unbuttoning his fly, Jess urinated in the bucket.
A sudden movement brought his head up sharply.
The iron loop dug out of the compound wall slammed into his temple. Jess sagged at the knees as he sprayed urine in a wide arc. A blow to the testicles made him squeal in agony. The loop slammed down again. Then, using the chisel to pry his jaws wide open, the two youths urinated in his mouth. They finished him off by shattering his head with their chains.
Yanking the ring from the dead overseer’s belt, they eventually found the key to unlock their manacles before selecting another to open doors to the cages. Finding the right key among so many slowed them down but no alarm was sounded as they moved from cage to cage, releasing the prisoners inside. It became obvious the largest key opened the heavy door. Gordon was lying against the wall fast asleep and snoring loudly when the two youths swung it open.
****
Rodney had promised Isaac he would accompany Sarah and the wives of other pearlers to the waterfront when they were ready to leave Namaga. Since Naomi was reluctant to stay alone at the bungalow after dark, she was sitting between Rodney and the blacksmith on the driver's seat when the coach drew alongside some sailors huddled about a black maid beside the road.
'Hey! What are you doing to that girl?'
His size was enough for the other sailors to flee. However, the man on top of Dora delayed. Red Rod's fist smashed into his face. The sailor stumbled away into the night.
'Sweet Jesus!'
Rodney called for Naomi who pulled the tattered remnants of Dora’s dress down over her waist. 'We'd better get her to the midwife right away.'
Rodney shook his head. 'She might be drunk. Margaret Ferguson is nearer. We'll take her there.'
****
Glebe was heading home on foot when he encountered the raucous party of men bound for Three Mile Bore. When he asked what they were doing he was told in no uncertain terms to get lost. To avoid more confrontations on the way into town he returned to the compound. Glebe was furious when he found the outer perimeter gate wide open. He walked on to the Watch House where light spilled through the windows.
'Gordon?'
The overseer was not in the Watch House.
Glebe took the lamp to check the compound door.
Gordon was not there either.
Puzzled, Glebe slid back the observation panel.
Gordon's face leered back at him.
Then Gordon’s head tumbled from the panel where it had been propped to fall at John Glebe's feet.
****
A sailor off the barquentine was chasing after a black girl when he lost track of her in the dark. Far from sober, he lurched into a hovel whose occupant took to him with a frying pan. Throwing up his arms to ward her off, he knocked over a lamp. The flames spread instantly, setting walls of hessian alight. The steady night breeze swept burning fragments of hessian over Chinatown.
The prisoners who had fled the compound launched their attack out at Three Mile where a drunken orgy was now under way. The prisoners had not been able to work out which keys undid their manacles so they used the chains that still hampered them to choke the life out of sailors—and the blacks who had catered to them.
The sparks and fragments of burning hessian set alight a shack immediately behind Shinju Alley. Flames leaped to the next dwelling. The dreaded cry of ‘Fire!’ was heard and repeated through the alleys, bringing Ah Choy out of his gambling hall. In moments he was shouting orders while Toshira and Rodriguez did the same. Fire was a demon they knew too well and had dealt with before. There was little panic, the diverse community uniting in their bid to fight its common enemy. Men formed chains to fight the flames with sand and water. Women moved infants and children well away; posting some to monitor the flying sparks and alert them if they ignited another blaze.
Then the sailors ran into town shouting, 'The blacks are attacking!'
****
Rodney had delivered Dora to Margaret Ferguson’s care and picked up Winnie and Claire who were inside the coach when he brought it to an abrupt halt. Glebe came running up the hill toward him.'The blacks escaped from the compound.' he panted. 'They killed Jess and Gordon.'
'So what are you doing here?' Rodney demanded.
'I came to inform the syndicate board—‘
‘Go after those prisoners!'
'In the dark?'
Rodney eyed Glebe with annoyance. 'They're in leg-irons aren't they?'
Glebe had not thought of that.
Rodney pointed toward the yellow glow over Chinatown. 'We've got a fire on our hands. I'll meet you later. Roust out your overseers. Get them after those prisoners before they head bush.’
The blacksmith riding beside him, Rodney drove on to the Weinberg’s bungalow. Two suitcases had been placed outside the front door with Sarah's note stating they were to be sent out to the barquentine. The blacksmith loaded them on the rack. Then Rodney swung the coach around and drove back to his own bungalow.
'Naomi, you're going to Roebuck Bay with Grace and Winifred. Pack only what you need. I'll bring the rest when I'm finished here. Be as quick as you can.'
'Rodney.'
'Yes?'
'I love you.'
****
The carnival folk were already on their way to the waterfront with their cages of animals and all else they had brought ashore from the barquentine. Its bosun was using a megaphone to summon them to the longboats that would transport their effects to the ship. The night became a frenzy of activity: some controlled, some on the verge of panic as brigades of men and women pitched in to bring the fires under control. Overseers were summoned from their homes by Glebe to pursue the escaped prisoners.
The pub stayed open as the long night wore on. Weary from their exertions, the jetty workmen who helped bring the fires under control trudged into the saloon. The sailors returning to their ship, the workmen were able to relax. Further along the waterfront, a lady in a green gown was stopped by a workman carrying a lighted torch.
'Can I help you ma'am?'
'May I borrow your torch?'
The workmen peered at her. 'This ain’t a night for you to be finding your way about in the dark, miss.'
‘I'm only going as far as the pier—to meet my husband,' she assured him.
He handed the lady his torch and walked on to the hotel.
It was perhaps half an hour later when a fireball blossomed on the waterfront.
Drums of kerosene, turpentine, methylated spirits, paint, barrels of pitch and other flammable materials ignited in a roar that could be heard all over the settlement. Every-one rushed outside the hotel to gape. Duggan Pearling Emporium was ablaze.

*****
Chapter 28
Adelaide followed Delilah’s two children along a narrow path tunnelling into the rainforest. Vines dangled from the high canopy above their heads; the foliage so dense it completely hid the house and terraced gardens from view. After rounding the first bend, it was as if she had stepped into a time and place far removed. Warbles, chuckles and fluting birdcalls echoed through an eerie world where shafts of sunlight cast the path in green light. Where the path twisted about the roots of a gnarled old banyan tree, Jennifer pointed up to the home of the 'orchid fairy’. Tony climbed a bough to pluck orchids for Adelaide and his sister to lace in their hair
The banyan tree was as far as the children had ever been but, now that Aunt Addie was with them, Tony and Jennifer wanted to press on and see what other secrets the rainforest held in store. Their first discovery was a sunny glade where butterflies rose in a shimmering cloud. The children clapped their hands in delight and named this secret place, 'Butterfly Palace.' There was a small pond in the glade. They used it to rinse their fingers after eating their morning snack. Adelaide peered along the curving track.
'I'm not sure we should go any further, children.'
'Please!' they pleaded.
'Well all right. But make sure you stay close to me.'
Jennifer clutched Adelaide's hand as they followed the winding path. 'I bet even Uncle Andrew hasn't been this far,' she whispered. 
Tony forging the way, Adelaide was peering up through the high canopy to find the sun when she bumped into Tony. A warning finger rose to the boy’s lips. 'It's the home of the wicked, wicked witch,' he whispered.
Never one to spoil the world of make-believe, Adelaide replied sotto voice, 'So this is where she lives.'
'Not here, Aunt Addie. Over there.'
Tony pointed to the other side of the track.
The roof had been fashioned from sheets of iron—now brown with rust—over a rough timber frame. Covered on all but one side by leafy branches, the crude shelter was further camouflaged by overgrowth that rendered it nigh invisible. Were it not for the keen eyes of an inquisitive boy, Adelaide would have walked right past and never known it was there. Tony parted vines and cobwebs so they could investigate what might be inside. The cast iron pot resting on dead coals did, indeed, resemble a witch's cauldron. As she moved closer, Adelaide saw a soup ladle, an earthen bowl, some cutlery, a chipped enamel plate and a basin on the small table. A tattered dress hung from a rotting beam.
'The witch has flown away, children.'
They were both relieved and disappointed.
'And it is high time we went back to the house,’ Adelaide declared. ‘Last one home is a rotten egg.'
Delilah was not amused when they got back to the house late for lunch—especially after the children told her where they had been. She chided Adelaide, ‘You’re as bad as them!’ Worried the children might now choose to venture even further into the rainforest and perhaps get lost, Delilah paid only scant attention to their description of the crude shack in amongst the creeper and vine.
'You will not go back in there by yourselves,’ Delilah stated emphatically.
The maid took Tony and Jennifer off for to their rooms for the afternoon nap. Delilah apologised to Adelaide for snapping at her. ‘I think I’m overdue for a break from this sewing machine. Shall we go down to the lagoon?'
Untying the lakatoi they used the paddles to glide across the lagoon to deep water. Stripping off their sarongs, Adelaide and Delilah dived into cool depths. The water was so clear they could see the sandy bottom as they swam naked about the lakatoi’s twin hulls. Then they heaved themselves back on deck to soak up the sun while the craft drifted slowly across the mirror smooth lagoon.
Lying there, Adelaide asked suddenly, ‘What day is it?’
‘Saturday,’ Delilah murmured.
‘Already?’
'I’m going to miss you, Adelaide.'
'I shall miss you… and this wonderful place,’ Adelaide said. ‘Will you to be able to visit Namaga before I leave?'
'If I do it will only be to see you. I hate Namaga.’
'So, I gather, did Andrew's mother.'
'True, but I have a different reason. Gossip,’ Delilah rolled over on to her back. ‘I didn’t want Tony and Jennifer to hear it from the mouths of other children.'
Adelaide glanced at the woman lying next to her. The flat stomach showed no evidence she had ever borne a child. It was impossible to hazard even a guess at Delilah's age. 'I’m dying to know how you and Boxer met.'
Delilah’s chuckle was earthy. ‘He kidnapped me…’
Delilah had chosen the lounge of a fashionable hotel in Batavia to take her leave of her 'benefactor', a plantation manager who was drinking heavily now his anticipated promotion had gone to a younger man. Delilah could no longer endure his drunken rages. She was confident he would not dare lose his temper in a place frequented by his employer. She was proven wrong. He tried to drag her out of the hotel—by her hair.
'Let the lady be.' 
The warning came from the man with flaxen hair who was entering the lounge at that moment. He stepped between them, his sturdy build and aura of authority enough to intimidate the plantation manager who flung his drink in Delilah’s face and stormed out. Delilah left the hotel lounge to repair her appearance in the ladies’ room. Realizing her former benefactor was bound to exact revenge as a salve to his wounded ego, Delilah hurried to the bank where her instinct was proven accurate.
The plantation manager had withdrawn every penny from their joint account. She went to the elegant lodging he had provided only to find the door padlocked and her possessions thrown in the street. Delilah returned to the hotel to book a room for the night. She was told by the hotel manager that no rooms were available. Needing time to think, she returned to the lounge to order a drink. The servant who brought it to her made a remark he would never have dared utter before she was called a whore by the planter, in public.
Boxer was in the lounge reading a newspaper. He understood the local patios and overheard the servant's lewd remark. Boxer dumped the servant amid the potted ferns then sat down at Delilah's table, picked up the bill of fare and asked what she would like for dinner. The maitre d’ told them to leave. Boxer made very clear that if he failed to serve them the maitre d' would be looking for a new set of teeth.
During their meal, Boxer learned Delilah was in a difficult situation: the suitcase she had set down by the table contained all that remained of her worldly belongings and she had to find some place to live. Boxer said he would be happy to accommodate her overnight on board his vessel. When they went aboard he even showed her how to bolt the cabin door so she would not be disturbed. Delilah slept alone and soundly. So soundly, the ship was in motion when she woke. Peering through a porthole, Delilah could not see land.  The Capricorn Maiden was miles out to sea.
Delilah recalled, 'I was so furious when I realized I had been kidnapped. I grabbed everything I could lay hands on and hurled them about. Boxer called through the cabin window for me to calm down. So I opened the door to give him a piece of my mind. He said he wanted me to be his woman. Then he chased me all over the ship. I threatened to jump overboard. I was not going to be any man's mistress any more. If he wanted me, he would have to marry me.’
Adelaide clapped her hands in delight.
'The day after we got to Namaga a priest was brought aboard. He wore a black smock, a white collar, had a scar across the side of his nose and spoke almost no English. I spoke no Japanese. But ... who cared! For the first time in my life I was in love with the man who wanted me. Then, last year,' Delilah sighed, 'during the festival I saw a man in his underwear racing around the hotel beer garden in some mad contest. He had a scar across the side of his nose and he was Japanese. How was I to know the man who married us wasn't a real priest!'
The lakatoi bumped against a cliff near the lagoon’s entrance. As Delilah reached for a paddle Adelaide pointed to an old sea chest and two kegs resting on a low ledge. Delilah surmised, ‘They must have washed into the lagoon at spring tide.’
The lakatoi’s deck no more than eighteen inches above the water, they were able to heave the chest and kegs on board.
****
Andrew lodged the machete in a stump and looked back along rows of citrus. What had been a tangle of vines and undergrowth when he set to work almost two weeks ago now bore some semblance of the orchard it used to be. His back to the stump, he chewed on a sandwich and peered along the track, hoping to see the coach.
Malcolm and Jamie had promised they would be back no later than Thursday. But Thursday and Friday had passed.  Andrew’s irritation was turning to worry. Malcolm and Jamie were reliable men. It was not like them to let him down. He washed down his late lunch with a sip from the water bag and was about to go back to work when he heard the steady drumming of the galloping horse coming toward him. Tug brought his lathered mount to a halt.
Andrew exclaimed, ‘Christ, Tug, you've ridden that horse into the ground.’
Tug patted the mare's sweating neck.
'I had no choice, Guv’nor. All hell’s broken loose in Namaga. You've got to get down there right away.’

*****
Chapter 29
Tug had returned to Namaga on N49 to find the Duggan Emporium had been reduced to a smouldering pile of rubble. There was ample evidence too, of the damage caused by fires in Chinatown. The hovels over by the swamp had been completely destroyed. It was Terry who told him that prisoners had broken out of the compound and  killed some men out at Three Mile. Those who managed to remove their leg-irons were still at large. Rodney was leading the manhunt to bring them in. Meanwhile, Isaac and some board members—the banker among them—had abandoned Namaga and gone down to Roebuck Bay. The really bad news was conveyed to Tug by Tom who informed him the pay packets Andrew had stowed under a floorboard were consumed by the fire. 
To bring in the prisoners who had escaped, Glebe had commandeered every coach, carriage and wagon available. Tug was lucky to borrow a horse to make the trip up to Whisper Bay. He had not seen Malcolm or Jamie and feared they might have been killed by the prisoners still at large.
Andrew knew he had to get down to Namaga immediately to deal with the crisis Tom now faced and to find out what had become of his two stockmen. Now that he had to leave, Andrew braced himself for what he had avoided since his return to Whisper Bay. Opening the door to his father's study, he saw Bull’s parallel rule and callipers lying on the desk. In a gleaming walnut case was his sextant. Bound volumes lined two walls. About to open a desk drawer, Andrew hesitated. He felt he was prying where he had no right to pry—even if he was Bull's son.
He moved away from the desk to ponder the sketches Bull had made of Namaga during its development. Arrayed in sequence on one wall they began with the first simple huts erected on the shore; the blacks carving channels through the mangroves to the piers; Duggan Emporium when it was the only building of its kind on the waterfront; Chinatown before the Rum Luck Hotel was erected, and the entire fleet of pearling luggers departing for the shell beds after a layover. On another wall, Bull's impression of how Namaga would look with ships loading cargo from the seaward end of a jetty extending into the sound.
Bull’s study was on the ground floor. There were bars over every window. Bull had taken that precaution when he built the house. But the blacks had attacked while Molly was hanging laundry on the line and the doors were open. Andrew's memory of the attack was limited to fleeting images he always shunted from his mind, as he did now. He glanced into the tiny storage room that gave off from the study. His diving helmet was resting on the shelf. His canvas suit was hanging from a peg. Andrew had assumed his diving gear was sold years ago. Sensing a presence, he turned to see Delilah at the study door.
'Everything we need is on the lakatoi,’ she told him.  
'Is Adelaide ready?'
'She's helping Lena with the children.'
'You go ahead. Tell Tug I'll lock up and be down there shortly.'
Delilah nodded and left.
Andrew moved quickly now, opening drawers but finding nothing in them apart from out-dated tide tables and dog-eared manuals. He made sure the windows were firmly bolted, opened the tallboy and was startled by his own image in the full length mirror on the back of the door. For the coming voyage down to Namaga he had donned a shirt with billowing sleeves and rough trousers that reached just below the knee. In the mirror he looked like a buccaneer. Hanging in the tallboy was his father's old sea cap. On impulse, Andrew put it on.
'Jesus Christ!' Tug exclaimed when Andrew boarded the lakatoi. 'You scared the living daylights out of me! I thought it was Bull!'
****
A multitude of stars danced on the lagoon’s mirror surface as Andrew poled the lakatoi away from the beach. Lena sat with the children in the centre of the deck and well away from the hulls to either side. The children were fast asleep. Tug ensured they were harnessed securely before he went for'ard. Delilah raised the sail. The night breeze snapped it full. Andrew stowed the pole and slid the tiller-oar in place.
'Lower the centre-board, Adelaide.'
Bull had installed the centre-board because the lakatoi had no keel. Not only did it enable the craft to point up more toward the wind, the board could be raised instantly when required. Delilah helped Adelaide wedge the board in place. Twin hulls hissed through the water as the craft sped toward the lagoon’s narrow entrance.
'Here we go!' Tug cried.
The women grabbed the safety line he had rigged.
'Be ready for a rough ride!' Tug warned.
Currents and tidal surge drove them suddenly toward a fang of rock.
'Hard starboard!' Tug shouted.
Andrew reacted instantly, the port hull brushing the rock but passing it safely. The sail thrummed and the starboard hull rose out of the water under the force of a strong gust bouncing off the cliffs. Andrew snapped open the cleat and played out the boom to spill wind. The deck levelled and the starboard hull dipped back to the water again.
'Raise the centre-board!'
Adelaide and Delilah jumped to the task.
Now the lakatoi was skipping over the reef with mere inches of water beneath the hulls. Directly ahead, huge waves crashed down in a constant deafening roar. Seeing their white spume, Lena paled and clutched the line that held fast the harnesses. Clinging to the forestay like a monkey, Tug peered intently ahead. 'Hang on ladies!' he cried. The lakatoi plunged into spume, shipping water in the starboard hull. 'Ready, Guv’nor?’
Andrew braced himself at the tiller.
Lena squealed in fright as a mountain of green water loomed above them. Adelaide closed her eyes and prayed. The lakatoi almost stood on end. Then it was scooting down a deep trough as the high roller thundered down behind them on the reef. Adelaide opened her eyes to glimpse yet another curving wall of water ahead. 
'Hard a-port!' Tug shouted.
The craft came almost to a halt. Andrew hurled the line to Tug and yanked up the tiller as Tug secured the boom at his end. Then he took the tiller-oar from Andrew and slotted it in place. Suddenly the nimble craft was scooting in the opposite direction with Tug standing at the 'stern' and Andrew at the 'bow'. It crabbed over the next high crest and they were beyond the breakers. The tiller was reversed once again.
After the first terrifying moments, Adelaide thoroughly enjoyed the wild ride. She was amazed at the ease with which the lakatoi conquered the mountainous surf to glide on serenely over a gentle swell. Lena was trembling from the experience. The maid did not share Adelaide's thrill for adventure. Safely secured in their harnesses, Delilah's children slept through it all. Tug checked their bearings by the dark silhouette of the cape off to their left. He pointed to a star. At the tiller, Andrew nodded and adjusted his course as Tug heaved bags of rice from a hull to serve as pillows.
He remarked, 'We have company.'
Racing either side of the craft, dolphins leaped and knifed through the waves.
'Friendly blighters,' Tug chuckled.
The sleeping arrangements organised, Tug rigged the tarpaulin that afforded a measure of privacy if somebody had to make use of the bucket. There was also a basin.  Andrew had stowed casks of fresh water on board while  Tug broke the grim news about events in Namaga to Adelaide and Delilah. The decision to take the women, children and the maid with them was not made lightly. Andrew and Tug had sailed this craft many times but neither relished the risk they were taking the women and children on board. The prospect of dangerous prisoners at loose on the cape had left them no alternative. 
Tug remarked to Adelaide, 'This isn’t quite like your father's steamer.'
She snapped her fingers. 'That's where I’ve seen you before. You came aboard the Michelle to meet him.'
'You were up on the foredeck,' Tug recalled.
 The deck on this craft was mere inches above the water, yet Adelaide felt not the slightest qualm at being so exposed to the elements. And the lakatoi was a lot more fun than the steamship. Her gaze fell on Andrew with the sea cap cocked at a rakish angle on his head and the tiller clenched in one arm. Seeing him so relaxed and confident at the helm filled her with a pride and contentment that could not be put into words. She had fallen completely in love with Andrew; her infatuation with a man she had not seen in years now no more than a memory. In truth, she had not given Freddy a thought since she arrived at Whisper Bay.
Andrew turned his head as if her thoughts had drawn his attention. He beckoned and she went to sit beside him. The lakatoi sped along, sail thrumming and mast swaying against a backdrop of countless stars. Delilah bade the two of them goodnight and went to lie down with Lena and the children. Tug pondered the chest and kegs the women had found on the shelf of rock in the lagoon, now stowed in the starboard hull. Markings on the kegs told him what they contained: gunpowder. A sturdy padlock had prevented him learning what was in the chest.
Perhaps, tomorrow, they would be able to break it open and find out.
****
Andrew steered to seaward of the strong northerly current that swept along the shore. He felt no need for rest but urged Adelaide to get some sleep as the lakatoi sped on during the night. She finally dozed off and did not wake again until late the ensuing morning.  Its sail flapping lifelessly, the lakatoi  rose and fell on the light swell beyond sight of land. Andrew tied off the tiller-oar to join Tug who was staring in frustration at the chest.
Neither the padlock nor the clasp had yielded to his efforts to lever it open. Fixed to the lid of the chest were brass letters: SNA. SAN…CA… A.  Everyone, including the children, had been asked to hazard a guess at what the letters could mean. It was Delilah who came up with the most likely explanation. The initials comprised part of the name of whoever had owned the chest. SNA was probably an abbreviation for Senora.
'Senora something-or-other,' Delilah hazarded.
She returned to the story she was reading to the children beneath the strip of canvas Andrew had rigged to provide shade. Adelaide and Lena were cleaning pots and utensils before stowing them back in the port hull.
 'Lend me your knife, Guv'nor.'
Andrew removed the clasp knife from his belt. Tug flipped out the spike and set to work on one of the hinges at the back of the chest. A brass pin slid free. He held it up in triumph. ‘Two more to go.’ While Tug worked on the other hinges, Andrew asked about the fire that destroyed Duggan Emporium.
‘Nobody knows what caused it,' Tug told him. 'Maybe it was sparks blown from the fires in Chinatown. Or maybe somebody lit the fire after he stole the pay envelopes.'
Andrew pointed out that only he and Tom knew the pay envelopes were under the floorboard. Then he remembered Sarah watching from the doorway while he was stow-ing them away. The notion Sarah would steal the money was absurd.
‘Tug, did you know Bull was having an affair with Sarah?'
Tug’s head jerked up. 'What made you think that?' he countered.
Andrew told him about Sarah's visit to the emporium.
Tug eased another pin from its hinge. 'One more. Keep your fingers crossed.'
'Well?' Andrew demanded.
'All I know is what Bull told me,’ Tug answered at last. ‘Sarah used to walk up the hill to say hello to him while Isaac was out on the shell beds. Bull figured she was lonely and wanted company. Then Bull got home from the warehouse one night to find Sarah waiting in his bed.'
'You're joking!'
'Sarah wasn't. He flung back the sheet and there she was—not a stitch on. Bull said he didn't know whether to leap on her, or leap out the window to get away from her.'
Andrew could not help laughing. 'She's not backward in coming forward, is she?'
'I tell you straight, Guv'nor, if I came home and found Sarah in my bed I wouldn't knock her back.' Tug frowned. 'No matter what Sarah told you, Bull and Isaac were mates until she came to Namaga. After that… Hey! I got it!'
Tug prised up the lid and swung it back. Neither really expected to find treasure inside. Nevertheless, both were disappointed when they saw it was empty. They invited the others to have a look. Since the chest was empty the children shrugged and crawled back under the tarpaulin with Delilah.
'Empty or not, we can stow pots and utensils inside,' Adelaide remarked.' I'll scrub it out.'
Coral grated against the hulls.
Andrew raised the centre-board as Tug scanned the eastern horizon. He glimpsed North Head through the afternoon haze. It was almost directly in line with the spit of land fingering out to South Point. Which meant the lakatoi had been pushed south of Duggan Passage by a counter-current. Tug was keenly aware the ingoing tide would soon push the craft toward the open expanse of water where giant whirlpools occurred. There being no hint of a breeze,  he dug out two paddles and handed one to Andrew. Neither said anything to the women—there was no point in causing them anxiety. 
Andrew’s muscles had toned up from his exertions at Whisper Bay but even he was tiring from the effort of poling and paddling the lakatoi across the reef. When the coral began dropping away beneath their craft Tug saw two familiar pinnacles of rock rising like pillars from the deep. 'That's strange,’ he muttered. ‘I can't see the wreck.'
Moments later, Andrew pointed to it.
The wreck was resting at a steep angle on its stern on a shelf of rock several fathoms down. Then the lakatoi was caught in another current and began drifting rapidly across the black abyss that was Duggan Passage. Tug looked up to see the headlands framing the entrance to Namaga Sound rapidly falling away to their right.
'If that breeze doesn't pick up soon, we'll drift clear back to Whisper Bay!'
Andrew glanced at the chest Adelaide had left it to dry in the sun.
'I wonder?' he mused aloud.
He asked Tug to take the tiller before going for'ard to examine the chest anew.
Lena boiling the billy on the primus, Adelaide was keeping the children enter-tained under the strip of canvas. Her voice carried to Andrew and Tug up for'ard.
‘I’ll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!'
'I wish something would puff out here,' Tug worried.
'Tug, pass me the gaff.'
Andrew used the gaff to measure the chest both inside and out. The discrepancy was immediately obvious. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he soon found the thumbhole at one corner. Andrew used the spike on his clasp knife to prise up the false bottom. In a low voice, he urged Tug to tie off the tiller and see what he had found.
Tug whistled softly. 'Ah Choy would give his right hand for a pearl like that.'
Andrew pointed out the thumbhole in the false bottom. 'It must have rolled through there.'
He unfolded what proved to be a crude map. When Adelaide scrubbed out the chest water had seeped under the false bottom to soak the map, but there was no mis-taking the entrance to the sound, the outline of the cape and gulf to landward, and a meandering line that denoted the river flowing into the estuary at the bottom of the gulf. Two words were still legible: Rio and Oro. The map was so flimsy it began falling apart  in Andrew's fingers. Thankfully, the chart stowed with the map was of a more durable material. Its notations were easy to read but they had been written in a language neither he nor Tug recognised. The last item discovered under the false bottom was a pouch made from animal hide. Andrew had to cut the noose tied about the neck to spill its contents inside the chest.
'Blow me down!' Tug whispered. Though small, the nuggets were pure gold. With the nuggets were two pearls. ‘Somebody was sending them with the map and the chart in the chest to Spain or wherever,’ Tug surmised.
'And they were hidden under the false bottom in case the lock was picked by one of the crew, as it must have been since the chest is empty,’ Andrew's mouth was dry with excitement as he put it together. 'I'll give you odds the chest and those kegs came from the wreck.'
A zephyr prompted both to look toward the white sands of Dead Man Beach. Tug saw the distance they had drifted in a very short time. 'On this current they could have drifted clear up to Whisper Bay,’ he agreed.
Andrew said quietly, 'Let's keep this to ourselves for the moment.'
The chart and disintegrating map returned to the chest, Andrew inserted the false bottom and closed the lid. He stowed the chest down in the port hull. The nuggets and pearls that were inside the pouch, Andrew shoved into his trouser pocket.
*****

Chapter 30
Though zephyrs teased constantly, Andrew had to wait for a steady breeze to counter the current pushing the lakatoi north, so it could sail through the passage. Night came on as they entered the sound where there was almost no breeze at all. The loud splash as a bogey was pitched from the jetty came to them across the water. Then Tom’s voice cried, ‘You can’t do this!’
We're doing it!'
'At least wait until Andrew gets back?'
'Out of our way, Tom, before you get hurt.'
Another voice cried, 'We ought to leave the flagpole!'
'What for?'
'To string Duggan up!'
'We don't need the flagpole,' somebody else shouted. 'We'll feed him to the sharks!'
Adelaide shuddered.
Andrew put a reassuring arm about her shoulder and motioned with finger to lips for the children to keep very quiet. Torches weaved on the jetty where angry workmen wielded picks and crowbars, bent on destruction. Andrew and Tug paddled the lakatoi silently to the mangroves edging the waterfront. The tide now on the way out, they had to piggyback the women and children to the pier.
Andrew led on, using warehouses and emporiums to shield them from general view as he made for Toshira’s home. After a whispered conversation with Toshira, the women and children were ushered inside. Toshira listened to what Andrew had to say and nodded.
'It shall be done, Andrew-san.’
When Andrew got back to the pier, he saw Tug had moved the lakatoi along the channel to allow for the out-going tide. ‘I figured we might be needing it, Guv.’
'Tug, we've got to stop them wrecking the jetty.'
'How? These blokes want their money. We haven't got it. And forget about buying them beers. Even if you offered Terry’s Special Brew, they’d drown you in it.'
'Now there’s an idea!'
'What?'
'I happen to know where Terry has his private still.'
'Everybody knows that,' Tug dismissed. 'What good is it to us?'
'Come with me.’
Andrew plodded through mud to the lakatoi and grabbed a keg of gunpowder.
'What the hell are you going to do with that,' Tug wanted to know.
‘I’ve wanted to blow up that still since Terry's brew damn near blew my head off last Easter.'
'I still don't see—‘
'If the workmen think Terry’s warehouse is on fire they'll be up here like a shot to put it out. Grab a keg.’
'I hope you know what you're doing,' Tug grumbled. 
'And I hope the powder in these kegs is still good,' Andrew said.
'It's dry and it looked good to me. Guess we'll soon find out.'
Andrew had to climb on Tug's shoulders to open a window. Dropping lightly to the floor, he felt his way past crates and casks, slid back bolts and pushed open the door giving off to the rickety pier. Tug carried the kegs of gunpowder inside.
 'Soon as I lodge one keg under those pipes I'll use the other to run a fuse down to the pier. Wait for me at the lakatoi.' 
'What if it doesn’t work?'
'Then you'll have to come up with a better idea.'
'It wasn't my idea in the first place,' Tug protested. He grabbed a bottle of Terry's Special Brew on his way out. 'I've spent a fortune in Terry's pub over the years. I think I’m entitled to a bottle on the house.'
Andrew shoved a keg between the pipes. Then he removed the bung from the second keg and poured gunpowder liberally in a trail from the warehouse down to the pier. The water's edge was now some distance from the shore. Trudging along the pier, Andrew spilled yet more powder. Then he tramped back to the warehouse to ram the half-empty keg under the illicit still. Bolting the door again from the inside, he climbed on top of some crates to escape via the window. Then he ran quickly along the pier.
'Are you there, Tug?'
'Of course I am. Light the bloody fuse and let's get out of here. If Terry finds out we pulled this stunt ...’
Andrew lit the fuse.
It went out.
Cursing under his breath, he went back to light it again. Finally, the fuse was burning steadily, a faint wisp of smoke streaking toward the warehouse. Andrew ploughed through the mud that was slowing him down.
'Come on! Come on!' Tug urged.
The mud got deeper and softer. Andrew was still wading through it when the blast hurled roofing iron, boards, casks and bottles into the air. Spitting mud, Andrew picked himself up and floundered on to the lakatoi.
'You all right, Guv'nor?'
'They must have heard that clear out to Three Mile!'
Tug chuckled. ‘You ought to see yourself.’
Andrew hauled himself on board. Seeing Tug take a pull on the bottle, he scraped muck off his face and said, 'Give me a swig of that stuff.' 
Tug handed it to him.
Andrew swallowed a mouthful and stared at the bottle in astonishment. 'This isn't too bad a drop after all.'
Tug groaned. 'Just when Terry gets it right, you blow up his still.’
The blast brought more than the workmen on the jetty racing to the waterfront. Folks from Chinatown came to help put out the fire as Andrew and Tug poled the lakatoi stealthily away, the mangroves providing a useful screen.
'That ought to keep them busy tonight,' Tug judged. 'Trouble is, they'll be tossing more bogies in the sound, tomorrow. 
The jetty deserted now, they paddled to the floating dock. Tug hoisted sail to race for the cove where N44 was moored and awaiting his return. Striding back along the jetty, Andrew cursed when he almost fell through a gap in the decking pried up by angry workmen. I've got to find a way to pay these men. He stopped by the site office but Tom was not there. Andrew hurried on to Chinatown.
****
Ah Choy showed no surprise when he raised the lamp to see the dishevelled figure almost covered in mud on his doorstep. But he could not conceal his amazement when Andrew showed him the magnificent pearl. Ah Choy weighed the pearl on his scales and whispered reverentially, 'Thirty three carats!'
'It’s yours.’
Ah Choy eyed Andrew in the lamplight. 'Have you been too long in the sun?'
'I need your help.'
Ah Choy's face resumed its unreadable expression. He motioned Andrew to sit on the stool across the bench. 'The son of Bull does not have to make such a gift merely to ask my help. Nor will it make any difference to my decision.'
'My apologies.'
'Of course,' Ah Choy added quickly, 'Should you decide to give this pearl to me, I could not refuse such generosity.'
'Ah Choy, I came back to Namaga to build a jetty. And now that I've put so much time and effort into it, I’m damned if a bunch of angry workmen or a gutless banker is going to stop me finishing it. Nor will De Longe Enterprises or anyone else to have sole use of it.'
Ah Choy folded both hands on his paunch.
‘How can I be of service to the son of Bull Duggan?' 
'Well first,' Andrew told him, 'I need some clean clothes.'
****
Everybody knew Terry’s private still was bound to blow up some day.Only the force of the explosion came as a surprise. Debris was found fifty yards from what remained of the old warehouse. Nor was Terry that upset about what the termites were eating down, anyway. He just wished he could remember exactly what he put in his last concoction that packed such a wallop.
The last of his illicit stock was in the hotel store-room. Digging it out, he lined bottles up on the top shelf behind the bar and posted a fitting sign:
Terry’s Special Brew—Pure Dynamite!
****
In a new pair of pearler’s whites, Andrew left Ah Choy's home carrying cigars for Tug and a pack of cheroots for himself. The lamp was lit in the foreman's hut. Andrew called out his name and Tom opened the door to close it quickly after him.
'I have something to tell you, Andrew. You had better sit down.'
'Relax, Tom. I already know.'
'Know what?'
'The wages went up in smoke.'
'That's only the half of it.'
'What do you mean?'
Tom took a coffee mug from the high shelf and spilled out the gold wedding ring on the table. When Andrew stared at it blankly, Tom added, 'Look on the inside.'
 Andrew saw the initials engraved in the ring. 'Oh, no.' 
Tom nodded grimly. 'The fire was so fierce, nobody could get near until it burned itself out. I knew there was no hope of the pay envelopes surviving that heat but I searched the rubble anyway.' Tom shivered at the memory of what he had found. 'I made some discreet inquiries. One of our workmen gave her a torch. She told him she was going to the pier.'
When Andrew entered the bungalow Adelaide knew by his expression that something was terribly wrong. She went to his arms. For a long time they stood on the veranda holding each other. Then he let out a long, shuddering sigh.
 She asked gently, 'Do you want to talk about it?'
'Are Delilah and the others asleep?'
'Yes. Toshira and his wife were very helpful getting us here. There’s a note from Margaret Ferguson about Dora. The poor girl was raped but she’s recovering.'
'Jesus,' Andrew sighed. ‘Can we go for a walk?’
They closed the gate quietly after them.
Adelaide took Andrew's hand as they headed across the hill behind the settlement. By the time they sat down near the cairn, Andrew had told Adelaide of Sarah's fate. He told her too, about Sarah’s visit to the emporium the night before they left for Whisper Bay. 'I never encouraged Sarah in any way,’ Andrew told her.
'Some women need no encouragement, Andrew.'
He stared down at the lights of Chinatown.'Isaac left on the Salome before Sarah  was to go aboard the barquentine. I'm not looking forward to breaking the bad news.'
'Surely somebody else can tell him?'
Andrew shook his head.
'Isaac might be a crusty old bastard but he took care of me after my mother was killed. He made sure I had the books, pens, ink, all I needed for my studies. He always found the time to check my spelling, look over my arithmetic, and listen to me read aloud. He put the strap to me a few times,' Andrew recalled with a smile. 'And he rarely praised me. But a single compliment from Isaac is worth a thousand from others.'
'So you are going down to Roebuck Bay.'
Andrew nodded. 'I’ll have Joe run me down there in his sloop.’
Pre-occupied by separate thoughts, they sat in silence for a while. Then Adelaide ventured, 'After all that happened here, there must be problems that need resolving?'
'I was coming to that,' Andrew removed the folded note from his pocket. ‘Now that Isaac and the others have left, I wrote this for you.'
'What is it?'
'My authority for you to act on behalf of the board.'
'Why me?'
'Because I can’t while I’m away. Toshira said his English is too limited. Ah Choy feels he is best in a supporting role. That leaves our newest board member—you.'
‘So I am,’ Adelaide remembered.
Andrew put his arms around Adelaide to give her a long and passionate kiss.
'Mister Duggan! Is that what the chairman authorised?'
Andrew laughed. 
Adelaide stood up. ‘Let’s go back to the bungalow.'
'Where do I sleep when we get there?'
'Pardon?'
'Since I no longer have an emporium,' he explained.
'Do you really have to ask?'
'I don't know which room Delilah, Lena, or the children are in.'
'But you know which room I'm in.'
At Whisper Bay they had slept together every night down at the beach not in the house. Andrew said, ‘Delilah’s there with her children.  Do you think we should?’
Adelaide laughed. ‘She’ll think we’re mad if we don’t.’
****
Ah Choy delivered the money to the site office next morning. Tom paid the men and told them to assemble on the mole. Andrew spoke to them.
'If any of you want to leave, nobody's stopping you. There’s a vessel due in any day now. Those who stay on the job, I have to tell you the next pay day may be late but you will get paid. Any questions?'
Willie stepped forward. 'We heard the syndicate ordered Tom to shut down.’
'The syndicate’s contract is with Duggan Pearling Company, not with the foreman in charge of construction. No matter who said what to Tom, it wasn’t worth a pinch of shit. This job will not be over until we finish what we started!'
The men roared their approval.
Fishing out a cheroot, Andrew adopted a colder tone.
'When I got back here this morning I damn near decided it‘s me who should get on that vessel and leave. Look at this mess.  Lumber lying all over the place. Holes in the decking. A bogey down there in the mud. And now, because of things that happened here while I was away, I have to make a trip down to Roebuck Bay. Will the jetty still be here when I get back?'
Willie answered, 'A few blokes got a bit upset, Mister Duggan.'
'Upset?' Andrew laughed harshly. 'Well so am I. Whoever threw that bogey in the sound can figure out how to get the bloody thing back out again. They can also replace the decking that was ripped up. Tom will inspect the entire jetty from end to end to make sure what's been damaged is repaired before the next pay period begins. What do you think about that, Willie?’
Willie turned to the men assembled about him. 'What are we standing here for? You heard the boss. Let's get stuck in to it!'
****
‘Aunt Addie, when can we tell Uncle Andrew where she lives?’
'Where who lives, Jennifer?'
'The wicked, wicked witch.'
Delilah protested, 'I do wish you two would stop talking about a witch!'
Delilah and her children had come down to the pier with Adelaide to see Andrew off. Joe was stowing their provisions on the Pixie.
'But we saw her house, didn't we, Aunt Addie!'
'Ah, but the witch had flown away,' Adelaide reminded.
'She might come back ... and turn us into butterflies!'
Andrew gave Jennifer and Tony a hug and after Delilah ushered them away, Andrew asked, 'What witch?’
‘We found a shelter along that path leading into the rainforest from the beach. There was a woman's clothing, a cooking pot and some other things inside,’ Adelaide told him. ‘Jennifer and Tony think they belong to a witch.'
Joe called out he was ready to cast off.
Andrew held Adelaide close. 'I'll miss you.’
‘Come back soon, my darling.’
On her way back up the hill, Adelaide paused to look down at the Pixie making for the entrance to the sound. The sight brought a moment of unease—akin to what she had felt weeks ago, when her father was being ferried out to the Michelle.
****
After they escaped from the prison compound, Peewee had taken the two novices to a spring on the far side of the hill. Peewee insisted they needed time to recuperate and the gardeeya were bound to conduct an intensive search for all the escapees who had yet to be returned to the compound. The spring was the safest place for them—and Jiriga.
The plight of his comrades had forced Jiriga to put aside what he must accomplish before he could leave the Land of the Namaga. Now that Peewee had finally showed up to check on the novices, Jiriga peppered him with questions about the shell map.
‘You say Desert Eyes had it with him when he came here?’ 
‘He took it from a bag and showed it to me.’
‘You told him what it was?’
‘I said it was once worn by a Gadgeri rainmaker.’
‘Did he say where he came by it?’
‘He said it was found in the Land of the Warlpiri.’
Peewee completed his close examination of the two novices and pronounced the wounds had healed enough for both to travel. Jiriga thanked him for his assistance. Now that it was clear the Namaga had not provided Desert Eyes the shell map, the Gadgeri warrior made a point of saluting the Namaga ancient in a gesture of respectful farewell before he and his two novices set off for home.
*****

BOOK FOUR

Chapter 31
The two key-operators were astounded when Frederick entered their repeater station. ‘We thought you were dead!’
One returned to his seat at the Morse key while the other showed Frederick a flimsy from a prominent newspaper asking to be notified if Lord Fred showed up. Evidently the message had been sent to every repeater station along the Overland Telegraph line.
 ‘I would like to send a message. Would you mind if I camp here with my assistant until a reply comes through?’
 Both key-operators were happy to oblige.
‘Make your self at home, Lord Fred.’ 
****
EX DALY WATERS…GEN MGR DEL PASTORAL BRISBANE
REGRET TO ADVISE PROPOSED TELEGRAPH LINK NOT VIABLE STOP PLEASE EXPEDITE SURVEY DETAILS OF NEW LEASE IF I AM TO MAP STOCK ROUTE FROM THIS POINT SIGNATURE CARNIVON
Henry was in a meeting with Ted Bamford, the general manager of Del Pastoral Company, when Frederick’s message was delivered.Henry massaged his temples. A migraine was making the words dance before his eyes. ‘Ted, do you have that survey map Carter sent to you?’
Ted removed it from a cabinet in his office. The map showed the boundaries for the new lease in the Kimberly and its location relative to the few isolated communities in that corner of the continent. Henry waited until the migraine’s dazzling aura dissipated so he could study the map. He glanced again at the telegraph message.
‘Where is Daly Waters?’
‘It isn’t in the Kimberley so it won’t be on that map,’ Ted answered. ‘Daly Waters is over to the east, in the Northern Territory.’
‘How long will it take Carnivon to get from Daly Waters to the lease?’
Ted had to think about that for a moment. ‘Well, he’s on a camel and camels ain’t crows but they can get him across the Death Track—‘
‘Death Track?’ Henry cut in.
‘It’s what we call the Murranji. A bastard of a track but the shortest route and camels can handle it. Say four weeks?’
Henry frowned. That would still allow Freddy time to return to Namaga before he got there to collect Adelaide. Henry had another thought. ‘You say camels can handle this route. What about cattle?’
Ted shook his head emphatically. ‘Overlanders have lost entire herds trying to cross it. That’s why it’s called the Death Track.’
‘So you would not want a Del Pastoral herd to use that route.’
‘Christ no!’
‘Then, obviously,’ Henry pointed out, ‘Carnivon must find a route more suitable for our cattle. How long would that take?’
‘Well that’s different,’ Ted acknowledged. ‘He’ll have to head north up toward the Victoria River…six weeks… two months even.’
Henry looked closely at the map. ‘Who marked in this dotted line to Wyndham?’
‘I did. Wyndham’s the nearest port to the lease.’
Henry made a rapid mental calculation and was satisfied. ‘Send Carnivon all the information he needs to map a route from Daly Waters to the new lease.’
Ted was confused. ‘But we decided to ship the founding herd to Wyndham first.’
‘We did.’
‘Then why send Carnivon—‘
‘Because I told you to,’ Henry said coldly. ‘And advise Carnivon, he will be paid for his services in Wyndham, after he maps the stock route. Get that message off right away, Ted.’
****
Adelaide entered the town hall with Margaret Ferguson.
'About time you got here,’ Bert flung at them. 
'I didn't know about this until an hour ago.' Adelaide shot back at her.
Adelaide had gone to look in on Dora. The maid was still recuperating and Margaret hoped she had not contracted a disease from the sailors who raped her. It was too soon to know if Dora was pregnant. 'I didn’t want to impose on Bert.'
'Why not? She's the midwife.'
'Bert has her hands full at the moment, Adelaide.'
Adelaide looked about the town hall and could see at a glance what Margaret meant—in more ways than one. Bert was up to her elbows in a sink full of dirty dishes. The flies, the odours and the heat were appalling. Infants and children were being supervised by a young girl while their mothers fetched buckets of water from the wells.
'Where is the kitchen?'  Adelaide wanted to know.
'There isn't one,' Bert answered.
'Bathrooms?
'You must be joking!’
'Toilets?'
'There’s only one.'
Adelaide brushed flies away. 'These people must be provided better facilities.'
‘Like, where? And by who?’ Bert snapped.
'The syndicate will have to provide them.'
'Har bloody har, har, har!' Bert dismissed.
Adelaide opened her purse, unfolded Tug's note and held it up for Bert to read. The midwife’s eyes widened. 'You're on the board?'
'I’m surprised you didn't know that already.'
Bert wiped her hands on the apron. 'I heard your father bought out Lombard but it   never occurred to me. So what are you going to do?'
'I am going to find what these families need.'
Both Adelaide and Margaret were glad to escape the town hall with its suffocating odours and the flies. Two familiar figures were passing on a coach. Adelaide gasped and hailed them. 'We thought something terrible happened to you two.'
Malcolm explained en route to the jetty where he and Jamie had been these past few days. The coach had been commandeered during the manhunt for escaped prisoners. Malcolm and Jamie were sent with four other men to the river estuary. ‘That bloke, Glebe, promised he would send word to Tug about where we had gone and why.’
'Tug got no such message.'
Malcolm scowled. ‘We just found out the cordon was called off days ago. If we hadn’t decided to head into town we'd still be out there getting eaten by mosquitoes.’
When they dropped her at the mole, Adelaide urged the station hands to pay Delilah a visit. 'She's at the Duggan bungalow.' 
‘Good afternoon, Miss de Longe,' Tom greeted. 
'Is it afternoon already?'
'It’s almost two o clock.'
'This day is going by much too quickly. Tom, it occurred to me that there must be a few nefarious characters among your workmen?' 
Tom burst into laughter. 'I'd say there’s more than just a few, Miss de Longe.'
'I only need one—to pick locks.'
'Are you planning to break into the bank?'
'Not the bank.'
Adelaide explained what she had in mind. Tom went to have a word with Willie. Half an hour later the foreman watched in wry bemusement as Adelaide set off with the 'nefarious character' that Willie had produced—to pick a few locks.
****
The Pixie had to nose her way through the small armada of sailing vessels in Roebuck Bay —or Broome as it was now being called—to drop anchor. After they rowed ashore in the punt, Andrew and Joe headed for a rough shack where pearlers, sheep graziers and cattlemen stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar.
'Put the first round on my chit,' a familiar voice told the man behind the taps.
‘I figured we’d find you here, Arthur.'
Dressed smartly in pearler's whites, Arthur Lombard exuded success. ‘Business always comes to the pub,' he smiled. 'Why waste shoe leather looking for it?'
‘I thought you quit the pearling game.’
‘An offer came my way that was too good to turn down.’ Arthur steered Andrew and Joe through the crush of men to a corner where Rodney nodded a greeting. Arthur handed him a beer.
Andrew asked Rodney tersely, ‘Are you coming back to Namaga?’
Rodney shook his head. ‘Naomi never did like it.’
‘You think she’ll like this place better?’
Rodney shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
‘What about your shares in the syndicate?’
‘I sold the lot.’
Andrew almost spilled his beer. He wondered who had purchased the shares. To break the ensuing awkward silence he asked if either Rodney or Arthur had seen Isaac. They glanced at each other. Rodney said, 'Isaac knows about Sarah.'
'He does? Who told him?'
Rodney answered, ‘I did. Tom spotted me on the waterfront just as I was about to leave Namaga and came over to show me the letters SW engraved inside the wedding ring he found. I didn't put two and two together until I got down here and Isaac told me Sarah had not arrived on the barquentine with the other women.'  Rodney took a deep breath. 'I just couldn't leave Isaac waiting for a wife who would never show up.'
'Where’s Isaac now?'
Rodney pointed to the Salome anchored amid the flotilla on the bay.
Andrew far from comfortable with Rodney who, he felt, had abandoned Namaga—and him. He bought the next round and made his escape from the crowded drinking establishment. Joe rowed them back to the Pixie and then Andrew made use of the punt to pay Isaac a visit.
****
It was late in the afternoon when Adelaide got back to the bungalow. She eased off her shoes with a grateful sigh. Delilah mentioned the two station hands would be staying overnight. ‘Is that all right with you?’
‘I’m only a guest here myself,’ Adelaide reminded.
Delilah said, 'You’re much more than that to Andrew. May I ask a personal question?’
 ‘Does it have to do with us two sleeping together?’
 Delilah waved that away. ‘I would be the last to comment. But what if he asks you to marry him?’
'I … I’m secretly hoping he will,’ Adelaide confessed. 
‘What about the major?’
‘Freddy was the only man not to fall all over me because of my father’s money—until I met Andrew.’
‘You aren’t giving your looks enough credit, Adelaide.’
‘Coming from you, I consider that a real compliment’ Adelaide smiled wistfully. ‘I care for Freddy immensely. I simply didn’t realize, until I fell for Andrew, that caring for somebody isn’t the same as being in love with somebody.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Delilah murmured. She had not seen Boxer in weeks and was missing him terribly. ‘Do you mind if I play devil’s advocate for a moment?’
‘You really do think Andrew will ask?’
‘I do. And because I care for both of you I think you had better face up to the prospect of living permanently in this part of the world. Andrew not only looks like his father, he is as passionate about the future as Bull ever was. Has he spoken to you yet about his views on Federation?’
Adelaide shook her head.
‘At university, Andrew became a member of the Australian Natives Association. That’s an organisation formed by men born in these colonies who want them united into a federation of states. What I am trying to warn you, Adelaide, is I strongly doubt Andrew will want to live in England.’
'I’m happy to live where Andrew wants to live,’ Adelaide declared firmly.
A coach pulled up at the gate. The driver delivered a note.
It read,
Dear Miss de Longe,
In reply to the query you sent this morning regarding the recent break-out from the prison compound, two overseers were responsible. Dereliction of duty brought their deaths upon them. Reparations to their families are not warranted. And, in view of my position as a government representative, I feel it would not be appropriate for me to discuss this matter any further.
Yours faithfully, John Glebe Esquire.
Acting Administrator, Namaga Prison Compound.
****
'So you came, young feller.'
After securing the punt and climbing aboard, Andrew stepped down into the cabin to slip behind the chart table across from Isaac. The lines of determination in Isaac’s craggy face had turned to wrinkles of defeat. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes. Isaac had aged twenty years since Andrew last saw him.
Memories of his years on this ketch crowded in. The Salome had been more his home than the house at Whisper Bay. How many nights had he sat in this cabin struggling over the correspondence courses Isaac would not allow him to neglect? How many times had he crawled to his bunk in the tiny for’ard cabin after Isaac had told him it was ‘time to turn in, young feller’? The odours of lamp oil and woodwork and things long forgotten took Andrew back to his youth—to Isaac barking orders at him as he scrambled to unfurl a sail. To reciting his Latin to this man while the crew were finishing their evening meal. Reluctantly, Andrew took the ring from his shirt pocket and placed it on the gleaming oak table. For a long time, Isaac stared at it.
‘Did she tell you ... about Bull and her?’
Andrew could only nod.
Isaac poured water into two tumblers. He never drank alcohol nor kept it on board.
‘Some women have a need for what some men can’t give ‘em ... things that ain’t real but they want ‘em to be real. That was Sarah. Maybe, if we’d had a nipper she could have fixed her mind on him. But all she had was time to think about what she didn’t have. She weren’t cut out for a place like Namaga—a place that puts things in people’s heads. It put things about Bull into her head.’
‘Why didn’t you do anything?’
‘What could I do?’ Isaac challenged. ‘Tell Bull to leave town because my missus wanted to climb into bed with him?’ Isaac snorted into his glass of water. ‘Even after Bull went out to the wreck she kept asking Peewee when he’d be back.’
‘Peewee? Why Peewee?’
‘She said she heard Bull and Peewee arguing up the hill. That’s how she knew Bull was back in town.’
‘Did Sarah tell you what they were arguing about?’
Isaac wagged his head. ‘You’ll have to ask Peewee.’ Turning the ring slowly in his hand, Isaac added, ‘I hear she burned down your warehouse.’
‘I didn’t do anything with your wife, so help me God.’
‘That ain’t what I’m talking about or even thinking about.’ Isaac set the ring down in the sugar bowl, almost as if he were laying it to rest among the crystals. Then he gazed at Andrew, his blue eyes glinting in the lamplight. ‘I’m thinking about what’s happening to that town. I warned you, young feller. I said you were up against more than you know.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like…things you were never told.’
‘Such as?’
Isaac rubbed the bristles on his jaw. 
‘Well?’ Andrew pressed.
Isaac said quietly, ‘Like why the blacks attacked you and your ma.’
Andrew’s head jerked back. ‘They’re a bunch of treacherous bastards!’
‘There’s more to it than that.’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
Isaac’s arm shot out to grab Andrew as he rose from the table. ‘Why did you come to Roebuck Bay?’
‘I came to tell you about Sarah. I didn’t know you had already been told.’
‘I appreciate you making the effort.  And because you did, you ain’t leaving until I’ve told you what you ought to know.’ 
Shadows shifted across Isaac’s craggy face as the Salome rocked slowly on her anchor line. Andrew eased back into the corner of the seat—as he used to do, all those years ago.
****
'When he was building the house at Whisper Bay, Bull never saw so much as a wisp of smoke to warn him. He hadn't the slightest notion there was more in the rain-forest than possums and the like. Molly moved in and that December, you were born. It being the layover, Bull stayed there, clearing land and planting. Come sundown he’d trudge back to the house so worn out he'd be fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
‘The heat during the wet was too much for Molly and a little feller, like you. Molly would carry you down to the beach where it was cooler. Many a night you slept there in your crib. At the end of layover Bull had to get back to pearling. With station hands, Chinese cook and a Malay gardener working about the place, he held no fears about leaving Molly up at Whisper Bay. Even with an infant.
'Your ma kept a diary. She wrote about hearing strange whispers down by the lagoon and that was why she called it Whisper Bay. The whispers didn’t frighten her. It was after Bull had left when she saw the blacks come out of the rainforest.  Maybe they were used to seeing her there or maybe they figured she was asleep. It was the night of a full moon. Anyway, some waded into the lagoon to spear fish while others gathered along the beach to whisper and click their tongues in some kind of peculiar talk.
‘Once your ma got over the shock of what some of the blacks looked like, she sat up and waved to them. One came toward her. The moon was bright enough for Molly to see the woman had fingers missing from one hand. Both hands were raised to warn your ma she should keep her distance. Then the woman sat down on the sand to look at the crib and you lying inside.
‘Your ma wrote in her diary how she and the black woman used simple gestures to communicate with each other. The following night she went back to the beach but left you in your crib up at the house. Your ma learned from the woman that the blacks only came out of the rainforest on nights of the full moon… to spear fish and bathe.’
Isaac sipped water from his glass.
Andrew sat transfixed, waiting impatient to hear what Isaac said next.
‘The next full moon, Molly had the cook make up pots of food and help her carry them down to the beach. She told him to go back to the house and keep an eye on you.  One of the station hands saw the pots of food down there and wondered what the hell was going on. He hid in a patch of thicket and when he saw who came out of the rainforest to eat the food…' Isaac wagged his head slowly from side to side. ‘The week before pearlers got back to Namaga for the Easter break the station hand rode down there to tell Bull what he had seen. Bull called a meeting.
'In those days there were only a handful of pearlers: Bull, me, Tucker Long, Jack Ferris, Wally Grey and Vic Stafford. All seven of us buried the skeletons your ma found on the side of the hill. Some of them had bones missing: fingers, toes, maybe part of a leg or an arm. When Bull told us what your mother was feeding up at Whisper Bay, we realized why those skeletons had parts missing and our hairs stood on end.
‘If there’s one thing every man jack of us feared it was pestilence. We’d seen what cholera and plague had done to folks in other colonies. We were mighty fearful the pestilence in that rainforest up at Whisper Bay would come down on all of us if we didn't do something about it. All of us were  ready to help Bull deal with the problem. Tug still a young feller, Bull didn't want him involved so we had him bring your ma down to Namaga. That way, neither she nor Tug was there when we did what we had to do.’
Isaac winced at the memory.
'None of us wanted to hurt them. But they wouldn’t come out. So we lit fires to smoke them out. Well that wasn’t easy in rainforest, as you’d know. We finally got a blaze going and smoke blew every which way. I don't know who was choking on it more, them or us. Out they came, some limping on one leg. Some crawling becaue they had no legs at all. There was maybe thirty or so. Those who could walk, we marched. Some, we had to carry in the wagon. Your father had to handle the wagon because nobody else was about to get that close to their sickness. Then, we herded them into longboats and towed the boats way up the coast where we dumped them. We were so frightened of catching what they had, we sank the boats. Bull even burned the wagon.'
Isaac rubbed his jaw and blinked, as if he had forgotten Andrew was there. Then he said, ‘When Bull told Molly what we'd done, she used words I thought would never come out of her mouth. She said we had driven those blacks from their only sanctuary. As it turned out, she was right.’
Isaac fell silent.
****
Determined now to hear the rest of it, Andrew urged, ‘Go on!’
Isaac braced himself and then resumed, 'Well, a few years later the missionary came and built the chapel at the tip of the cape. The lepers we chased out of the rain-forest must have learned he was doling out food. That's when they started making their way back down the coast. But the mission blacks didn't want lepers camping on their doorstep. They wanted them to go back to Whisper Bay…'
‘So the blacks attacked to chase us away?’
Isaac sighed. 'Bull took some men to hunt down those who attacked the house. He  warned the priest, if any black from the mission set foot near Whisper Bay he'd be shot on sight. It was Peewee who explained to us later what we didn't know at the time. A ship brought some lepers to Namaga when he was a lad. His people got the disease were chased up to Whisper Bay where the moon spirit would protect everyone from their evil magic—or whatever. Your ma was right: Whisper Bay was their sanctuary.’
Andrew thought that was the end of Isaac’s account but the old pearler hunched his shoulders and pressed on. ‘Do you remember Jack Ferris?'
‘I remember hearing his lugger went down in a whirlpool.'
'He and his son went down with it. His wife died from snake bite that very month. Tucker Long's pregnant wife was taken by a croc not twenty feet from where he was sleeping the afternoon they went fishing at the river. A year later Tucker got knifed by Malay. Young Vic Stafford’s dinghy washed up on South Point. Nobody knows what happened to Vic. Everybody knows what happened to Wally Grey.'
Andrew nodded. 'The man who tried to beat the tide along Dead Man Beach.'
‘These were the men who helped Bull drive the blacks out of the rainforest. Do I have to spell it out for you, young feller?'
Andrew eyed the wedding ring in the sugar bowl. Were Isaac’s superstitious notions a form of punishment he was inflicting on himself for Sarah’s fate. Even so, Andrew could not help asking, 'Are you saying their deaths were caused by the curse you keep talking about?'
'Those men and their kin are dead. I lost my Emma, my son and my daughters in a cyclone. That’s too much for coincidence.’
'What became of the lepers?'
'There's a handful still camped at the cove where we took them.’
'Is anyone looking after them?'
Isaac hesitated before answering. 'Now I've told you this much, you're bound to find out the rest. Bull made arrangements with the mission to send supplies.'
‘But the mission was closed down.’
Isaac nodded. ‘Tug made sure the lepers got their supplies.’
Andrew frowned. ‘Why didn’t he mention this to me?’
‘Bull made Tug swear he’d keep his mouth shut about the lepers. He figured it was best you were never told about them.’
Isaac’s glance at the cabin chronometer told Andrew it was time for him to leave. ‘Just one more question, Isaac.'
'Make it short.'
'Why did Bull dive on the wreck?'
'It ain't such a bad way for an old pearler to go. Find some place down there, tuck yourself in, cut your line and air hose…'
'Suicide?'
'No no. It weren't suicide.'
'What else would you call it?'
'Isn't it obvious?’ Isaac demanded. 'Of the seven men who chased those poor sods from their rightful home, you’re the only kin left. Bull did it to lift the curse off you.’ Isaac reached under the seat for the tackle box and dug out a bulky envelope. ‘These are my shares in the syndicate. I’ve signed them over to you.’
Andrew was stunned. ‘Why?’
 ‘Because you’re going to need ‘em.’ Abruptly, Isaac rose from the table. Andrew followed him up on deck. The sky was paling with a new dawn. Andrew’s gaze went to the silhouettes of craft riding their anchors where the water was deep enough and then to the burgeoning dwellings visible along the shore.
'This place is getting mighty busy.’
‘That it is,’ was Isaac’s comment. ‘But I won’t be staying. My pearling days are over. I was only waiting for you to show up... and to make sure you got this.'
He thrust the envelope into Andrew's hands.
'Why will I need the shares, Isaac?'
‘Arthur Lombard just bought out Rodney’s interest in the syndicate.’
‘He did! But he just sold out his own interest.’
‘To De Longe. And that's who working for, these days.’
Andrew had a sinking feeling in his gut. ‘You’re telling me Arthur Lombard—‘
‘Is operating his luggers under contract to De Longe Enterprises,’ Isaac confirmed. .  ‘Arthur is also the agent here in Broome for Del Pastoral Company.’
‘Jesus.’
’Like I said, you're going to need what's inside the envelope I just gave you.'
 The impulse too strong to resist, Andrew embraced the old pearler and held him close. Perhaps Isaac was too startled to pull away immediately. When he did, Andrew climbed into the dinghy.
Isaac reached down and squeezed his shoulder. 
'Goodbye, young feller.And good luck. You're going to need it.'

*****
Chapter 32
'Mail ashore!'
The cry interrupted Adelaide’s address to the Namaga Woman’s Association. She wound it up by saying, ‘It is not for me to dictate what should be done about the families whose homes were burned to the ground. But, as a member of the syndicate board, I can authorize furnishing them new homes. I wil, of course, keep a blind eye as to how and where you acquire the materials.’
Her audience broke into laughter.
‘I leave you ladies to arrive at your decision. Thank you.'
Adelaide was hurrying to find out if any mail had arrived for her on the steam packet when a man fell in step to one side and said, 'Miss de Longe, I’m an overseer at the compound. I was told to deliver these requisitions to you.’
He held up a bulky envelope.
Adelaide remembered the testy letter she had received from the Compound’s Acting Supervisor. ‘Please inform Mister Glebe the syndicate can not accept those requisitions until the compound has been inspected by a member of the board.’
‘Miss de Longe…can you spare a few moments?’
‘For what, if I may ask?’
The overseer licked his lips and glanced about nervously. ‘I might lose my job over this, but somebody should know what really happened the night of the break-out.’
Adelaide motioned to vacant tables outside the general store. Though the over-seer’s nervous behaviour implied he wanted to say what he had to say and be gone, she ordered morning tea for them both. Then she asked, ‘What is your name?’
‘Arnold,’ he answered.
‘What is it that you wish to talk about, Arnold?’
'Miss de Longe, none of us want to lose our jobs. That's why Eric is keeping his mouth shut.'
'Eric?'
'Eric worked the shift with me before Jess and Gordon went on duty that night.'
'Jess and Gordon were the two overseers who were killed?'
'Yes,' Arnold confirmed. 'But they weren’t responsible for the prisoners escaping from the compound—like Glebe wrote in his report.'
Adelaide eyed Arnold sharply. ‘How do you know what was in his report? Did he show it to you?'
'I took a look at it while Glebe was out of his office,’ Arnold admitted. ‘It got me thinking. You see, Jess and Gordon were supposed to come on duty before we knocked off but Glebe made a mistake with our shift rosters. So he had to let Eric and me out the perimeter gate.’ Arnold furrowed his brow. 'I'd better tell you about the keys. One set is kept at the bank in case the two other sets get lost. The supervisor carries one set at all times. The third set is kept in the Watch Room.’
'Three sets of keys,’ Adelaide established. ‘Go on.'
'Each set has a key for the compound door; the cages, manacles, leg-irons; and for the perimeter gate.’ Arnold fell silent as morning tea was brought to the table. When they were alone again he resumed, ‘Do you see what I'm getting at, Miss de Longe?'
Adelaide said, patiently, 'I gather it would have been Mister Glebe who unlocked the perimeter gate for Jess and Gordon when they arrived.'
'That's right! But in his report, Glebe didn’t mention that. Nor did he mention Eric warned him that Jess and Gordon should not go into the yard because something was going on among the prisoners. If Glebe had passed on what Eric told him, neither Jess nor Gordon would have gone into the yard and the break-out wouldn't have happened.'
Adelaide sipped some tea. 'You are making a very serious accusation, Arnold.’
Arnold jerked his head in a nod.
Adelaide asked, 'And there is something bothering you about the perimeter gate?'
Arnold nodded again. 'I went on duty again after Glebe came knocking on every overseer’s door because of the break-out. It was about half past five when I got to the compound. The gate was wide open and the padlock hanging on the wire. Glebe claims the prisoners used the key from the Watch Room to let themselves out. That's rubbish.'
'Why?'
'If the prisoners could figure out how to deal with the padlock on the gate, why didn't they use the other keys to unlock their leg-irons? The reason they were rounded up at all was because they were still wearing them. I think Glebe let himself out that night and forgot to lock the gate afterward.’
'Can you prove it?'
Arnold had yet to take a sip from the cup before him. 'I wish I could, Miss de Longe. Even if Jess and Gordon were hard cases, that doesn't give Glebe the right to blame them for his mistake.' 
'Why have you come to me about this?'
Arnold finally got it out. 'If Glebe comes out of this with his nose clean he’ll be made permanent supervisor. The way he's running the place, there's bound to be more trouble.'
'So what do you propose I do?'
'I dunno,’ Arnold admitted. ‘If you read his report—‘
'Mister Glebe has not furnished me a copy,' Adelaide pointed out.
’Glebe said I was to send it off on the steam packet, but I slipped it in there with the stuff he told me to give you.’ Arnold tapped the bulky envelope. ‘If you read the report and maybe inspect the compound afterward, you might notice something…'
Rising abruptly, Arnold left some coins to pay for the tea he had not consumed and hurried away. Adelaide picked up the bulky envelope. She doubted the report would reveal anything to support Arnold's accusations. On the other hand, those requisitions provided her the opportunity to inspect the compound and see for herself how the prisoners were treated.
On her way back to the hotel Adelaide was intercepted by Wilfred who said he had just returned on the steam packet from Roebuck Bay. He announced his bank was again open for business. 'And I have the documents for you,' he added with a broad smile. Adelaide followed him into the bank having not the remotest idea what documents Wilfred was referring to. He chuckled, 'Of course, you knew this was all set up with Mister Lombard before he left Namaga.'
The documents attested the agent (Arthur Lombard) for De Longe Enterprises recently installed in Broome (Roebuck Bay) had purchased on behalf of Del Pastoral Company several blocks of shares in the Namaga Syndicate from some of its former board members.
Feeling a complete and utter fool, Adelaide had to keep a tight rein on her growing indignation. 'How was ... Arthur ... able to make the payments?'
'That was my reason for going down there!'
'Forgive me if I seem a little dense, Wilfred, but I did not give you the authority—‘
'Oh, you have no need for concern, Miss de Longe. Your funds are intact.'
'So where did these funds come from?'
‘They were lodged here for Arthur's use should the opportunity arise—as it did.'
Adelaide smiled woodenly. 'Lodged by whom?'
'Why, Mister Preston-White, of course.'
'Of course,' Adelaide murmured.
Furious over Nigel making the arrangements without her knowledge, Adelaide almost forgot to stop into the hotel lounge to hear what decision had been reached by the Women's Association. Margaret told her the committee was eager to implement her proposals. The news pleased Adelaide but she was still fuming over Nigel’s subterfuge. To give herself time to cool down, she decided to walk back up the hill. When she got to the bungalow, Delilah announced, 'We have a guest.’
His collar advertised his calling.
Father Jamieson had a firm handshake and the crinkles about his eyes implied a lively sense of humour. He apologised for the trunks and suitcases now resting along the veranda and handed Adelaide a note. It was from Andrew and stated he had invited Father Jamieson to avail himself of a room at the bungalow.
 ‘Mister Duggan came aboard the packet briefly at Roebuck Bay,’ the priest informed Adelaide. ‘I am thankful he did, else I'd have wound up in Port Darwin before I knew the packet could not put me ashore at the mission.' Father Jamieson roared with laughter.
His humour infectious, Adelaide was able to put aside her anger over the banker's revelations. 'If you can put up with two women and two children, Father, you have a choice of three rooms.'
'Hell, I can camp on the veranda if need be.' Adelaide's eyebrows shot up. The priest grinned. ‘Miss de Longe, just because I wear this collar, doesn't mean I'm a stick in the mud.’
'Please call me, Adelaide.'
'And my friends call me Father Pat.' He turned to gaze at the steam locomotive hauling bogies down on the jetty. ’I’m a priest, but deep inside me lurks a frustrated engineer. That’s as fine a structure as any I've seen. Mister Duggan informed me there's been a spot of bother recently in the settlement. I'm available to render any assistance you may need.’
A sudden thought flicked through Adelaide's mind. 'There is something you might be able to help me with, Father Pat.'
Delilah protested, 'Give the poor man a chance to catch his breath!'
'Once you have dealt with your priorities,' Adelaide amended quickly. 'By the way, where is Mister Duggan?'
'That's what I was telling Mrs Wiggins when you arrived.'
'Who?'
'Me, of course!' Delilah flashed Adelaide a warning look.
Father Jamieson continued, 'Mister Duggan said not to take the children up to Whisper Bay until he got back. And to inform Mrs Ferguson her husband would be away a few more days.'
'No message for me?' Adelaide pressed.
'Well, he gave me several messages and we only had a few minutes. Let me think.’ The priest rubbed his jaw and pondered. ‘Ah yes. I've got it now. He said I was to pass on to you his congratulations to The Fox.'
****
'What are we looking for, Andrew?'
'A witch.'
'Very funny.' But Joe was not amused.
'She's in here somewhere.'
Joe narrowed his eyes as he tried to penetrate patches of sunlight and shadow.
'Does she wear a peaked hat and say abracadabra?'
The witch Andrew remembered did neither. 
As they pursued the path into the rainforest, the odours of rotting vegetation and the fluting bird cries—even the texture of moist bark on the trees—brought back sharply to Andrew’s mind the excursions he had made here when he was a boy. When Joe exclaimed in delight at butterflies rising in a shimmering cloud, Andrew recalled the times he came to sit by this pool and marvel at them. He squatted to study the ground about the pool. It was here he had first seen the “witch”—or rather, her reflection in the pool's smooth surface. She had quickly vanished into the surrounding dark forest but her footsteps betrayed she was there. The next time he went back, Andrew took a biscuit and left it by the pool.
Andrew went to the pool again and again and the gifts he left were always gone when he returned.  She finally allowed him to see her in deep shadow at the edge of this glade. The long dark hair reached down past her waist. The tattered garb covered her from neck to toe. Yet it was her face that held him entranced. The eyes were as green as the sea. Her nose was as perfect as a nose could be. When she smiled at him he saw even white teeth. He tried to touch her smooth cheeks but she shrank back into the darker gloom of the rainforest all about.
Sitting here now, Andrew recalled the peculiar clicking sound she made when he came to the pool carrying some morsel sneaked from the house. He pursed his lips and imitated the sound as she had taught him.
Joe jumped. 'What was that?'
Andrew got no response—not that he expected one.
With Joe close behind, he pressed on into the rainforest. In soft patches of earth he saw the imprints left by Adelaide and the children. They steered him to the remains of that crude shelter. Andrew stepped under the sagging roof to investigate. But it was Joe who discovered what Adelaide had missed.
The lid to the cooking pot had not been lodged properly in place. Joe raised the lid and saw the pot had filled with rain water. Resting on the bottom of the pot was a Saint Christopher medallion attached to a fine gold chain.
****
It was Sunday morning and Father Jamieson was delighted by the sight of so many wagons and drays outside the town hall. He exclaimed with a broad smile. ‘My my! I wasn't expecting so large a congregation.'
The priest could be forgiven his assumption.
Conversation dwindled to silence as he walked along the centre aisle between rows of seated men and women—none of whom had been fore-warned he might be here this morning. Adelaide ushered him to the stage and a seat amid the committee awaiting her arrival. A nod from Margaret Ferguson signalled Adelaide to step to the lectern.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' she began. 'The Association endorsed my proposal to accommodate families whose homes were destroyed by fire. The families will be lodged temporarily in bungalows that were abandoned by their owners. As soon as permanent dwellings are built and ready for occupancy they will be moved into them. In the hope I offend nobody which means I am bound to upset somebody, I thank the blacksmith for the loan of his coaches; Ah Choy for his generous donation on behalf of the Chinese community; Toshira and all the Japanese whose names I cannot pronounce; Rodriguez and his people, and last but by far not the least, a woman who has devoted years to helping those families. Where are you Bert?'
Everybody looked around for Bert. 
'It would appear,' Adelaide said with a wry smile, 'our midwife may be a little under the weather this morning.'
The crowd found that remark hilarious.
'This leads me to introducing Father Jamieson. He is on his way to the cape to re-open the mission. While in Namaga, Father Jamieson will be available to anyone of any denomination who wishes to come to him. Time pressing, we shall not impose a grand sermon on him this morning. Yet it would be fitting, father, if you blessed our project with a prayer.’
Father Jamieson knew when to keep it brief. After he ended the prayer, Margaret Ferguson stepped to the lectern and said in a no-nonsense voice, 'You have been told what to do and where to begin. It is now half past nine. We had better get on with it.'
Everyone in the hall picked up the chair he or she was sitting on and carried it outside. Margaret said briskly to the priest, 'Bring the lectern, Father.' She removed the oil painting of Bull Duggan that shared the wall with a portrait of the Queen. Everything not fixed in position was taken outside to be loaded in a wagon.
 The priest’s mouth fell open when he saw workmen unloading ladders, trestles, sledge hammers, saws, crowbars, ropes and all manner of tools from another wagon. Some trooped inside with step ladders over their shoulders. Others rigged trestles and planks outside for the carpenters to climb.
Adelaide said, 'Thank you for your blessing, Father.'
'My pleasure, Adelaide. Why are they tearing this building down?'
'We need the materials. The blacksmith has a coach waiting. Shall we go?'
****
Adelaide’s persistent knock roused John Glebe from his customary sleep-in on a Sunday morning. ‘I trust you have good reason for disturbing me?’
‘I do. We are off to inspect the compound.’
‘On a Sunday!’
‘If you wish to have the funds you need tomorrow, the inspection will have to be made today.’
‘By who?’
‘By me.’
'But you're a woman.'
'I am pleased you noticed. I am also a member of the board, Mister Glebe. Do you wish to ride with the driver of my coach? Or do you prefer to walk?' 
With a sniff of indignation the Acting Supervisor said he required time to perform his morning ablutions. Adelaide said she would allow him five minutes. No more. Four minutes later, Glebe climbed up beside the driver. The coach sped past the sports ground again where, Adelaide noticed, the town hall no longer had a roof.
There was nobody on duty when the coach came to a halt at the outer gate. ‘Our budget forced me to cut down staff on duty over the weekends,’ Glebe said pointedly.
Adelaide had noted the complaint in Glebe’s official report. It was her reason for choosing a Sunday morning to make the inspection. By summoning him without any prior warning she was able to establish whether or not the compound supervisor did carry his own set of keys—as Arnold had stated.
Glebe extracted the ring from his trouser belt. He used one of the keys on the ring to unlock the padlock so he could open the gate to admit them into the facility. His mouth fell open when Father Jamieson emerged from the coach behind Adelaide. After locking the gate, Glebe led on to the Watch Room where Eric was slumped in a chair outside the door, fast asleep.'
'Wake up!' Glebe snapped.
Opening his eyes, Eric rose from the chair. 
'There is to be an inspection this morning,' Glebe told Eric, his tone conveying what he thought of that.  The two men entered the Watch Room. Glebe came out again, with his riding crop. He motioned toward the compound door. 'If you will come this way, Miss de Longe?'
'You won't object if Father Jamieson accompanies us.'
Unable to think of why he should, Glebe cautioned them, 'Providing you stay a good distance from the cells. Their occupants are dangerous if you come within reach.'
In response to the recent break-out, Glebe had introduced a new policy. Prisoners were no longer released into the yard over weekends. Confined to their cages, they sat in sullen rows with their legs in irons secured to rods that were in place. The rank odour emanating from the cells was more than enough to ensure Adelaide and the priest kept their distance. Glebe, however, marched right next to the bars, rattling his riding crop along them as he passed by. The 'dangerous' inmates withdrew hastily. Since the break-out, these men had learned to fear John Glebe.
He directed Adelaide's attention to a gutter now attached to the outside of the bars. 'My own innovation,' he declared proudly. ‘Our overseers no longer have to carry water to and fro. Reduces their work load and saves the syndicate unnecessary expense. I'm sure you will approve.'
'Most ingenious,' Adelaide managed to reply—not daring to look at the priest who had to be thinking exactly what she was thinking at that moment. 
Glebe then showed them the wire mesh that fended the flies off chunks of corned beef to be distributed to the prisoners in their cells. 'Well, Miss de Longe? Are you satisfied the facility is being managed in accordance with the Syndicate's demands?'
'So far, yes.'
'So far?’
 'I came here to inspect the entire facility, Mister Glebe. That includes your office and everything else.'
Glebe pursed his lips. 'As you wish.'
Eric had admitted them to the compound and now he tramped with them back to the Watch Room. Adelaide remarked, 'Father Jamieson is not used to our warm sun. Would you mind if he came inside with us?'
The father seldom felt the heat and rarely got sick. He was also astute. Sensing that Adelaide wanted him as a witness, he played along with her ruse, taking a chair in the Watch Room while Eric returned the key for the compound door to its hook.
Adelaide asked Glebe, 'This is what is called the Watch Room?'
'It is.'
'Your office is through there?'
'Yes.'
'Do you keep drinking water in the office?'
'I do. Why?'
'Perhaps your overseer could bring some water for Father Jamieson?’
'Get some water, Eric.'
Eric went to the office. Adelaide moved to the notice board, looked down at the log book and noted that Arnold was due to relieve Eric at noon. She then glanced up at the clock. Noon was only a few minutes away.
Handing Father Jamieson a glass of water, Eric also looked up at the clock. He signed himself off shift but instead of leaving the room immediately, Eric lingered at the door while waiting for Arnold to arrive. John Glebe stared crossly at Adelaide as she tried the door to the storage space where weapons were kept.
'That is kept locked,' he said stiffly.
'Is the key one of those above the notice board?'
'No. Only I have that key and I carry it at all times.'
'A wise precaution—especially in view of the recent break-out,’ Adelaide approved. ‘Had the prisoners opened that door there might have been an armed uprising.'
'Precisely.'
Glebe’s condescending note had caused Adelaide’s initial dislike of the man. But she had not taken him seriously until she saw how the prisoners reacted to him during the inspection, when he ran his riding crop along the bars. Adelaide knew real fear when she saw it. Even so, she found it difficult to believe this innocuous bureaucrat, whose only feature was the wisp of an undeveloped moustache, could instil such fear in anyone. While Arnold had said not a word about harsh treatment or cruelty, what she glimpsed on the backs and shoulders of some prisoners in those cells made it very obvious that Glebe—or an overseer acting under his instructions—had dished out brutal punishment for their escape attempt.
Adelaide ventured, 'I must say we were most impressed by the manner you had the prisoners rounded up and behind bars again, so quickly.'
Her unexpected compliment prompted Glebe to unbend a little. 'Ah well, that was achieved by my organisation and swift action. You see, Miss de Longe, once I had commandeered what we needed to accomplish the task, it was inevitable the culprits would be brought in.'
Adelaide heaped it on. 'And all of them, at that!'
Glebe nodded, flicking a glance at Eric who was leaning against the door frame with arms folded across his chest. Through the window, Adelaide saw Arnold was now approaching the gate. Stalling for time, she motioned to the row of hooks at eye level above the notice board. 'I assume keys are hung separately for a reason.'
Glebe tap-tapped the notice board with his riding crop as if he were a teacher ensuring the class was paying attention. 'During the week, shifts are overlapped so I have sufficient overseers on duty to handle the work gangs and so forth. At those times, the men inside the actual compound require keys to the cells. The overseer stationed outside requires that key to the compound door. The man on the perimeter gate—‘
'I think I understand,' Adelaide interrupted as a bell was rung at the gate.
Glebe told Eric to let Arnold in.
Adelaide watched closely as Eric took the key from a hook and left the Watch Room. 'It appears you have everything running smoothly again, Mister Glebe.'
'Why, thank you, Miss de Longe.'
'I wonder if I too, may have a drink of water.'
'Of course.'
Glebe went to his office. Adelaide watched through the window as Eric unlocked the gate to let himself out and admit Arnold, who locked it again once he was inside the perimeter fence. Adelaide then flicked pages of the log book back to the night of the break-out and confirmed Arnold was, indeed, one of overseers who signed on the morning after. Watching Adelaide, the priest was buning with curiosity but maintained his silence. Hearing Glebe’s footsteps, Adelaide moved away from the log book. He handed her a glass of water. She was sipping from the glass when Arnold entered.
Arnold’s surprise when he saw Adelaide and the priest in the Watch Room, was genuine. Returning the gate key to its hook, he went to the log book and frowned at the date on the uppermost page.
'Before you sign in,' Adelaide said to Arnold, 'there is a small matter I wish to clear up—with your help, of course, Mister Glebe.'
Glebe had not seen her flick back the pages of the log book and had not the remotest idea what the 'small matter' might be. He said he would be happy to oblige.
‘Mister Glebe,’ Adelaide continued in a tone that implied appropriate respect for an Acting Supervisor of a prison facility, 'I noticed Arnold returned the gate key to that end hook when he came in. May I ask Arnold why he did that?'
‘Be my guest, Miss de Longe.’
‘Arnold?’
'That's where the gate key belongs,’ Arnold answered.
'But surely it would be simpler to slip the key in your pocket and hand it over to whoever relieves you later?'
'Absolutely out of the question,' Glebe cut in. 'Should an overseer happen to mislay it inside the yard and one of the prisoners got hold of it—‘
'So it is always placed on that hook?'
'Unless there is somebody on duty at the gate,’ Glebe confirmed.
'Is that one of your recent innovations?’ Adelaide inquired innocently.
'That was Mister Mott’s idea,' Arnold answered.
'So this practice was established before the break-out,’ Adelaide observed.
‘It was,’ Glebe granted.
‘So, that morning, after the prisoners broke out of this facility, who locked the gate again?'
'I did,' Arnold told her.
'On your own initiative?'
'Mister Glebe told me to shut the gate.'
'Is that correct, Mister Glebe?'
'Well, I cannot recall exactly .... '
Adelaide crossed to the log book. 'Arnold's signature is the uppermost entry on the page for that morning. That must mean he was the first to sign in. Does it not?'
'I told Arnold to close the gate,’ Glebe suddenly remembered. ‘I fail to see what your questions have to do with today's inspection, Miss de Longe.'
'I only have two more to ask,' Adelaide soothed. 'On that morning, when Mister Glebe told you to close the gate, Arnold, did you lock it?'
'I did.’
'Where did you find the key?'
'On the hook where it belongs,' he answered promptly.
'Is that also correct, Mister Glebe?'
Becoming irritated by Adelaide’s seemingly frivolous questions, Glebe responded testily, 'We have already told you, Miss de Longe! That is where the key belongs. Now, have you finished your inspection?'
'I most certainly have. Thank you, and good day.'
In the coach on their way back into town, the priest could contain his bewilderment no longer. 'Would you mind telling me what happened back there?'
'Mister Glebe just hung himself,’ Adelaide answered with a smile. ‘Arnold told me earlier he was convinced Glebe left the gate unlocked the night the prisoners broke out. But Arnold could not prove it. In his official report, Glebe claimed the prisoners stole the key from the Watch Room to let themselves out. We have just established the Acting Supervisor lied to conceal his own negligence.'
'We have?'
‘Father, you heard every word: Glebe was adamant about the key being returned to the hook in the Watch Room. So I ask you,’ Adelaide posed, ‘If you were a prisoner intent on escape, once you had unlocked the gate would you waste precious time  going back to the Watch Room to hang the key on the hook where it belonged?'
****
Their coach joined the procession of wagons and carts bound for the strip of beach beyond the mole. All were laden with building materials. Spotting the Pixie at the floating dock, Adelaide said she would catch up with Father Jamieson later. But she found the sloop deserted. Adelaide returned to the bungalow but Andrew was not there either. Thinking he might be home with Margaret, Adelaide hurried in that direction. A familiar voice hailed her as she was passing the huge boab tree that occasionally served as a jail.
'I see you, missus.'
'Peewee? Why aren't you at the house any more?'
'Big trouble belong festival. I camp here.'
‘The trouble is over now. Do come back to the house, Peewee. We miss you.'
‘Orright, missus.’
Adelaide glimpsed Joe cutting across the bottom of the park. She hurried to catch up with him. 'You’re back at last, Joe. Where's Andrew?'
'He went out to the shell beds with Duke.’
‘He did? When?’
‘We got in this morning just as Duke was heading back out.’
‘Did Andrew give you any message for me?'
Joe shook his head and continued on his way.
The message delivered by the priest had warned Adelaide of the damage done to their relationship by Lombard’s purchase of Syndicate shares.  But Andrew’s failure to come and see her before making yet another abrupt departure hurt deeply.  More deeply than she could ever have imagined.

*****
Chapter 33
The body had been recovered from the river bank and carried back to the Land of the Gadgeri. Now that Waibiri’s son had returned from the Land of the Namaga, the funeral rites were able to proceed.
 Waibiri’s body rested on the funeral platform overlooking Home Camp. The funeral pyre was lit. Men chanted of Waibiri’s deeds while the body was consumed by flame. Women wailed as it turned to ash. Then, to the accompaniment of a pulsing didgeridoo and the rhythm of clapper sticks, the spirit was sent on its final journey to the campfires of the ancestors. When the sun broke the horizon again, the leader of the Gadgeri summoned the men to gather about him.
‘Many of our council elders did not believe Jiriga’s reports about the intruder and his foreign worm. But now, we know they were accurate. It is clear to us too, that Jiriga knows more about the gardeeya than any of us.’
Jiriga reported to the council what Peewee had told him: Desert Eyes had shown him the shell map but did not reveal where it came from. The council was relieved. The Namaga were not encouraging the gardeeya to trespass in Gadgeri territory as it had feared. The two novices reported their experiences at the hands of the gardeeya. Jiriga assured the council they had conducted themselves as true warriors.
The leader of the Gadgeri held high the amulet that had also been recovered with the First Warrior's body. He declared, ‘This amulet is worn only by men who have earned the right to lead our warriors. It has been handed down from First Warrior to First Warrior and is to be worn now by the man our council finds best suited to this task.'
Jiriga was urged to rise.
'Jiriga, as our new First Warrior, I invest in you the authority to act as you see fit to ensure the gardeeya do not trespass again in our land.’
As one, every man in the assembly raised his right arm to salute their new First Warrior.
****
Andrew forced himself to breathe evenly. Peering through the face-plate of his diving helmet he watched the lugger's hull slide from view. His diving boots pulled him down steadily toward the sandy bottom. Hiroshi was waiting. They peered at each other through their face plates and then Andrew signalled he was ready to begin. With Hiroshi keeping a watchful eye, Andrew familiarised himself again with the drag of the harness line as he perfromed the diver’s dance—something that no pearl diver completely forgot. Then Hiroshi signalled it was time to return to the surface. The crew helped both divers back on deck.
Duke unscrewed Andrew's face plate. 'How did it go?'
Andrew grinned. 'Just fine.'
Duke warned, 'If Tug hears I let you talk me into this—‘
'Nobody is going to tell him,' Andrew assured.
'All the same, I was only supposed to make a quick run for supplies. He'll be wondering what’s taking me so long. We'd better get a move on.'
With the departure of Isaac and other members of the syndicate for Roebuck Bay, the Namaga fleet had been reduced substantially. Only a handful of luggers worked the shell bed where the Capricorn Maiden was presently anchored. As N49 drew alongside, Tug shouted at Duke, 'Where the hell have you been?'
'We picked up a passenger.'
Andrew leapt aboard the schooner before Duke eased N49 away to deliver supplies to the luggers. Tug said, 'Must be mighty important to bring you out here. What's up?'
Andrew’s terse report of board members selling their shares in the syndicate angered both Tug and Boxer. They had all been caught off-guard by Arthur Lombard acting as Henry's agent down at Roebuck Bay. Yet, there was nothing they could do about it, so they directed their attention and energy to the immediate problem facing Duggan Pearling Company.
Andrew was carrying the chart found in the sea chest. Tug spread it on the table in Boxer’s cabin. ‘We figure the notations might be in Dutch,’ Andrew said as he pointed them out to Boxer. ‘As I recall, Boxer, you speak some of the lingo.’
‘Ondiep is a Dutch word,’ Boxer confirmed as he peered at the chart. ‘It means shallow water.’
‘The question is: did the pearls in the chest come from waters on this chart?’
‘The Dutch ain’t people to waste time or money charting waters they have no use for,’ was Boxer’s comment as he frowned at the figures beside the notations. ‘I reckon these be depths in metres not fathoms. At low tide, some of these shoals are less than a metre under water. No skipper would dare go near ‘em.’ Boxer tapped a place on the chart with his callused finger. ‘These soundings here show a trench deep enough to get around them shoals. If our luggers use that trench we can work these beds.’
Tug studied the chart closely. 'They're bloody close to the archipelago.’ Every pearler knew how the blackbirders had made use of the archipelago years ago. Rumour had it, there were blacks still living on those islands and they were mighty hostile. Tug worried, ‘These waters are so shallow, they can wade out some night and attack.'
'Now look you here,' Boxer argued. 'I promised Delilah I'd take her and the kids to the Japans this year. We won’t be going anywhere if we don’t find better shell than we’ve been getting. Maybe these beds ain't worth spitting on, but if we don't find out we'll never know.
****
The flies swarming in clouds, Frederick and Timothy tied kerchiefs over their faces as they approached the shallow depression—the only waterhole they had seen since leaving Daly Waters. Crows flapped away lazily. It was littered with bloated carcasses mired in yellow mud. They returned to their camels.
It was soon evident, from the broad track left by many hooves, the dead cattle at the waterhole had been part of a substantial herd. Timothy spotted the crude wooden cross marking the grave beneath a tree. A tobacco tin had been nailed above the name RALPH carved into the tree's trunk. Unscrewing the lid, Frederick read the terse note he found inside.
 Ralph was killed near this spot last night when our herd took off in a rush. We don’t know his last name. Ralph hired on at Cloncurry and was a fine stockman.
 Signed, Sean O Malley. Overlander.
****
'When can I come back to work, Miss Adelaide?' 
'As soon as Mrs Ferguson says you can, Dora. Until then, you must rest.’
Margaret Ferguson poked her head into the bedroom to announce the Capricorn Maiden was coming in. Adelaide patted Dora's hand, promised she would visit again and hurried back to the Duggan bungalow where Delilah was in the midst of spring cleaning.
'Andrew might be on the schooner. I'm going down to meet him. Are you coming?'
Delilah shook her head. 'I'm too busy.'
'Is that what you want me to tell your husband?'
'He is not legally my husband.'
'So what do I say to him when he asks?'
'If he wants to see me, he can come up here.'
The jetty was now complete and a celebration had been planned for whichever vessel was the first to berth. Seeing the Capricorn Maiden make for the jetty instead of her usual anchorage, workmen and folks in town dropped what they were doing and hurried to the waterfront. Festooned with flowers and ribbons, the steam locomotive hauled a flat-bed bogey carrying a makeshift band to a juddering halt at the jetty’s seaward end. The band struck up lively music and the gathering crowd managed a ragged cheer as the Maiden’s lines snaked out. A gangway quickly rigged, Andrew was granted the privilege of being the first to walk down it and step on to the jetty. 
'Did you set this up?' Andrew shouted at Tom.
The foreman shook his head. ‘It was Willie and the men!’
Terry presented Andrew a magnum of champagne.
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’
 'Well, whatever you do, don't drink the stuff,’ Terry cautioned. ‘It's bloody awful.'
Andrew raised his hand to silence the crowd.  'Ladies and gents, apart from a few minor tasks, the jetty is complete. The credit belongs to Tom and his men. And as Tom will agree, it is the men who should decide what to do with this champagne. Willie?'
Willie shouted, 'We reckon it should be busted over the last piling Alfie drove in place. And we want Miss Adelaide to do the honours!'
Adelaide was standing at the back of the crowd with her parasol raised to fend off the sun. Her stomach fluttered when Andrew looked her way. Tom beckoned. Willie took off his blue singlet to wrap about the bottle. He called to Andrew, 'You'd better be in on this too, Mister Duggan!'
The workmen eased aside for Adelaide to join Andrew. She swung the magnum against a piling at the jetty's seaward end. Andrew announced, 'On behalf of my foreman, the men who built it, and Duggan Pearling Company, I now declare this jetty ready for use.' Andrew turned to Adelaide, 'At the risk of being informal, I want to kiss you, Miss de Longe.'
'Then for God’s sake do it, Mister Duggan.'
Andrew took Adelaide in his arms. The crowd's cheer was laced with ribald comment but neither cared. Then Boxer came over. 'Where's Delilah and my kids?'
‘Your children are at school,’ Adelaide told him. ‘Delilah said you can find her up at the bungalow.’
'School? What school?' Andrew asked, as Boxer hurried away.
****
Boxer hurried along the path to the veranda but got only as far as the bottom step when Delilah confronted him with the mop. 'Before you say a word, I have to tell you this,' she declared. 'Our children are not going back to Whisper Bay and I am not setting foot on your ship again until you marry me.'
'We're already married!"
'By a diver?' Delilah flung back scornfully. 'Go away.’
'Have you gone mad, woman?' 
Boxer advanced up one step. Delilah flourished the mop in his face.  'No, I have not gone mad. I have come to my senses, Hubert Wiggins.'
Boxer blanched and glanced around to make sure nobody was in earshot. 'You promised you'd never call me that in public.'
'I will and I shall—until we are married. Properly!'
Boxer advanced another step. The mop came down on his head and the handle snapped. Boxer grabbed it. Delilah darted around him and fled. Women and children now occupying the abandoned bungalows laughed at the spectacle of Delilah being pursued by Boxer shaking the mop handle over his head. But Boxer was no match for Delilah on shore. She darted nimbly around gardens and ducked back along the road. Then, seeing who had just climbed down from the coach to enter the Duggan bungalow, Delilah raced in that direction. When Boxer finally got back to the bungalow Delilah was sitting serenely on the front veranda waving a fan.
'Have you arranged the wedding?' she demanded.
He leaned against the gate to catch his breath. 'You know I haven't because I'm Catholic and so are you. Where the hell am I going to find a priest?'
Father Jamieson stepped out to the front veranda.
‘Was somebody asking for me?’
****
Adelaide ushered Andrew along the strip of beach, describing the developments that had taken place during his absence—one of them being the new school for young children. She steered Andrew from the beach into the sand hills that curved around to North Head. Andrew was about to ask where they were going when he saw what had sprung up on the other side of a dune.
The site had occurred to Adelaide when she and Delilah took the children for a picnic near the old wells. Situated below the natural park, where tussocks and hardy shrubs clung to steep slopes on all sides, the glade was obscured from the sound by sand hills. Two simple dwellings were already in place and building materials were stacked for others to be erected on lots marked out for that purpose. Adelaide pointed up the slope to their right.
‘The wells are no more than a few minutes from here. They’re far more convenient to the families than they were from the other side of town. And the children will be removed from the filth and the crocodiles in the swamp. Bert told me the sandbar this end of the sound also makes it safe for children to swim. As for the women—they’ll be less prone to harassment by drunks after they leave the pub.'
'Who's building the houses?'
‘Now the jetty’s almost finished, Tom has to lay off men. The Women’s Association decided to put them to use while they’re still here in Namaga.'
Andrew eyed the sheets of roofing iron and stacks of lumber. 'That makes sense. Where did they get the materials?'
Adelaide’s reply was deliberately vague. 'It was lying around.' She drew his attention to the dwellings already in place. 'They may be little more than boxes with a roof, but they provide shelter and privacy’
'Who's footing the bill?'
'We agreed the syndicate should meet these costs.'
Andrew frowned. 'We’ve yet to hold the quarterly meeting—‘
'Ah Choy, Toshira, and I decided to help the Women's Association in this matter.'
'They did? When?' Andrew asked sharply.
'Shortly after you left for Roebuck Bay.'
'So you already knew De Longe Enterprises had acquired those shares.’
'No!’ Adelaide answered emphatically. ‘Andrew. I knew nothing about that until Wilfred showed me the documents.’
Andrew wanted to believe her but the doubt was still there. 'If you were in my shoes, Adelaide, what would you think?'
'I was asked to act on the board's behalf. And you weren’t here to tell us what to do about women and children crowded inside a building with only one toilet and no facilities. Are you going to stand here now and take issue with me over—‘
'All right! I don't want to have a fight with you. I've missed you more than I ever thought I would ever miss any woman. I love you, Adelaide.'
She reached up to run her fingers over the growth on his face. 'And I love you.'
He said, ruefully, 'I think I need a shave.'
'I think a beard would suit you.' She kissed him with a fierce hunger. 'I couldn't stop thinking about you.'
'With all you've been doing, I'm surprised you had time to think about me at all,' Andrew laughed. ‘Let’s get back and into bed.'
'Father Jamieson is at the bungalow, darling.'
'Oh Christ. And it was me who invited him to stay there.’
'And Delilah is going to make good use of his visit.' 
When Adelaide told him about Delilah’s determination for a wedding to be held by the priest, Andrew found that hilarious. ‘Wait until Tug hears about this. He’ll think it’s the greatest joke ever pulled on Boxer.'
'I would not laugh too hard if I were you,' Adelaide warned with a smile. 'Tug is to be the Best Man and Delilah wants me for her lady-in-waiting. Which means you will have to do your part.'
'So where’s it to be? The town hall?’
Adelaide felt it prudent not to tell Andrew at this time that the town hall had been stripped down to its stumps. 'I think it would be a little too airy for the ceremony.'
As Andrew recalled, the building was always stifling hot. It was also hot down here in the glade where the sand hills blocked any breeze coming off the sound. 'Let's go up to the park.‘
When they paused at the boab tree Adelaide remarked, 'Peewee was camping here until a few days ago.' 
'You know,' Andrew murmured in Adelaide’s ear. 'If we pulled the door shut… just in case somebody came by .... '
'I was thinking the same thing.'
'Great minds think alike,’ Adelaide giggled.
****
'All Delilah wants is for you to make an honest woman of her,' Father Jamieson pointed out after Boxer had voiced his protest. 'Why can't you see it her way?'
'It isn't that, Father.'
'Then what in blazes are you on about?'
'When Delilah told me she was a Catholic, I said I was too. But I've never been baptised… And I'm not sure I want to be.'
'A man like you scared of a few drops of water. You must be joking.'
'It's no joke when your name is Hubert Wiggins.'
'So that's what all the fuss is about.'
'Father, would you want a name like that? Why do you think they call me Boxer? I was forever getting in fights over t’others making fun of my name.'
Father Jamieson kept a straight face. 'A man is judged by his character, not the name his poor parents gave him. On the other hand, I've always wanted to baptise some-body at sea. If we were to baptize you on that fancy ship of yours that might help keep the name you were born with from being bandied about town.'
****
Frederick saw them stumbling toward them. Ordering Abdul down, he left Timothy to mind the camels and strode ahead with a water bag. One had his left arm in a sling. The forehead of another was wrapped in a crude bandage. All three men were covered in dust. While two drank greedily from the waterbag, the third member of this weary trio regarded Frederick through hard grey eyes. He was a big man—at least two inches taller than Frederick and much broader across the shoulders. When the waterbag was passed to him he drank sparingly.
‘Thanks,’ he rasped, handing it back. ‘I’m Sean O Malley.’
‘Major Carnivon at your service. I read the note you left in the tobacco tin. Can I be of help?’
‘Are you heading for Timber Creek?’
‘I wasn’t, but I will.’
‘I wired ahead for a drover to collect the herd at Timber Creek,’ Sean O Malley told Frederick. ‘What we need are three good horses and maybe a pack mule to get us back to Queensland. If you could tell him where to find us...’
‘Consider it done,’ Frederick promised. ‘In the meantime, I can fill your waterbags from my canteen and provide some rations to tide you over.’
The waterbags were filled and their tucker bags stocked with tins of food and other essentials. Sean O Malley said, ‘We’re mighty grateful for your help, major.’
Though Frederick had wearied of his over-long expedition and the last thing he wanted to do now was make a detour, all he said was, ‘The least I can do, Sean.’
‘One other thing, major?’
‘Yes?’
‘When you get to Timber Creek could you send a couple of telegraph messages for me? They won’t cost you anything. Just bill them to Del Pastoral Company.’
The drover was waiting for the Del Pastoral delivery when Frederick and Timothy arrived at the tiny outpost that was Timber Creek. It was obvious the drover was far from happy when he learned the entire herd had been lost en route, but he assured Frederick the overlanders would be provided the mounts they needed to get them home again. Then Frederick walked on to the telegraph station to wire Del Pastoral on Sean O Malley’s behalf.
Scanning what Frederick had written on the form, the key-operator noted the name at the bottom and said, ‘Major Carnivon?’
‘That’s me.’
‘A message came for you just the other day.’
Wondering if it was another from the general manager of Del Pastoral or even from Henry himself, Frederick stared in amazement at the signature. Paddy’s message had finally reached him. ‘Timothy! We must be on our way.’
Timber Creek was well behind when Frederick remarked suddenly, ‘I told you about Adelaide?’
‘Your woman,’ Timothy nodded. ‘She’s in some place called England?’
‘That’s what I thought. I'm annoyed. Henry confirmed the order for us to map the route from Daly Waters.Surely he could have let me know his daughter is waiting for me in Namaga. So why didn’t he?’
Timothy gave the matter some thought.
‘Boss Fred, do you remember me telling you about long walkabout?’
‘A kind of test that lasts for months, you said. What about it?’
‘Well, when some elder doesn’t want some young-fella to marry his daughter, he sends that young-fella on long walkabout.’
The full implication of Timothy’s shrewd observation finally penetrated Frederick’s tired mind.

*****
Chapter 34
'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I baptise thee, Hubert Wiggins.'
The bosun snickered.
His face dripping, Boxer grated, 'Forgive me, Father. I'm about to lay into my crew.'
'Thou shalt not kill,' the priest reminded.
The crew could not stifle their amusement. None of them had heard their skipper's given name before. Boxer rounded on the bosun. ‘See them shrouds? I want every splice in every line marled. Don't you be giving me manrope knots. I want double Matthew Walkers. And if I find one frayed line your days as bosun are over.' The bosun's face fell. Boxer turned on men who were still choking back their mirth. ‘What are you lot grinning at? If any one of you so much as breathes what you just heard I swear before the Father himself, you'll all be baptised God-fearing Catholics before we head back to shore.' The crew quailed. Boxer continued for good measure, 'In case you forgot, come layover the Maiden is going to the Japans. If you bunch of good-for-nothing heathen no-hopers wants to be aboard, you'll make her spic and span. The Maiden is to be scrubbed, scraped, and holystoned from stem to stern. And if you want to cast your eyes on them pretties in the Japans, you’d best be remembering the name of the skipper of this here schooner. Say it!'
'Boxer!' they chorused.
'Should I happen to hear one of you bunch of sinners so much as whisper anything else, you'll be aching on your knees come this Sunday and every Sunday whiles I read the Bible from Ecclesiastees to Amen! Is that clear?'
'Aye aye, Boxer!'
'Get scrubbing.'
The crew fled the deck. Boxer turned to the priest.
'This religion brings on a powerful thirst, Father. If you will join me in my cabin.'
As the skipper poured a generous measure into each glass Father Jamieson said with unconcealed admiration, ‘Boxer, yours was as fine a sermon as any I ever made. I do believe you missed your true calling.'
****
The Namaga Syndicate board meeting was held in the hotel lounge. Tug presided as chairman—at Isaac’s behest. It was the first time Adelaide participated and she had expected unanimous endorsement for the building project she set in motion. She was dismayed when Tug objected strongly.
'That hollow in the sand hills is where we camped when I first came here,’ Tug said. ‘We lasted three days. What drove us away was the sandflies. They’ll drive those families away. And, since Miss de Longe saw fit to go ahead without consulting us, I feel De Longe Enterprises should foot the bill. Not the Namaga Syndicate. Does anyone want to put this to a vote?'
'I do,' Andrew responded.
The names were called about the table. Andrew, Adelaide, and Wilfred voted for the project's completion. Tug and Toshira voted against. Ah Choy abstained. The work would go ahead at the syndicate's expense.
The second item on the agenda was the removal and replacement of the Acting Supervisor at the prison compound. Tug said, ‘I’ve read Glebe’s report, Miss de Longe, and I'm grateful you went to the trouble of finding out what you did. But that's not the point.'
'Then what is?' Adelaide challenged.
Tug answered, 'The compound is the one thing Bull and I never saw eye to eye about. After Bull’s death I took that issue up with the board. Toshira, Ah Choy, and Wilfred will bear me out.' All three nodded confirmation. Tug continued, 'I don't care how useful the labour gangs might be, this syndicate has no business running a prison compound. Isaac wrote to the government saying it should take over the jail completely or we should close the place down. We got a letter back saying it would be looked into, subject to this year’s annual report. So I say, instead of replacing Glebe we should send what Miss de Longe learned with the report to get rid of Glebe and what we should not have to pay for.'
Tug’s motion was endorsed. He then called for the treasurer’s report.
Wilfred flourished an up-dated balance sheet, announced the jetty had cost less than the board anticipated, expanded briefly on rents, rates and payments the syndicate received for mother-of-pearl, then drew the board's attention to the main issue now confronting all of them. The recent exodus of luggers for Roebuck Bay had left too few to provide sufficient on-going revenue for Namaga.
Tug asked for comments. Andrew responded immediately.
'Adelaide’s father has been buying up shares for Del Pastoral to gain control of the Syndicate so he gets what he needs. But Del Pastoral—or De Longe Enterprises—has no real interest in our needs. After all, we’re just a bunch of colonials down here on the other side of the world who most in Britain don’t even know exist.’
 Adelaide raised an eyebrow but kept her silence.
‘Let’s face it,’ Andrew urged. ’Namaga is finished as a pearling town so we have to encourage companies like Del Pastoral to invest in its survival. But what good is any town’s survival if the people who live in it have no say in how it is run? Or its future? To ensure we do have a say, I am willing, here and now, to make an offer to De Longe Enterprises.’
Andrew had not even hinted to Adelaide what he had in mind. She regarded him with as much bemusement as everyone else about the table.
‘I will trade the shares bestowed to me by Isaac for enough shares in Del Pastoral Company to vote on its board.'
Adelaide calculated swiftly. 'You drive a hard bargain, Andrew.'
'Henry wants our waterfront. I want Del Pastoral to build the abattoir here. Tug, Ah Choy, Wilfred and Toshira can retain control of the town so it gets fair return from port operations. To me, that’s a fair exchange.'
Adelaide pointed out, 'I represent De Longe Enterprises, but the pastoral company is a separate entity. So I can not accept your offer.'
'Your father will be here in a matter of days?'
'Yes.'
'Henry's managing director of both the parent company and its subsidiary,' Andrew pressed. 'Surely he'll be able to make a binding decision when he gets here?'
'Yes, he will, Andrew.'
'So you can tell us now what you will say to him about my proposal.'
'I will say what you said a moment ago: It is a fair exchange.'
****
Andrew sat down on the blanket Adelaide spread beside the cairn. He had chosen this very special place to tell her what was in his heart and on his mind.
‘My only reason for coming back to Namaga was to build the jetty. Now it's finished, I plan to start my own engineering firm, in Melbourne.' He held out the jewellery box. 'Open it.’
The ring boasted a magnificent pearl.
'It's beautiful, Andrew.'
'I had Ah Choy make it up. Delilah gave me your ring size. Will you marry me?'
She reached for him. 'Oh yes.'
His heart soared. Then, gently, he eased her away.
'We have a lot of things that could work against us. For a start, you're the daughter of Henry de Longe. I'm just the son of a pearler—and a colonial at that.'
'I seem to have more in common with you colonials than people back in England. So you can put that aside. Andrew, I love you!'
'And I love you. Even so, we think differently about some things. We can't build a life together on evasions. We’ll have to be painfully honest with each other at times—and this is one of those times. Your father might not like you marrying a colonial.'
‘Does his wealth make you uncomfortable?'
‘Hardly. I plan to make a lot of money myself. But I must marry you on my terms, not his.'
Adelaide snuggled closer. 'I love you all the more for that. So, tell me, what else is bothering you.'
‘There is something I have to take care of before I leave Namaga.’
As she nestled against him, Andrew told Adelaide about the lepers who once lived at Whisper Bay. She listened attentively as he moved on to the chapel Bull had furbished with mother-of-pearl to assuage his guilt over evicting the lepers from their sancturary and that Tug was now sending regular supplies to some place up the coast. Andrew then  reveaed to Adelaide what had been found under the false bottom in the sea chest.
‘The largest pearl is now on your finger. We also found this.'
Andrew dug out the pouch and showed her the nuggets inside.
 'Karakara,' Adelaide murmured.
'Pardon?'
'That’s what Peewee calls gold. He was telling me one night how karakara spirits brought bad magic to Namaga because they are unhappy out there beneath the sea.'
The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Andrew now realized the significance of that crude map found in the chest. The word 'Oro' on the map was Spanish for gold. Which meant gold had been found either up or beyond that river. Now he understood why Peewee was always raving about the spirits and the evil magic they had wished upon this town.
And now he knew why his father had dived on the wreck.

***** 
BOOK FIVE

Chapter 35

Henry was not in the best of moods. The mail packet had taken forever to bring him from Brisbane to Port Darwin. The food at the hotel was atrocious and worse, he had to endure its discomforts two days longer than anticipated. And his headaches were getting worse. His first words to Captain Wallace when he went aboard the SS Michelle were, ‘You’re two days behind schedule. Why?’
Seeing Henry’s wan pallor, the captain refrained from responding in similar tone.
'It’s the vibration down in the engine room, Henry.’
‘That was supposed to be dealt with when you got back to Southampton.’
‘We were assured it was. But after leaving Colombo the vibration started again. The chief said we had to slow down.'
'If this delay costs us that mail contract, our directors will have my head.’
'The engineer thinks the fault is in the casting—‘
'He had better be able to prove he's not at fault.  I want a report complete with photographs of whatever is causing the problem in case this goes to court.'
'I’ll ask the purser to find somebody on board with a camera—‘
'That fellow’s carrying one.' Henry indicated one of the passengers now coming aboard. ‘He’s a journalist,' Henry explained. 'I brought him along to do a story on the jetty at Namaga. Tell the purser to find him a decent cabin—not on the promenade deck. I don't want to trip over him every time I poke my head out the door.' Henry squeezed his eyes shut. One hand went to his temple while the other fumbled with his attaché case.
‘Henry?’
'Pills,' he said, hoarsely. 'In the small bottle.'
Captain Wallace opened the attaché case and removed the bottle. He summoned a steward to bring a glass of water. Henry washed the pill down and leaned on the rail until the wave of dizziness subsided. 
‘George, please don’t say anything about this to Adelaide.’
'The way you look, Henry, I won't have to,' the captain said bluntly. 'And right now you had best get to your state room and rest.'
'I need help with a pile of documents. Who can you recommend?’
'Our purser.' The captain checked his wrist watch. 'I have to get back to the bridge. We'll be leaving shortly.'
'Directly for Namaga?'
'No. Our first port of call is the depot at Cambridge Gulf.'
'So it is,' Henry remembered. 'Don't let me keep you, George. We're far enough behind schedule as it is.'
****
Terry’s Special Brew—Pure Dynamite!
Both Andrew and Tug burst into laughter when they saw the sign over bottles arrayed behind the bar.
'What's so funny?' Terry wanted to know.
'Nothing!' Tug managed to get out.
'This stuff really packs a wallop. You blokes should have been here when the still blew up. I thought the whole bloody town was going up with it.’ Terry reached for a bottle. 'If I can figure out what I put in it, I'll make a bloody fortune.'
Andrew raced for the toilet and got there just before Tug. Tears rolling down their cheeks, they laughed until they could laugh no more.
It was the eve before Boxer’s wedding. Andrew and Tug had invited the skipper of the Capricorn Maiden ashore—Delilah would not allow him to sleep with her at the bungalow until after the ceremony—to join them for a few drinks. When they got back to the saloon Boxer was sampling Terry’s ‘Dynamite’.
He smacked his lips appreciatively.'This be a mighty fine brew.'
Andrew decided he would risk one nip.
'Looks like water,' Tug grumbled.
'It sure doesn’t taste like water,' Boxer approved.
'It creeps up on you,' Terry warned.
'And since this is a special occasion,’ Andrew declared, ‘we’ll drink your Special Brew.’ He told Terry to set up three bottles on the bar, one for each of them. ‘And before I get plastered, Terry, I’d like to take care of what I owe you.’
‘We’ll have to check the chits in my office.’
Andrew went with Terry to his office where he said, quietly, 'Those dark bottles you use for your brew—got any empties in the back room?'
'A whole crate of them,’ Terry sighed.
'I only need two.'
The following morning, bright and early, Andrew came down from the hotel room he had shared overnight with Tug and Boxer to order breakfast. Sally wagged a finger at him in righteous indignation.
‘Terry told me what you pulled on Boxer and Tug last night. I don't think it's funny. Not when Boxer is getting married and Tug is to be his best man. They'll be lucky if they make it to the wedding.'
'Those two are made of sturdy stuff,' Andrew assured.
'Nobody is sturdy enough to drink an entire bottle of Terry's brew in one night. What I want to know is how you got away with it.'
This early in the morning there was not another soul in the lounge so Andrew confided, 'I told Terry to bring two bottles from the back room. Every time he poured brew in their glasses he was pouring me water from the bottle I was drinking from.'
'But surely Tug or Boxer got suspicious—‘
'Boxer did want to check the levels in each bottle. They were exactly the same, so he just kept on drinking.'
'But didn’t they check what was in your bottle?’.
'Tug was so drunk, it was easy for Terry to make the switch when he finally got suspicious. Worked like a charm,' Andrew chuckled. 'I've set the alarm so there’s no need for you to wake them.'
The alarm finally roused Tug. He dragged himself out of bed and stumbled about until he could find the clock to shut it off. Inching up a blind, he squinted into the painful glare. Then he peered again at the clock. 'Half past nine! Boxer! Wake up!'
A pail of water from the communal shower was needed to rouse Boxer. Holding his head, the skipper groaned, 'I feel like I walked into a brick wall,’ Boxer winced as he turned toward the empty cot. ‘Where's Andrew? No way could he be up and about. Not after drinking that stuff.'
'That's what I'm thinking,' Tug growled. 
The two men showered, shaved and returned to Tug’s room where he found the note Andrew had left on top of the dress shirt to be worn for the wedding. Gone fishing. Will be back ashore for the ceremony. Don't forget the ring.
'Fishing?' Boxer frowned.
'Andrew hates fishing. Says it bores him stiff.'
'So why has he gone fishing this morning?'
Tug was too hung-over to dwell on that. 'He's up to something and it ain't fishing.'
****
Andrew touched bottom and jerked sharply on the line. He was rewarded with an answering yank from Hiroshi up on the surface. Marlin spike in one hand, Andrew moved on toward the wreck. Shoals of fish darted inquisitively about his helmet and among the fans of coral. At the periphery of his vision, a dark shape cruised.
All manner of sharks came here—milk sharks, carpet sharks, banjo sharks, sorah, hammer-heads, and sometimes the tiger shark. The shape gliding some distance from him was a hammer-head. Andrew knew hammer-heads were not inclined to attack unless blood in the water agitated them. But divers had been mauled by hammer-heads, so Andrew kept a wary eye on him.
He could feel the line being played out from the surface by Hiroshi who was there to feel every signal and respond instantly. Making sure his air hose cleared the pinnacles of rock and ragged coral, Andrew began his further descent to the shelf at the edge of the reef where the wreck had lodged. He was suddenly swept off his feet.
There were no waving fronds nor anything else to warn of the savage current now hurtling him toward the wreck at an alarming rate. Hiroshi must have sensed what was happening because increased resistance on the line slowed Andrew’s descent. He bent his knees to cushion impact; his boots striking the bow of the wreck. Using the marlin spike, he gained firm purchase and yanked on the line. While waiting for the heavier line to be attached, Andrew scanned what was at his feet.
Beneath the bowsprit was the damaged figurehead: a woman's upper torso. Spars attached to the broken foremast swayed in the current. Three sharp yanks told Andrew he could now haul down the heavier line. He secured it to the bowsprit and signalled the marker buoy could now be attached. Andrew then began a cautious descent to the foredeck where an entrance yawned. But he was not about to poke his head inside and invite an argument with a moray eel or a grouper. Frequently, he paused to peer upward and ensure his hose and line were not snarled by swaying spars.
The wreck’s configuration was that of a brigantine or a modified brig with a portion of the tri-mast still intact. Her length was roughly one hundred feet. A movement caught the corner of Andrew's eye. That hammer-head was getting too inquisitive. Now that he was aware of the current, Andrew made good use of it to snap him down three fathoms. Confused by his sudden motion, the shark shot away.
Now Andrew could see the large ragged hole in the vessel’s stern. Caves pock-marked the wide shelf of rock it was resting on. At the dark entrance of one he glimpsed the tentacles of an octopus. Further along the shelf, the maw of a giant clam gaped. A signal on the line told him half an hour had elapsed since the dive began. Andrew made his way carefully to the other side of the wreck where he found there was no downward current.
Rising slowly, he noted grills on either side of the main deck. They ran from aft to amidships and were flanked by hatches that appeared to have been bolted shut. Andrew grasped one of the grills to peer inside. The wreck swayed suddenly, jostling shapes that drifted toward the grills. Skulls attached to skeletons leered at Andrew from behind the grill. He jerked his hand away. A slaver? Or a black-birder?
When you thought about it, they were one and the same.
The grisly remains trapped behind those grills explained why sharks hung about the wreck. Andrew turned a complete circle to check that no shark was interested in him before signalling Hiroshi he was returning to the surface. Joe and Hiroshi pulled him aboard. Yousof and Ahmed were manning the air pump rigged on deck. All four men crowded around Andrew as his helmet was removed.
'I've never been so relieved in my life,' Joe laughed.
Hiroshi inclined his head to show his respect for what Andrew had risked. Yousof and Ahmed regarded him with a measure of awe. Joe handed him a lit cheroot. 'I figured you've earned it. Do you know what you've just done?'
Andrew did. He was the first diver to go down to the wreck and return to the surface alive. Drawing deeply on the cheroot, he blew out a stream of blue smoke.
‘Hiroshi?'
'You want me to go down with you next time,' Hiroshi guessed.
Andrew nodded. 'I'm going to need help. Are you willing?'
'I will think about it, Andrew.'
'Fair enough. Not a word about this to anyone ashore. If anyone asks what we were doing this morning, we were helping Joe with his pots.'
The buoy now marking the wreck bobbed in their wake as the Pixie sped away.
****
'Do you, Boxer, take Delilah as your lawful wedded wife? ’
'I do.'
The ring placed on her finger, Delilah kissed Boxer. Then she aimed the bouquet at Adelaide who caught it neatly. Once the cake had been cut, Andrew announced they were engaged, bringing cries of congratulation. Boxer and Delilah were showered with rice as they climbed inside the waiting coach. Tony and Jennifer got into the one behind and the maid, Lena, got in after them. The priest's suitcase and chests were loaded in the next coach.
Once they were on their way, Tug said to Andrew. 'You set us up last night. Where were you this morning?'
'I was helping Joe with his crab pots.'
'Why?'
'Why? He's been bloody helpful to me. And I want you to think seriously about taking him on as your manager.'
'I’ve already told him the job's there if he wants it. You're keeping something from me, Andrew.'
Andrew's voice hardened. 'You kept a lot from me, Tug.'
'For instance?' 
'The lepers up the coast, for a start.'
'True.'
‘All the work Bull did in the chapel.'
'So?'
Andrew undid his dress shirt to reveal what was underneath. 'And this.'
Tug stared at the St Christopher. 'Where did you find it?' 
'That shelter in the rainforest.'
Tug narrowed his eyes. 'What shelter?'
'Come off it, Tug. You knew she was living there.'
'Who?'
'The leper woman! You knew damn well Bull was looking after her,' Andrew grated. 'That's why he spent all those months up at Whisper Bay.'
'This is the first I ever heard about her, Andrew. I swear to Christ—‘
 Andrew cut in harshly, 'You can swear what you like! You hate Bible-bashers. You couldn’t wait to close that mission down.’
'Andrew, you’re getting it all wrong.'
'Am I? Who set up the deal with Henry?'
'Andrew—‘
'You were outsmarted by The Fox but he's had a lot more experience at these games so it doesn’t bother me. Hell, I’m marrying his daughter.’ Andrew took a deep breath. ‘Before I woke up to what has been going on, I wouldn’t have dreamed of marrying Adelaide without you as my Best Man. Now? We’ll manage without you. You can have the pearling company, Tug. I’ll settle for what Isaac gave me.’
Andrew turned on his heel and walked back along the path to join Adelaide in the bungalow garden.
****
In carriages and on foot, the wedding party trouped down the hill to the jetty where the ‘newly-weds’ and Father Jamieson boarded the Capricorn Maiden for their short voyage up the cape to Mission Point. Andrew had no wish to spoil the festive mood so he kept his distance from Tug. Consequently, he did not catch the brief exchange between Tug and Boxer just before the schooner made her stately departure. It was not until the crowd had begun to disperse that Tug informed Andrew he had changed his mind about investigating those shell beds marked on the Dutch chart.
For a moment, Andrew feared Tug knew about his dive on the wreck and planned to stay in Namaga to prevent any further dives. But Tug then said, ‘They’re harvesting shell by the ton down at Roebuck Bay. We need more than we’ve got and we can't afford to send our luggers to beds that may prove a waste of time. We should harvest what we can down at Roebuck Bay before the layover. Do you have any argument with that?’
‘When do you plan to leave?’
‘I’ve got paper-work to tidy up, then I’ll head down there tonight. I’ll leave Duke to bring what supplies we need.’
Tug strode off without another word.
****
'... secured by an initial investment of ten shillings per thousand acres per annum,' Henry dictated. 'Each block comprises fifty thousand acres with a stocking requirement of two head of cattle for every thousand acres. End of paragraph.'
It was stifling in Henry's state room even with the portholes wide open. The purser could feel the perspiration trickling under his collar. Henry paused to rub his temples. He was dictating from his bed. A firm knock on the door interrupted them. 
‘See who that is,’ Henry said irritably.
The captain entered and told the purser to wait outside.
'More bad news, I'm afraid. Jennings is worried about that triple-expansion engine. The Gulf is calm as a millpond. While we're taking on passengers being ferried out from the depot, I feel it prudent to take advantage of the calm water so Jennings can do some-thing about the vibration.’
'Couldn't it wait until we get to Namaga?'
'I prefer Jennings look at it immediately.'
Henry raised his hands in frustration. ‘It’s your decision, George. You're the captain.’
'That's right, Henry. I am.'
The captain left. The purser entered the state room again.
On the after-deck Byron Mathews was relaxing and wishing he had something to write about. He had accepted Henry de Longe's invitation to travel on the steamer from Port Darwin to Fremantle—all expenses covered—to gain more insight into the man.  Being a cynic, Matthews saw the irony in his present circumstance. Bent on exposing the British financier’s manipulation of industries in these colonies, here he was, contributing to the publicity De Longe wanted for some new port on the Kimberley coast. Mathews had the uncomfortable feeling Henry de Longe was getting the better part of this liaison.
'Vessel to starboard, captain.'
'Third. Tell whoever is handling that rust-bucket to mind our paintwork.’
'Sure and who'd want to get that close to this floating whore house!' was the distinctly Irish reply. 'If you don't get the gangway out, I'll ram the cow!'
Matthews peered down and saw the gangway swing into position as the paddle-barge came alongside. An Aborigine wearing a wide-brim hat, khaki shirt and khaki trousers stood on the fore-deck. In its open forward hold were three camels. Mathews spotted the tall man about to step to the gangway. He, too, was wearing a wide-brim hat and khakis. The man suddenly looked up at him.
'Well I'll be damned!’ Matthews murmured aloud.
He saw a member of the ship’s crew intercept the explorer and heard the riposte clearly. 'You tell Henry he sees me now, or Del Mining does not get my report.'
Carnivon was carrying a satchel and a cylinder under one arm. He disappeared from view through the hatch on B deck. The journalist raced to the promenade deck and got there just in time to see Henry de Longe emerge from his stateroom with a steward. Expecting Carnivon to be met in the promenade lounge, Mathews was surprised when the explorer was shown to a table beneath the canvas awning rigged on the after-deck. The steward took their orders and hastened to the lounge. Matthews waited until he was out of sight and then walked quietly to a lifeboat within earshot of their conversation. The lifeboat hanging from davits, there was ample clearance underneath for Matthews to see what was going on. He flipped open his notebook.
It was Henry de Longe who spoke first.
'What brings you here, Freddy?'
'The crew of the jolly boat said you were on board.'
'What can I do for you?'
'Provide a state room on this vessel for your future son-in-law.’
'Over my dead body.'
'Now that would be an ideal wedding gift.'
Henry de Longe shot to his feet. 'Carnivon!'
'Sit down and shut up.'
Byron Mathews could not believe what he was witnessing. The man he had written off as dead had just told Henry de Longe to sit down and shut up. Even more astounding, Henry sat down again and clamped his mouth shut.
'Henry, I’ve learned that Adelaide has been in Namaga for months waiting for my return. She went there to marry me. Equally clear, you sent me off on yet another expedition to prevent that happening. I now realize the so-called telegraph link was merely another ruse to keep me away from her. On the other hand, because you put up the funds for my expedition, I came to deliver on what I was paid for.’ Patting the cylinder, Frederick said, 'The map for the stock route. It denotes reliable waterholes along the route.’ 
Henry reached for the cylinder.
Frederick jerked it away. 'Not yet, Henry.'
The steward arrived with their drinks. Sensing the tension at the table, he promptly withdrew. Frederick sipped a mouthful of whisky, nodded approval and opened the satchel to extract rock samples. 'This, I judge to be 98% iron.’ Henry’s head jerked up. ‘Yes, you heard me right.’ Frederick added, ‘There is a mountain of almost pure iron in Western Australia. These are samples of other minerals. This!' Frederick announced as he presented his coup de grace, 'was lying right on the surface. I realise it is not large but it is gold. We were somewhat distracted by natives intent on killing us so we did not hang around to gather more. But it is there, Henry. Oh, yes. There’s plenty more where this came from. Del Mining Company would certainly be interested in this find.’
Frederick sat back in the chair to savour his whisky.
After removing the map that was inside the cylinder, Henry spread it on the table.  As Frederick had told him, every water source was clearly marked, with compass bearings on features of the terrain. Henry paid no attention to the stock route Frederick had also marked in.
‘I don’t see where you found the gold or that mountain of iron.’
Frederick rapped out, 'You get what you paid for.’
'You were paid to provide Del Mining with the exact location of any worthwhile mineral deposit—‘
'Where does it say that in my contract?'
'It was never spelled out and you know it.’
‘Because you wanted that to remain sub rosa between us,’ Frederick rammed home. ‘You may keep the nugget as a memento.’ Frederick swept the other samples back into his satchel and buckled the straps.
'All right, Carnivon. What’s your price?'
‘After all the expeditions I have conducted on your behalf, Henry, you ought to know better than to ask me that.' Frederick nodded to what was floating in the water nearby. ‘Were I a violent man, I would feed you to those crocodiles. Mind you, it would not surprise me if they spat you back.'
The intensity of the moment held the journalist's complete attention. He had yet to write a word in his notebook. Frederick picked up his satchel. Henry asked, 'You're on your way to Namaga now?'
'I am. And the moment I show Adelaide your message sending me on another needless errand she will realise you have been deliberately keeping us apart. You won't be able to do that any more.’
Frederick strode from the after-deck to make his own way back to the companion-way and return to the paddle-barge.
At the table, Henry sat staring at the nugget as the Irish Princess chugged away.

***** 
Chapter 36
Andrew woke to find Adelaide snuggled against him. Her arm was resting across his chest. He raised it gently to smile at the magnificent pearl that now adorned the engagement ring on her finger. The pearl had been traded back from Ah Choy for whatever favour Chinaman might ask of him in the future. Dismissing the obligation with a shrug, Andrew eased himself out of the bed without disturbing Adelaide.
Since the departure of Father Jamieson and Delilah, they had taken full advantage of having the bungalow to themselves. Adelaide had even tried her hand at cooking for Andrew—with mixed results. She overdid the chilli in one of her concoctions, leaving Andrew justifiably wary of whatever she served up next. He slipped on a pair of shorts and lit the stove, allowing Adelaide to sleep on while taking his mug of coffee out to the front veranda.
It was the prospect of his coming dive that woke him. The stars winked out as he gazed at the squat black silhouette of North Head jutting against the dawn sky. Beyond North Head and South Point was the prize Bull had gone after. Andrew had decided he  he was not about to make Bull's mistake by going after it alone.
A shape moved toward him from the poinciana tree. 'You gonna do it, boss?'
'Do what, Peewee?'
'Bring up the karakara.'
'From the wreck?'
'I bin tell Boss Bull 'bout it.'
'That's what you two were arguing about before he made the dive?’
'I tell 'im he got to put it back.'
'Back where?'
Peewee raised an arm and pointed to the rising sun. 'Back in the place b’long karakara. You got to do it!' Peewee insisted.
'Says who?' Andrew challenged.
'Spirits!'
‘You and your bloody spirits.’
‘Karakara spirits powerful, boss. You bring ‘em up, you got to take ‘em where they bilong or they get plurry angry.’
Peewee turned away and shuffled off into the dawn.
****
The purser read back the document Henry had been dictating since the small hours of the morning. Henry listened without interruption, his head propped up by pillows as he lay on his bed. The purser had reached the final paragraph.
‘The De Longe Foundation is to be administered by my brother, Jacques, or whomever he chooses, and will operate as a separate entity from De Longe Enterprises which shall provide a percentage of annual profits toward the foundation’s activities. That percentage is to be—‘
The knock at the door heralded the captain’s entrance. He told the purser to remain seated at the table near Henry’s bed. 'Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. In a few moments you will notice the ship slow down.'
‘Again?’
‘I’m afraid so, Henry.’
'Now what?' Henry demanded.
'The same problem,' he was told tersely.
'I thought it had been fixed.'
'That was Number Two engine. Jennings informs me Number Three is—‘
'Damn it all, George! I have to get to Namaga!'
'And we will,' the captain replied stiffly. ‘But not at the risk of losing an engine.’
The captain closed the door after him.
With a grunt of impatience, Henry resumed dictating his new will.
****
Adelaide served a delicious omelette for breakfast.
'Now I know how you came by your nickname,' she told Andrew as they tucked in. 'I swear, Randy Andy, you have the stamina of a stallion!'
'A man has to keep his woman satisfied.'
'Satisfied? I can barely walk!'
Her remark prompted a grin.
'Must you go back to the wreck?'
'We've already talked about it, my love.'
'I know we did. And I have every confidence in you, darling. But I can’t help being a little worried.’
'This dive will be no more dangerous than any other dive. And today, I'll have Hiroshi down there to help me.'
Margaret Ferguson came to the front steps. 'Joe left a message. He said I should deliver it to you, first thing.’
‘He’s gone somewhere?’ 
Andrew’s question perplexed Margaret. ‘Surely Tug told you?’
Andrew unfolded the note she handed him. It stated that Tug had offered Joe the position of general manager subject to him making the trip immediately to help set up operations down at Roebuck Bay.
Andrew managed to keep his voice level and pleasant. 'I guess it slipped Tug’s mind. Thanks, Margaret.'
'I have children showing up for their morning lessons so please excuse me.'
Margaret left.
Andrew bolted down the rest of his breakfast before hurrying to the waterfront. Seeing N49 still taking on provisions for her trip down to Roebuck Bay, Andrew walked quickly along the pier. Duke nodded when Andrew told him what he had in mind.
`You say you want Hiroshi to go down with you?’
‘I planned on it. So what do you say?’
Duke helped himself to a cheroot from Andrew’s shirt pocket.
‘If I don’t run you out there, you’ll chance it on some other vessel anyway. We’ll be ready to go on the tide. Bring your gear.’
****
Captain Wallace clambered down the steel ladder into the engine room where the chief engineer was down on hands and knees amid the maze of machinery.
‘How’s it going, Chief?’
The captain was rewarded with a grunt.
‘How much longer, do you think?‘
‘A couple of hours… maybe,’ Jennings answered.
The delay had already been much longer than Captain Wallace had anticipated, but he knew it would serve no purpose to vent his frustration on Jennings. That would not get the job done any sooner. ‘Anything you need, Chief?’
‘What I need is a shipyard, Captain. Since we ain’t got one within a thousand miles, I’ll make do with a mug of tea.’
The captain told a stoker to relay the request and returned to the bridge.
****
Andrew was about to reach for the panama hat he usually wore when he saw his father’s sea cap on the rack. Adelaide had said it suited him. He slapped the cap on his head as a talisman of good luck and walked with her to the front gate. There, he gave her a long, passionate kiss.
‘My my, Mister Duggan!  You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet.’
‘In a couple of days we’ll be getting married. Maybe you can talk your father into attending the wedding.’
‘Would you like that?’
‘Of course I would.’
‘But what if he wants us to go to England?’
‘I’m not averse to living there a while. Who knows? I might learn a few things from Henry and he might get used to a colonial for a son-in-law?’ Andrew kissed Adelaide again and climbed into the coach. 'See you later, darling!'
Duke had his crew cast off the moment Andrew came aboard.
The light breeze was enough to get them on their way. Andrew immediately began a thorough check of his diving suit, helmet, lines and air hose. It was not until N49 began tacking through the passage he thought to ask, 'Where's Hiroshi?'
'He ain't diving today, Andrew.'
'But you said—‘
'I know what I said,' Duke cut in.  'But at sea, Tug is Hiroshi’s boss. And Tug said no diver who works for him goes down to the wreck.'
Andrew swore. 'I wouldn't have suggested Hiroshi if I thought it was too risky. There might be a fortune down there, Duke.'
'I know that too,' Duke acknowledged.
'I can’t bring it up by myself. I’ve got to have a diver down there to help.'
‘And that somebody is going to be me!' a familiar voice declared.
Tug came up on deck.
****
Boxer was relaxing on the patio when he noted the absence of bird calls and the eerie stillness that seemed to hang like a pall over Whisper Bay. Looking up at the sky, he suddenly swung out of his hammock to summon Delilah.
She hurried from the kitchen. ‘What?’
‘I’m going back to the Maiden.’
‘But we only just got here!’
‘My nose tells me we’re in for a blow and my nose ain’t been wrong yet. You and the young ‘uns stay here. I’ll have Jamie run me back to Mission Point.’
As Jamie harnessed the team, Malcolm set to work lashing down anything and everything that might become a flying menace during a fierce blow. Delilah began closing window shutters and bolting them in place in preparation for the coming storm.
****
Bert stopped by to inform Adelaide the women and their families were refusing to leave the bungalows they had been occupying. The two women were in no mood for argument when they saw the damage done to some of the residences. Windows, doors and even walls had been the casualties of domestic squabbles and sheer lack of regard for another person’s property. Enlisting the help of Toshira and Ah Choy, the  families were despatched in coaches and carts with their belongings to New Town—as the tiny hamlet in the sand hills was now called.
Bert wiped away perspiration streaming down her brow. ‘It’s bloody sticky!
Adelaide was also feeling the heat. 'Is it always this humid in November?'
****
Frederick swept the sea with his binoculars and announced, ‘There’s still no sign of the steamship.’
‘I thought she’d have passed us by now.’ 
Though the Irish Princess was making good time, Frederick suggested, 'If we avoid the strong northerly current close to the cape—‘
'We just might get there before his nibs,' Paddy finished. 'I'm not taking the Princess beyond sight of land.'
'But the sea is as calm as a millpond.'
'It's much too calm for my liking.’
Paddy summoned Bung Eye to the wheel so he could check the chart. ‘If we have to make a run for it, I want to know where we can run to. I’d appreciate you making sure your gear is properly stowed and your camels secure.'
Frederick set down the binoculars and went with Timothy to check on the camels.
****
The priest was sweeping out the chapel when the coach came to a halt outside.
‘We’re in for a blow,’ Boxer announced without preamble. ‘I hope you don’t take offence, Father, but I told my wife to expect you. You’re far too exposed up here and I’d appreciate you staying with my family at Whisper Bay while I’m not there.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m taking the Maiden where there’s plenty of deep water to ride this out.’
‘I will offer a prayer for your vessel and your crew.’
‘Much as they’re a bunch of sinners, Father, I know they’ll appreciate it. Jamie will run me out to her on the lakatoi. Then he'll take you down to Whisper Bay.’
The lakatoi had been the subject of Tug’s brief conversation with Boxer before he left Namaga. Tucked out of sight at the cove since the night he and Andrew destroyed Terry’s warehouse, Tug had asked Boxer to tow it up to Mission Point. Jamie was familiar with the craft. After running Boxer out to the schooner he heeded the skipper's advice and moored the lakatoi where it would be provided a measure of protection during the storm, among the mangroves around the other side of the point.
****
Andrew submerged first. Tug joined him some moments later on the low shelf at the edge of the reef. The hole in the wreck’s stern presented the easiest access to what-ever might be found inside. There was sufficient light penetrating from the surface to see the clutter of heavy beams and ballast bricks when they poked their heads through the gaping hole. No doubt these objects must have broken through the rotting bulkheads when the vessel was pushed from her initial resting place. Andrew spotted the entrance to a compartment. With a marlin spike ready to fend off grouper or octopus, he looked in and saw chests lying amid cannon balls and other objects. He passed a chest from the compartment back to Tug who jockeyed it through the hole at the stern into the dangling sling.
Duke felt Tug’s signal on the line and called out to one of the pump tenders, Ping Pong, to begin winding it in. The line was attached to the sling. The fate of Bull Duggan still fresh in his mind, Duke began to sweat when tension on the line threatened to tear out the pulley. He scanned the sea for the slightest eddy that might be an approaching whirlpool even though, at this edge of the reef, they were well removed from where the whirlpools habitually formed. Then the chest broke the surface. Ping Pong and Yousof hauled it on board. The sling was lowered for Tug to haul down again.
Tug was finding it difficult to get the sling away once it was loaded. Andrew pointed upward to a hatch that was large enough and would resolve the problem. They managed to heave it open. Then Tug passed the line to Andrew to feed through the hatch from outside the compartment. He was working his way toward it when the wreck shifted suddenly. The current whipped him away. Fearing his air hose might be torn from the helmet at any moment, Andrew clung desperately to the line. The current took him down into the deep trench that was Duggan Passage.
Andrew’s rate of descent slowed and then ceased. He felt himself rising from the deep despite the powerful drag. Then the shelf of rock jutted before him. Tug was using it to brace his feet while hauling on the line. Andrew gained a firm hold on the wreck’s stern rail and jerked a thumb upward. He made it safely back to the open hatch.
Up on the surface, the pulley squealed and the boom dipped as another chest emerged from the sea to be hauled aboard N49. Excitement mounted with every chest that was brought on deck—each man wondering what they might contain. So intent was Duke and his crew on what they were hauling to the surface, nobody on board the lugger   noticed the sudden absence of birds, nor the pallor of the sky until Duke happened to glance in that direction. Abruptly, he signalled the divers to return to the surface.
Tug conveyed the signal to Andrew who pointed at the chests and multitude of objects they had yet to investigate amongst the ballast bricks and detritus. The signal on the line was repeated emphatically. Tug stabbed one arm upward. Andrew looked around for something to grab and spotted a small chest, not much larger than a lady’s valise, in a crevice by the hatch. Andrew yanked the chest free, tied one handle to his belt and emerged from the hatchway to see Tug’s hand raised in warning.
A large grey shape was circling them. 
****
The SS Michelle was finally under way again.  Handing command over to his First Officer, Captain Wallace issued the order to wake him if the circumstance warranted and withdrew to his cabin to catch up on some needed sleep.
The First Officer scanned sea and sky through his binoculars. A shimmering haze hung over the distant coast and a deep swell was running across the leaden sea. The barometer indicated a drop in atmospheric pressure but it did not seem enough to warrant disturbing the captain who had not slept a wink in over two days. The First Officer jotted the reading in the ship’s log and, since it was forbidden on the bridge, stepped outside to have a smoke.
****
Even with a tiger shark circling them, Andrew and Tug adhered to their rule of rising no faster than the bubbles issuing from their helmets as a precaution against the bends. With their marlin spikes ready to fend off an attack, they rose back to back, while up on the surface Duke glanced frequently at a wall of cloud reaching across the horizon.
'They've had enough time,'Duke shouted at Yousof. ‘Get 'em up!'
'Tug signalled they got a shark down there circling, Duke.’
The tiger shark suddenly shot away and vanished.
So too, did the fish.
Andrew and Tug were both relieved and baffled. The instant he was hauled on board and his helmet removed, Andrew asked Duke, 'What's up?’
Face grim, the skipper jerked a thumb toward the advancing wall of black cloud.
Tug's face fell.'That's a Cockeye bob if ever I saw one.' 
Duke nodded.
The cyclone looked both ominous and awesome.
And it was heading right for Namaga.

***** 
Chapter 37
Duke shaded his eyes to scan the leaden sea. There was not so much as a ripple or a breath of wind to make the run back into the sound. Yet if they remained here, on the edge of the reef, N49 would meet the same fate as the wreck lying below them on that shelf of rock. The current would, at least, carry them north and clear of the reef. Duke had the crew raise anchor.
 ‘We’ll have to make a run for the creek,’ he announced.
The creek at the top end of Dead Man Beach had proved a haven for luggers during past cyclones. As N49 drifted on the northerly current, the crew battened down hatches and stowed all loose gear. Then, since they had nothing else to do, Andrew invited their help to open the chests. They set to with lively enthusiasm, attacking padlocks and hinges with hammer and spike. Yousof’s cry of success brought the others crowding around as Andrew heaved up the lid.
'Take a look!' he invited.
The chest was crammed with necklaces, bangles, amulets, pendants, brooches, and loose gems. Gleefully, their assault resumed on the other chests. The aromas of nutmeg and cloves floated up from one when it was prised open. Another chest contained delicate adornments and statuettes fashioned from ivory. Andrew pounced on a chess set; its pieces snugly packed in a sandalwood box.
It was after N49 cleared North Head off her starboard quarter that the first zephyrs fanned their faces. Duke was quick to take full advantage; the lugger coming about to assume a tack that would take her away from the reefs and rocks just offshore. While every man on board eyed the advancing mass of cloud with apprehension, they had raced from cyclones before and were confident of gaining the creek to sit out whatever this one had in store.
The final chest was opened to reveal a fortune in guilders—thousands of them. Andrew bit into one and peered closely at the inscription on one side. Dei Gratia. The many hours he had spent in his youth studying a dead language now served some purpose. He translated from the Latin for the crew’s benefit: 'By the grace of God.' 
'God sure has smiled on us,' Tug laughed.
‘I hope He will forgive me for misjudging you,’ Andrew said, ruefully.
Tug thrust out his hand. ‘I sure have. When I heard what you were up to—‘
‘Joe told you?’
‘No,’ Tug answered. ‘Hiroshi let it slip.’
‘Well, no matter who said what, I’m mighty grateful for your help. And to you, Duke. And your crew.’ Andrew announced everyone on board would share the spoils.
Duke yielded the helm so he could run gilders through his hands. A strong gust snapped his attention back to the oncoming storm. ‘Yousof! Ahmed! Reef the main!'
While they jumped to the task the others stowed their bounty below deck. Andrew investigated the small chest he had yanked from the crevice in the wreck. Opening the chest proved difficult. The sea was growing wilder by the minute. When the hinges finally gave way, Andrew was disappointed to find only a drawer containing weights and an apothecary's scales. Then he remembered the false bottom in the chest he and Tug had opened on the lakatoi. The space below the drawer was filled with fur. Or so it appeared, until Andrew prodded with his fingers and felt something hard. Parting the fur, he stared at the nugget somebody had hidden underneath.
****
The ship's change of motion woke Captain Wallace and took him to the bridge. Seeing black cloud now reaching across the entire seaward horizon, his face turned grim. His voice took on a steely edge when he asked the First Officer, 'Why didn’t you inform me earlier of what's out there?’
'Captain, I did not want to interrupt your sleep.’
‘You were told to wake me if I was needed on the bridge.’ Captain Wallace checked the log and then the barometer. The pressure had dropped significantly since the last entry in the log. He was about to deliver a strong reprimand when he felt the sudden jarring vibration through the soles of his shoes. ‘Slow ahead!’ he barked.
The order was rung down and vibration eased as the vessel slowed, but it was still noticeable. ‘I want a report from the engine room—now!’
The First Officer scurried from the bridge.
Captain Wallace ordered the helmsman to hold the SS Michelle on her present course and speed while they waited for the report from the engine room.
****
Andrew beckoned Tug and showed him the nugget. 
The cockney whistled softly through his teeth. ‘It must be a worth a fortune.’
Andrew said, 'I figure I’m entitled to this. Do you have any argument with that?' 
Tug shook his head. ‘You made the first dive. You’ve earned it.’
 Andrew now voiced what had been on his mind. ‘No offence intended, but I have to ask: did you ever see the woman who was living in the rainforest at Whisper Bay?’
‘Never,’ Tug answered.
‘You must have known somebody was up there with Bull, surely?’
Tug rubbed his jaw as he mustered up a memory. ‘Jasmine.’
‘Jasmine?’
‘I recall one time when I went there in the coach with supplies. By the time I took care of the horses it was night. The lamps were lit but I couldn’t find Bull anywhere in the house. There was a full moon so I went down to the beach and there he was, shouting, “Jasmine! Jasmine!”  I couldn’t see anyone. I figured he was ranting—like maybe he was going off his head. He must have been shouting at her.’
Jasmine brings the butterflies.
The phrase popped into Andrew’s mind as it had that evening in Namaga when he was walking Adelaide and her father to dinner. Then the lugger heeled over sharply.  Andrew almost dropped the nugget overboard.
'You'd better tie that up in something,’ Tug cautioned him as the lugger heeled over again under the wind's gathering fury.
****
The people of Namaga had experienced cyclones in the past. When they realised the black cloud obscuring the afternoon sun heralded yet another. most knew what to do and what was expected of them. After boarding up windows and lashing down loose materials the majority headed for that glade in the sand hills near the old wells as they had done, during past cyclones. Shielded on all sides by high dunes, the hollow was the safest place to be during a storm of this magnitude. Ironically, the families just ousted from bungalows on the hill would have to share their new dwellings in the glade with the very people who had helped to provide them.
The exodus from Chinatown got under way swiftly—wagons hauling personal household belongings, poultry and even pigs. The wind was already whipping sand off the top of the dunes and on Bungalow Hill it tugged at grass and shrubs and trees while the doors and windows of abandoned homes swung to and fro, unheeded. Adelaide slit her eyes against the rising wind as she gazed across the sound in the hope of seeing N49 come through the passage. Bert called out to her from the gate.
‘Come on, for Chris’ sake!’
‘I ought to wait here for Andrew!’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid! If they’re still out there they’ll make a run for the creek. Grab your stuff and let’s go!’
Blooms whirled like confetti as they hurried through the natural park. Seeing Peewee squatting just inside the boab tree jail, Adelaide veered toward him.
‘Where are you going now?’ Bert shouted.
‘I’ll only be a moment!’ Adelaide poked her head inside. ‘Will you be all right in here, Peewee?’
Nodding solemnly, Peewee raised one bony hand to brush her abdomen gently with a knuckle. His touch was ever so light, yet Adelaide experienced a communication that seemed to penetrate her innermost self. His next words pierced her very soul.
‘You tell child belong you about Peewee, eh?’
Bert cried out in exasperation, ‘Adelaide!’
‘Spirit belong me gonna fly away soon,’ Peewee said with a smile. ‘Bye ‘m bye, up there, I will look out for you, missus.’
Adelaide stared in amazement. She had known for several days, but had not uttered a word to anyone—not even Andrew. Yet this old man, Peewee, with his penetrating gaze and touch… he knew she was pregnant with Andrew’s child.
Bert tugged impatiently on Adelaide’s sleeve.
Old Peewee dipped his head in farewell as Bert yanked Adelaide away.
****
The report was precisely what Captain Wallace did not want to hear. Steel mountings for two of the ship’s triple-expansion engines had fractured. A visual inspection was made of them during the steamship’s last call at Southampton, but the hairline cracks in the steel were missed because they were not visible to the naked eye. According to Jennings, the chief engineer, constant stress imposed on them during the voyage from England had caused the plates to fracture. If the vibrations continued they were bound to cause further damage and perhaps seize up the shaft that turned the propeller. There was no option but to shut down the two engines while the SS Michelle made do with the others to limp on—at reduced speed—to Fremantle where the plates could be replaced. 
****
'She'll chug along on anything!' Paddy shouted down at Frederick and Timothy as they toiled to keep the furnace roaring and the Irish Princess at maximum speed.
'I refuse to cast Chaucer to the fire!' Frederick shouted back at him.
'Sure and a book is only a thing of paper! Paper burns!’
'We are not discussing paper. We are deciding the fate of a classic—‘
'It's our fate that I'm worried about, boyo!’
Pitched about in the open hold, the camels complained loudly until the Irish Princess chugged past the tip of the cape and into the gulf where the water was relatively calm. The heavy black cloud turning day to night, it was so dark, they could hardly see the shore.
'We'll run her in among the mangroves like we did before,’ Paddy decided.
Bung Eye took the helm and almost ran down the lakatoi as he steered the Princess into the mangroves.
****
Andrew ripped a sleeve from his shirt to tie the nugget in a bundle and secure it to his belt. N49 corkscrewed through mountainous seas. Tug shouted in Andrew's ear, 'You might have to swim to your wedding!'
' I want you for best man,’ Andrew shouted back.’ So you'd better be there.'
'I wouldn't dream of missing it, Guv'nor.'
They clung to the lifeline rigged fore to aft as N49 shot down another trough. Green water spewing across her deck, she rose to climb the next wave. Duke yelled for Tug to spell him at the wheel. In this sea, handling the helm was exhausting work. After Tug locked his hands on it, Duke relinquished his grip. He did not have to remind Tug to keep the lugger heading well away from the monstrous surf now crashing down on Dead Man Beach.
****
The helmsman on the Capricorn Maiden was lashed to the wheel. Already, his shoulders ached from holding their present course—due west. Masts quivered and spars creaked, and over the shrieking wind Boxer shouted, 'I tell you, Bosun, there be advantages to being baptised!.
'You wouldn't do that to me would you, skipper?'
Boxer’s feet seemed welded to the deck as he maintained constant watch on the activity about him. Four bells signalled six o’clock and the beginning of the second dog watch.Boxer beckoned a young sailor. 'Take over from Peters aloft.’
The lad paled. 'In the crow's nest, skipper?'
'I know you be frightened,' Boxer said to him. 'There ain't anything wrong in that. But every man must take his turn in the nest unless it be too rough to get up there. It ain't that rough yet. Lash in tight, lad,' Boxer added firmly, yet kindly. 'Do you remember the signals?'
'One stroke of the bell for a sighting off the starboard bow. Two, for off to port. Three, means dead ahead.'
'You got it right. Up you go, lad.'
While Boxer watched the young sailor climbed the swaying mast to make it safely to the crow's nest the bosun was thinking they ought to shorten sail before the rigging was torn away. He did not voice this opinion to the skipper, in whom his faith was absolute. Boxer knew the swiftest way to escape the storm was to make for its northwest quadrant, so he must keep punching to the west before shortening sail. And while he doubted any vessel was anywhere near in this fury, Boxer was too experienced to risk his ship and crew on any assumption. He kept lookouts posted.
The driving rain stinging their faces, Boxer bellowed in the bosun's ear, 'The Lord protects Catholics who look out for themselves!’
****
Familes deprived of their wurlies by the rising wind hurried as fast they could from Three Mile bore to escape the low ground they knew would soon be under water. Just down the road, John Glebe paid no heed to the teeming rain or the strength of the wind now buffeting compound walls. In his office he sat writing a scathing report about overseers who refused to stay on duty. Because he had fired the overseers, Glebe had locked prisoners in their cages for the duration of the storm. Unable to do anything about their plight, the prisoners stared through bars at the lake now forming in the yard.
In town, some of the locals and several workmen were now ensconced in the hotel where, Terry assured them, the guy-lines would hold the roof in place—as it had during past cyclones. There was, he admitted, the chance of a tidal surge inundating the ground floor so his customers had brought ropes, pulleys and buckets should they be required to hoist the booze to the hotel’s upper floor.
On the mole, Tom and Willie were sharing a bottle of rum in the site office. Both men figured, because of its solid structure, the hut was a sensible place to sit out the storm. And, neither was going to be the first to leave what both had boasted would stand up to even a tidal wave.
****
When the howling wind and sheeting rain ended suddenly in an eerie silence, Adelaide emerged from a house that was crammed with families to join Bert and Margaret as they checked the other dwellings. Protected by the sand hills, none had suffered any serious damage. Adelaide was relieved. 'Thank God it's over.'
Bert’s laugh was short and harsh. 'This is the eye of the storm. There’s much more to come. It might be worse.'
'Miss de Longe?’
All three women turned to see Arnold scrambling down a sand hill toward them. The expression on his face prompted Bert to ask, ‘What’s up, Arnold?’
'Glebe’s locked the prisoners in their cells. I told him we should unlock the cages and take off their leg-irons so they can swim if they must. He said he wasn’t going to have another break-out on his hands.’
‘You must be joking!’
‘I wish I were. When I said I’d take that responsibility he gave me the boot.’
Adelaide glanced up at the patch of stars above their heads. 'Arnold, if you went back there now can you get in through the gate?’
He held up the key. 'I decided to hang on to this when I let myself out.’
'Will you need help releasing the prisoners?’
'They'll know I'm trying to save their necks so I’ll be fine. But, like I said, Glebe gave me the boot so he isn’t about to let me into the compound again.’
Adelaide turned to Bert. 'Where is Ah Choy?' The midwife pointed to one of the dwellings. 'Ask him to come over right away? Margaret, I think Toshira’s in that house over there. Wait right here, Arnold.’
Adelaide explained to Ah Choy and Toshira the situation at the compound. Then she opened the bag she brought from the bungalow to show them the parcel of shares Andrew had offered in exchange for an interest in Del Pastoral Company. ‘These shares  combined with those owned by both of you give us the majority vote. I move the syndicate replaces Glebe with Arnold as supervisor of the compound. This action to take place immediately.’
****
The SS Michelle rolling heavily, stewards had fixed preventers so plates would not slide into the laps of passengers who came to table for the evening meal. The few who did soon gave up trying to dine and stewards had to clean up after those who were seasick. Down in the engine room, the stokers performed a shuffling dance as they fed the furnaces. Handicapped by the loss of two engines, the steamship was now barely making headway. Captain Wallace frowned at the chart as he tried to estimate their present position. They were in danger of fetching up on the coast.
'Starboard, twenty degrees.'
The helmsman brought the ship to the new heading. 
'Course two four oh degrees, sir.'
'Hold two four oh degrees.'
In his stateroom, Henry noticed the easier motion of the ship. Writing a terse note, he told the steward to deliver it to the bridge. The steward had to use one hand and then the other to fend himself off either wall and stay on his feet as he made his way along the corridor. After safely negotiating the ladder to the boat deck, he stepped on vomit. His feet shot out from under him and he scooted across the deck on his back to fetch up against a life-boat davit. He was trying to crawl back across the deck when the ship plunged into the next trough. Though a safety rail extended along either side of the boat deck, there were gaps to allow the life-boats to be launched directly over the side. The steward hurtled through one of the gaps and into the sea.
The cyclone had claimed its first victim from the SS Michelle.
****
On a horse that was loaned to him at New Town, Arnold made the journey back to the compound in record time. Tethering the animal where it would be shielded from the storm’s renewed assault, he entered the office to deliver Adelaide's note.
Glebe read it. 'They can't do this to me!'
'They just did. I want the keys you carry.'
The supervisor's ring of keys was flung down on the desk. 'You won't get away with this.'
'Where do you think you're going?' Arnold growled.
'Home! We'll sort this out tomorrow.'
'You aren’t going anywhere.'
Glebe snapped. ‘The note said I have been removed as Acting Supervisor.'
'It does,' Arnold acknowledged. 'As the new Acting Supervisor, I'm ordering you to give me a hand in the compound.’
‘In that case, I quit.’
Glebe made for the door.
Arnold blocked his path.
'As I remember, you ordered blokes who didn't work here to hunt down prisoners.'
'That was an emergency.'
'So is this. You'll do what I say or I'll clap you in irons.'
'You wouldn't dare!'
Arnold smiled coldly. ‘Try me.’
****
The SS Michelle was barely making headway under reduced power. With little sea-room to manoeuvre, Captain Wallace was keenly aware of his grim situation when Henry—whose note had not been delivered to the captain—came on the bridge to demand an explanation for the change of course.
'I must get to Namaga!'
'Henry, I must look to the safety of my ship.'
'I happen to own it!'
'And I am in command,' Captain Wallace reminded. 'Officer Collins!'
'Sir?'
About to tell Collins to escort Henry from the bridge, Captain Wallace heard the lookout's startled cry, 'Vessel dead ahead!'
They barely glimpsed the lugger before it was brushed aside.
Dashing across the bridge, Captain Wallace peered down at the stricken vessel as it was illuminated, briefly, by lights of the Michelle. 'Life belts!' he ordered, staring aghast at the faces looking up at him from the sinking lugger. 'Six life-belts!' he added.
The life-belts were hurled almost immediately by his crew but that was no consolation to the captain who saw men being swept away into the night. He ordered rockets to be fired and was rewarded with an equally rapid response.
'Rockets away, sir!'
Henry’s presence on the bridge forgotten or ignored, officers peered anxiously at the sea now illuminated by a dazzling white glare. 
'Breakers off the port beam!'
'Hard starboard!'
'Hard starboard, sir.'
The steamship was sliding into another deep trough. Officers held their breath as a wave broke over her.
'I want full power on those engines!'
The order was rung down to the engine room.
More rockets arced into the night—every pair of eyes trained on the breakers crashing down over groins of rock no more than a quarter mile away.
'Engines full ahead, sir.'
Engines providing additional thrust, the Michelle ploughed through another huge wave to head away from the breakers. Captain Wallace told Collins to help Henry from the bridge and back to his cabin. Shaken by what he had just seen, Henry left without further protest.
Despite the engines at full power, the steamship was still barely making headway in the huge seas. Captain Wallace dare not launch a boat to search for those men off the stricken vessel. 'Did anyone get the registration on that lugger?'
'I did, Captain,' his Third Officer answered.
'Record it immediately.'
His Third Officer recorded the lugger’s registration number—N49—in the log.
*****

Chapter 38
The eye of the cyclone had passed over Namaga. Now, as if renewed by this respite, the onslaught resumed with an intensity that rendered what occurred before merely a prelude to what was in store. Trees, shrubs, vines and even the grass was stripped away by the shrieking wind. The ancient poinciana tree that survived so many storms in the past could not endure this one. Bungalows vanished, their guy-wires futile in such fury. Warehouses lost rooves and walls. Dwellings in Chinatown were flattened.
The shrieking maelstrom found its way even into the hollow among the sand hills, as if seeking out the families sheltering there. It whipped away the walls of hessian and rooves of tin and spinifex. Women screamed. Children whimpered. Horses, pigs and poultry scattered blindly into the night. Adelaide took Margaret's youngest boy in her lap and used a blanket to shield them both from flying sand. She closed her eyes to prevent the sand getting into them but could not close here ears to the never-ending piercing shriek of the wind. And while the storm raged all that Adelaide could think of was Andrew being out there, somewhere.
’I must live through this,' she vowed. 'So our child will live.'
****
Unable to find the steward who had been assigned to Henry De Longe, the purser set off for Henry’s state room to inquire if he needed anything. The Michelle punching into the teeth of the storm, it was a hazardous trek. And when he finally got to Henry's stateroom he had to bang hard on the door to make himself heard. 
‘Come in,’ Henry called.
The purser entered and closed the door behind him.
Henry was lying on the bed with a silk dressing gown over his pyjamas. ‘You're name is Wilson, isn't it?'
The purser was flattered Henry should remember. 'It is, sir. Pardon me, but you look pale. Shall I summon the surgeon?'
Henry shook his head. ‘But I could use a glass of water.'
Deftly, the purser countered the roll of the ship to pour from a container swinging in its cradle. Some water dribbled down Henry's chin as he drank what was in the glass.
'You see this package, Wilson?'
The purser’s gaze shifted to the waterproof package on the bed beside Henry.
'Shall I lodge it in the safe, sir?'
Henry answered sharply, 'No! Strap it to your chest.' The purser’s bemused expression prompted Henry to add, 'There are vital documents inside. Make sure they get to my daughter. Understand?'
'Begging your pardon, but—‘
'This ship isn't going to make it, Wilson.'
'Oh I'm sure she will, sir.’
'I wish I shared your confidence,’ Henry rasped. ‘If she does, you can return the package to me and nobody will be the wiser. Do as I ask, Wilson. Please.'
The purser felt awkward but he could hardly refuse the man who employed him. Using a cummerbund from the wardrobe he tied the package to his chest and gained a satisfied nod from Henry de Longe.
‘Thank you. And, Wilson, don't remove that package from your person until it is safely delivered. I want your word on it.'
The purser gave his word.
Henry waited until the door closed behind Wilson and then took from the pocket of his dressing gown the nugget Frederick Carnivon had given to him. Henry wished he had the time to find out where it came from. He sighed. His entire life, it seemed, had been a race against time. There had not been—nor would there ever be—enough to do all the things he wanted to do....
****
Arnold waded across the yard with Glebe close behind to unlock cages and release the prisoners from their shackles. 'We'll be better off here inside the compound than outside. The crocs are bound to be moving in with the flood.'
Glebe eyed the prisoners. ‘I'm not risking my neck in here with these bastards.’
 Arnold shrugged. 'Suit yourself.'
Glebe splashed back across the yard and through the open door. Arnold did not bother to lock it after him. No prisoner was going to set foot outside the yard in these conditions. The long high bench in the cookhouse offered room for all. They would sit above the swirling water and wait out the storm. Arnold dug out his tin of tobacco to roll a smoke. The prisoners made no move toward him. Of all the overseers at this facility, Arnold was the only one who had treated them as men.
****
Eight bells signalled the end of the morning watch.
'Up you go again, lad.'
'Aye aye, bosun.'
This time, there was no hesitation.
The mast continued its sway through a wide arc but the worst of the storm had passed. The weary lookout was glad to yield the crow’s nest to the young sailor who would remain there throughout the forenoon watch. The seas still high but less so than they had been during the night, Boxer ordered a meal be fixed for the crew.
'Did you hear that, bosun?'
'Hear what, skipper?'
'Shh!'
The skipper and his bosun strained their ears. The bosun turned his head slightly.
'I heard something.'
'Silence on deck!' Boxer cried.
All hands ceased what they were doing and stood silent.
Two strokes on the bell prompted everyone to look to the crow’s nest. The young sailor cupped a hand to his mouth.
'Lifeboats!’ he cried. ‘Lifeboats off the port bow!'
****
Frederick, Paddy, Timothy and Bung Eye spent that night in the priest’s residence.  Like the chapel, it was built of stone and had survived nature’s fury—yet again. The priest had left a note in the event anyone wanted to know his whereabouts. When they went to check how the paddle-barge had fared during the night, Paddy noticed the lakatoi was no longer moored among the mangroves. All he found was the mooring line and a short length of gunwale to which it had been attached. The violent had torn the craft from her mooring and swept it away.
'One ... two ... three ... Heave!'
Knee deep in mud, Frederick and Paddy pushed while the camels hauled on the rope. Timothy was in charge of the camels. The rope fed through a pulley from the Irish Princess to a sturdy mangrove.
‘And again!’ Paddy panted. ‘One….two….three…Heave!’
The camels lunged forward. The men put their backs into it and suddenly their combined effort dislodged the paddle barge from the tangle of branches. Paddy cried exultantly, 'She's afloat!'
Bung Eye scrambled back aboard to clear away debris.
Thanking Frederick and Timothy for their help, Paddy surveyed the damage to his pride and joy. He summed up, 'She's lost a couple of paddle wands and I'll have to replace that broken window in the wheelhouse. Otherwise—‘
'Our precious Princess is seaworthy,' Frederick finished.
Yet the seas were still far too rough for the paddle-barge to go anywhere. Frederick decided he and Timothy would head down the cape on their camels.‘No doubt the priest will show up soon to inspect the mission. 'When the sea is calm enough I suggest you bring him down to Namaga. His services will probably be needed there.'
****
Duke clung to the lifebelt from the steamship.His crutch was wedged below Andrew's armpits to hold him in the lifebelt. Duke had grabbed it when he leapt from the sinking lugger. There was a nasty gash across Andrew’s forehead. He must have struck his head on something when the steamship ran them down. Then they were swimming for their lives—Duke snaring a life belt with his crutch. Yousof had grabbed Andrew who was breathing but barely conscious.
Yousof rasped, 'Is that the mainland, Duke?'
'Nope.'
'An island?'
'Yep.'
Yousof gazed in that direction.
Duke had spent many a night ashore at Chinaman’s playing poker. Being a poker player, he was not overly surprised when Fate snatched away undreamed of wealth so swiftly after they had brought it up from the wreck. Life was like that: Win a few, lose a few. Sometimes you drew a good hand. Most times you got lousy cards and hoped to improve on them. 
'Duke?'
‘I’m still here, Yousof.’
‘Is that smoke?’
'Could be.'
'Maybe the others got there first, eh!'
Tug, Ahmed and Ping Pong had disappeared during the night.
Duke mused they might have lit the signal for help from a passing ship. More likely, the smoke was a ruse by blacks dumped on these islands years ago. Duke figured he would worry about that when they reached the island—if they did.
A dorsal fin had just cut the water.
'Yousof, we’ve got company.'
'He's just looking, Duke.'
'I wouldn't bet on it. That’s a tiger shark.'
Yousof raised the charm he was wearing. 'I got my charm. I'm gonna be all right. I'll draw him off!'
Duke turned slowly in the water so he could keep an eye on the circling dorsal fin while supporting Andrew’s head. The fin slid below the surface. 
'See!’ Yousof called to Duke. ‘I said he was just looking!'
Moments later, the Malay flung up both arms and disappeared in a flurry of blood.
Duke sighed. 'I kept telling him that charm was no damn good.'
****
Frederick asked the woman helping two men clear broken limbs from the track, ‘Would you be Boxer’s wife?’
‘I am and the name is Delilah.’
Frederick ordered Abdul down, stepped from the saddle and introduced himself.
‘I ran into Father Jamieson on his way up to the mission. He told me that nobody was hurt here at Whisper Bay.’
‘We’re all fine but, as you can see, a lot of trees were uprooted. We have to clear the track so the coach can get through. Are you heading to Namaga?’
‘I am,’ Frederick told her.
‘Adelaide mentioned that you are a … close friend. I hope she is all right. Would you tell her we’ll be down there as soon as we can?’
Frederick said he would. ‘Anything I can do for you here?’
‘We can manage, major. Thank you.’
****
Duke never did find out the cause of that smoke. The current swept the lifebelt away from the island and the sea assumed an oily slickness. Dead fish and debris from the storm bobbed in the swell as the sun beat down, sapping Duke's strength as he kept Andrew's head above water. Duke thought he was hallucinating when he saw the lakatoi. He squinted against the sun’s fierce glare to make sure it was no illusion. Yes, the lakatoi was real, all right.
Kicking his one leg he managed to move the lifebelt in that direction. When he  grabbed the gunwale, Duke barely had enough strength left to ease the crutch out from under Andrew's armpits and lay it on the deck—thankful it was so close to the water. To compensate for the missing leg Duke had developed muscles in his arms and shoulders that were strong enough to heave Andrew on board. Then he hauled himself on deck and made a rapid inspection of the craft.
The tiller oar was still lashed to the deck and the mainsail wrapped about the boom. A portion of one gunwale was missing but he could see no serious damage. Canteens, cooking utensils and other items were still in the twin hulls where they had been securely stowed by Tug. Rain water slopped about in the hulls. Duke scooped a handful and dribbled it into Andrew's mouth. Andrew’s eyes flicked open.
'I'm not diving any more,' he said, hoarsely.
Duke thought Andrew was making light of their situation.
Something bumped against the starboard hull.
Duke swore. That damn tiger shark was back again.
Duke glanced at Andrew’s face and saw his eyes were closed.
‘Andrew?’
There was no response.
Removing a harness from the starboard hull, Duke used it to secure Andrew firmly to the deck so he would not fall overboard. Hoisting the sail, he slotted the tiller oar at one end. As the craft sped before the breeze, Duke discovered the craft had incurred more damage than he first thought. The frame that once held the centre-board in place had been sheared off—most likely when it was driven across some reef during the storm. Lack of a centre-board meant the lakatoi could not point up to the wind. That could pose a real problem if he did nothing about it.
Win a few. Lose a few.
****
Frederick and Timothy had to wait for the tide to go out to ford the creek at the top end of Dead Man Beach. Then they pushed on and, in many places, they had to pick their way over or around bedrock as much of the sand had been gouged away by the heavy seas. Frequently, they encountered litter washed ashore by the storm.
'Boss!'
Timothy pointed toward the surging foam.
Frederick took out his binoculars and fixed them on the man being swept to and fro by the sea. He was wearing a lifebelt but the way it was being tossed about, Frederick doubted he would make the shore without assistance.
 'I knew that mooring line would come in useful, Timothy.’
They brought their camels closer to the crashing waves. Frederick shucked down to his underwear while Timothy unwound the line they had salvaged from among the mangroves at Mission Point. He secured one end to his saddle.
Frederick cried, 'Once I grab the fellow, you pull us to shore.'
He plunged into the water and was promptly swept off his feet. Even a strong swimmer would have had difficulty contending with the undertow that dragged Frederick out to the man bobbing around in the lifebelt. He hitched the line to the belt and raised one arm for Timothy. It took no small effort for Samantha to haul them ashore. Timothy helped Frederick carry the man up the beach. Frederick took a flask from his saddle bag.
‘Have a tot of whisky,’ he offered. ‘I know you prefer rum but I’m a whisky man.’
Tug managed a weak smile as he took a gulp from the flask.

*****
Chapter 39
Towing lifeboats and, with some of her sails in shreds, the Capricorn Maiden sailed into the sound. Her decks were crowded with survivors plucked from the sea. Boxer kept a watchful eye on the young sailor at the helm. The cyclone’s fury had tested him and he had passed the test. Bringing the schooner alongside the jetty was a privilege Boxer had granted to demonstrate his confidence in the young tar.
'Skipper?'
'You're doing just fine, sailor.'
He was a lad no more.
As lines snaked out to be secured about jetty bollards, Boxer's tired eyes flicked to the lifeboats now being rowed on toward the floating dock. There were four of them. The SS Michelle had carried twelve. His gaze shifted to the yellow parasol moving this way along the jetty. He returned to his cabin where officers from the stricken steamship had assembled.
'I know you all have a lot to sort out,' Boxer acknowledged, 'but Henry's daughter will be coming aboard any minute. I'd appreciate all but the purser waiting outside until we've had time to break the bad news.'
****
When they topped the rise to look down on what remained of the settlement, Tug said, ‘I’d prefer to walk from here, major.
The camel kneeled at Frederick’s command.
Tug stepped stiffly from the saddle. ‘Thanks.’
'Glad I was there to fish you out.'
'That goes for both of us.’ Tug pointed to the jetty. ‘There's the Maiden.'
'Perhaps she rescued your friends off the lugger.'
'I sure hope so. I’ll catch up with you later.’
Tug set off for the jetty.
Frederick and Timothy rode on toward the natural park where tents and awnings had been rigged among trees stripped of their foliage. They tethered their camels a short distance removed. Frederick urged Timothy, ‘Why don't you go and find Misty.’
‘All right.’
 'Good luck.'
'You too, Boss Fred.'
****
Having told the tale to Boxer already, the Third Officer now delivered its essence to Tug. ‘It happened after we collided with the lugger,’ the Third Officer began.. 'Our ship was in open water—at least, that’s what was shown on our chart. We struck a rock. It ripped open our hull below the waterline. The sea came pouring in so fast, there was no time to get all the boats away.'
'Captain Wallace?'
'He went down with the ship.'
'So did Mister de Longe,' the purser contributed. ‘We found him lying on the floor in his stateroom. The surgeon said it was a stroke. I was on my way to inform the captain when we struck the rock.’
'Where is that rock?' Tug questioned sharply.
‘I don't know if anyone had time to get a position,’ the officer replied. ‘We were all too busy trying to save the ship—‘
'I’m not criticising,' Tug cut in. 'I just want to find out where it is.' He turned to Boxer. 'You say nobody off N49 was picked up?'
Boxer shook his head.
'They could still be alive,' Tug ventured.
 'They could,’ Boxer acknowledged, though his tone implied he was thinking what Tug knew only too well: the sharks may have taken them by now. 
'Freighter coming in,’ the bosun announced.
All went out on deck to watch the supply freighter enter the sound. There was no sign of any damage on the vessel. She had been fortunate to arrive after the cyclone had blown itself out somewhere inland. The channel marker buoy now in place and the tide full, the freighter was able to make directly for the jetty.
Tug said to the Third Officer, 'She can take on survivors.'
The officer and the purser went to make the arrangements.
Tug informed Boxer, 'The major told me your missus and kids are fine. They’ll be down here as soon as they get the track cleared.’
Boxer was grateful for this piece of welcome news. ‘Rum's in the locker. Pour me one too.'
Tug remarked as he poured, 'There was no sign of the others along Dead Man Beach. Maybe they drifted north.'
Boxer spread a chart on the table and stabbed his finger at islands marked on the chart. 'They might have fetched up on one of these.'
‘Or the mainland.’ Tug rubbed his jaw. ‘That’s a lot of coast and islands to search.'
'Then we’d better get organized.
Tug downed his rum. ‘That, we will.’
****
The shallow lake had subsided and families were already throwing up new wurleys when Timothy arrived at Three Mile bore.  A cur snapped at him. He kicked it away. Tail curled between its legs, the mongrel ran yelping through the dismal camp. Timothy did not think for a moment that Misty was living in these squalid surrounds but he wanted to find her and there was nowhere else to look.
Every man and woman he approached told him they did not know any gin by that name. Then somebody thought to ask him to describe the woman he called Misty. When  he did, they pointed to the group squatting about an elder near the water tank. Striding in that direction, Timothy almost walked right past Misty.
Her smock was filthy and her hair matted with soil. When she opened her mouth to inform him, 'I bin got married,' there was a gap in the middle of her smile.
'You married who?' Timothy demanded.
Misty inclined her head toward her husband. His pride at stake, Timothy confronted the man for an explanation. After all, he had told Misty he would marry her when he got back from his walkabout with Boss Fred. The elder was not impressed by this argument. Then he presented his own.
To begin with, the name given her by the gardeeya was not her true name. And even a blackfella in whitefella clothes ought to know a man could not simply marry any woman he wanted to. She she had been bestowed at birth by clan elders to him so that it did not bugger up the rightful order of things. So the uppity mission blackfella who was now working for Boss Fred had better bugger off himself before he got a spear through his leg.
Timothy inclined his head in a gesture of respect left promptly, allowing the woman he once knew as Misty to share her life with the man who looked old enough to be her grandfather.
****
Adelaide was in no mood to talk to anyone about anything—unless it was news of Andrew. On the crate that served as a dressing table lay the documents presented to her by the purser after he broke the terrible news. Bert poked her head inside their shelter to announce a visitor was outside.
'Tell whoever it is to come back tomorrow.'
'I’ve already sent the bloke away three times.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Your explorer friend.’ 
It took a moment for Adelaide to realize who the midwife meant.
‘Give me a few moments.’
The shelter was occupied by two cots and splintered furniture salvaged from the litter where bungalows once stood. Adelaide picked up the hair brush. Her eyes went to the mirror Bert had rescued from the debris that was New Town. Hair brush in one hand, she stared at the white streak in her raven hair. It was not there before the cyclone. The streak would remind her forever of the long and harrowing night she and so many others had endured.
Tugging the tangles out of her hair, Adelaide saw Frederick’s reflection appear in the mirror. Tall and straight in his khakis and wide-brim hat, she would have recognised him anywhere, even with the added moustache and goatee.
'Freddy, do come in. Bert, would you mind?’
'I have to make my rounds anyway.’
Bert grabbed her bag and left.
Adelaide motioned Frederick to the only other chair. He took off his hat and stooped so he could move further into the rough shelter. Now that he was seeing her after so long, he felt both awkward and unsure. The white streak in her hair caught his eye. His expression prompted her to say, 'I must look a fright.'
'You look wonderful, Adelaide. Are you ... all right?'
‘I’m grateful to be alive after what we have all been through.’
Frederick nodded his understanding. ‘I’ve been looking around. Chinatown’s gone. Most of the warehouses no longer exist. The only building left standing is the hotel. By the way, I fished Tug out of the sea along Dead Man Beach. He said to tell you he went to find out if the Michelle picked up others who were on the lugger.’
The brief moment of hope for Adelaide ended as quickly. 'The Michelle struck a rock during the storm and sank.'
Frederick jerked back in the chair. 'Your father?'
'He was one of the many lost at sea.'
The news brought a pang of guilt. Frederick could find no words of solace to offer. Instead, he told her, 'I went on board the Michelle up at Cambridge Gulf.’
'You did?'
'Our meeting was brief and not a happy one,' Frederick admitted. 'We were at logger-heads ... over my coming here to see you. He never wanted us to marry.'
'I knew that.'
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Frederick took a deep breath and said, 'I came here to ask if you would.'
'Marry you?'
'Yes.’
Adelaide looked at the man who had infatuated her. She would always hold a deep affection for Freddy, though what she once felt for him had been usurped by something much deeper and far more meaningful. And, seeing him as she now did, Adelaide finally grasped what her father had tried to get through her head ever since that day in India when she first encountered Major Frederick Carnivon.
‘Freddy is an adventurer,’ her father had said. ‘He does not belong in his regiment, the Army, or society. His kind belong over the horizon. He will not settle into married life and marriage should not be forced on him. He will feel hampered and confined, and your lives will be miserable.’
Adelaide asked Frederick, 'Where will we live? Carnivon Hall?'
'Good lord, no!'
'Belgravia?'
Frederick winced. 'London is not my cup of tea.'
'Paris? Sydney? New York?'
Frederick fiddled with the brim of his hat.
'You would not be happy in any city,' Adelaide pressed.
'Not for long,' he admitted.
'So where would you rather be?'
'Now that you bring it up, I was thinking of taking out a pastoral lease. Timothy and I chanced on an ideal—‘
'My father's death has made me a director of De Longe Enterprises,' Adelaide interrupted. 'Do you expect me to abandon what now rests on my shoulders?'
‘No, Adelaide, of course not.  It was just that—‘
'That you belong out there,’ Adelaide said, nodding toward the distant ranges. ‘And I must return to London.’
Frederick tugged at his moustache.
Adelaide decided to end his dilemma. She raised her hand to show him the ring on her finger. 'You are too late, Freddy.'
‘Oh?’ His tawny eyes fixed on the ring. After a long silence he asked, ‘Er… who’s the lucky fellow?’
'Andrew Duggan. We met here in Namaga… while I was waiting for you,’ she could not resist adding.
Frederick nodded ruefully, as if to acknowledge the irony of it all. ‘I have to admit I’ve been very tardy in getting around to what I should have done years ago.’
Adelaide met his gaze. ‘But don’t you feel, deep down, a measure of relief?’
‘Touché. It hurts,' Frederick admitted. 'But I wish you all the best, Adelaide. I mean that.’
'Thank you.’
'This Andrew Duggan must be quite a fellow. Where is he?’
The anxiety behind Adelaide's gaze returned. ‘We don’t know. Andrew was on the lugger with Tug when it collided with the Michelle.'
****
Duke could see land to the east. Whether an island or the mainland, he could not tell. His attention returned to the frame for the centre-board he had been working on. He had to rig it soon or they would drift clear to New Guinea.
‘Duke, will you miss me?’
‘I ain’t going anywhere, Andrew.’
‘I am—to university.’
Duke took a deep breath. Andrew’s mind was somewhere in the past.
‘I thought Tug was coming with us,’ Andrew murmured.
This conversation, Duke remembered, had taken place before Andrew left Namaga to attend university. Duke glanced at Andrew’s forehead. The gash was clean but there was a lump there the size of an egg. 
‘I’m tired, Duke.’Andrew lay back on the deck again.
‘Get some rest.’
In moments, Andrew was asleep.
****
Duke pried some planks loose to finish his make-shift frame. No doubt Bull had thought it a good idea to secure those planks with wire, but the wire made Duke’s task more difficult. The only tool he had was the clasp knife Andrew carried. Duke used it to chip away at the spare tiller-oar and fashion a dagger-board. It was rude and crude but would serve the purpose.
Duke returned the clasp knife to the pouch on Andrew’s belt, saw a line squall passing well astern of the lakatoi and, with some reluctance, faced up to finishing what he had started. To do so, he had to go into the water. There had been no sign of the tiger shark for some time. Hopefully, it had given up the chase. Duke made sure the harness was secure about Andrew and furled the sail about the boom to prevent a sudden gust flipping the craft over while he was working underneath. Then he tied a line from the gunwale to his waist before lowering himself from the deck.
There was enough clearance between the two hulls to work with his head above water. Wrestling with wire, Duke kicked his one leg occasionally to keep his head above the surface. While he worked, Duke mused on what he could have done with his share of riches recovered from the wreck—had the storm not whisked it away from him. His thoughts fixed on that home in Sydney he always dreamed about, sitting with a drink in one hand idly gazing at vessels coming and going on Sydney Harbour.
A huge dorsal fin broke the water just behind the drifting lakatoi.
The tiger shark was back.

*****
Chapter 40
Frederick's visit snapped Adelaide out of her malaise. Like it or not, she was now the largest shareholder in De Longe Enterprises and must deal with the multitude of responsibilities that entailed. She would have to return to London immediately. The freighter bound for Port Darwin, she sent Bert to secure a berth to begin the first stage of her journey. Bert returned to their crude shelter to inform Adelaide the freighter’s captain was more than willing to accommodate Miss De Longe.
Adelaide said briskly. 'Did you tell Tug I wish to see him?'
'I did.'
'Ah Choy?'
'Him too.’
‘Toshira?’
‘He’s on his way.  Anything else, General?'
Adelaide looked up from the papers she had been wading through. 'Have I been bossing you around, Bert?'
The midwife made a face.
'I’m sorry.'
'Don't worry about it,' Bert dismissed. 'My nose is only out of joint because you get things done faster and better than I ever did. Adelaide?'
'Yes?'
'I’m not saying Andrew won’t be found but what will you do if…?’
‘If what?’
'You told me you’re carrying his child.’
‘So?’
‘Well…what if your child is born before he’s found? If anyone finds out you two weren't married....'
'I shall deal with that if the situation comes up. I am not about to abort it if that is what you have in mind.’
‘No no! It’s just, you being who you are…tongues will wag.’
‘Tongues have wagged about me before. The gossips can go to hell.’
Bert shook her head in open admiration. 'By Christ, you have guts. Mind you, I knew that when you pulled Olive's brat out of the swamp. I still laugh about you pushing Andrew in the mud.' Seeing the tears welling in Adelaide's eyes, Bert put an arm about her. 'Me and my big mouth,’ she muttered. ‘Now don't you worry. He's alive and if anyone can find him it's your friend, the explorer.'
'Freddy? He's going to look for Andrew?'
'Didn't I mention that? They were talking about it down at the jetty—him and his Irish mate with the paddle-barge. They’re going to search along the coast. Boxer and his crew will check the islands.' Bert added, with more optimism than she felt, 'Andrew will be found alive and well. It just might take a while, that's all.'
Now that her departure was imminent, Adelaide had to meet with the current board members of the Namaga Syndicate. She kept the meeting brief and to the point. It befell Tug to inform the new Acting Supervisor his appointment was only temporary. 
****
'How's it going, Arnold?'
‘I want to draw some wages but the bank isn’t there any more.’
'Wilf took a room at the hotel. He's got the money there. Just tell him I said for you to draw on the syndicate account as usual. Anything else?'
Arnold jerked his thumb toward the compound. 'I made a couple of changes.’
'You're in charge. How you run the place is up to you.'
'All the same, I'd like you to see.'
The overseer on duty admitted them.
'What happened to the cages?'
'I had them hauled away.’ Arnold led Tug on to the cells. Most were now empty. Arnold explained, 'I’ve got the prisoners working in the cookhouse and on other duties.
Tug finally realised what it was about the prisoners that made them seem different.
'They aren't wearing irons!'
'I wondered how long it would take you to notice,' Arnold said dryly.
'I hope you know what you're doing.’
‘So do I,’ Arnold admitted. ‘Most of them used to act as if they couldn't under-stand a word we said to them. You’d be surprised how many could after I took the shackles off.’
It was not until they were back in the Watch Room that Tug informed Arnold of the syndicate’s decision. 'Now the town’s blown away there’s no way we can keep it operating.'
'That's a bit stupid if you ask me.'
'Why?'
'The jetty is still there. So if the abattoir is built here, that means there will be reason to re-build the town. Prison labour will come in very useful.’
'I'll keep that in mind.' Tug climbed back into the coach. 'By the way, what happened to Glebe?'
‘I put in my report he was taken by a croc.'
 ‘I read it. What really happened to him?'
Arnold fixed Tug with a blank stare.
‘It won’t go anywhere else,’ Tug promised.
'I found Glebe over by the swamp. I knew who it was even after the crocs had taken a piece of him. The question is, who shoved that riding crop up his arse?’
****
The freighter was a coastal tramp that operated according to its own schedule. Adelaide did not have to spell out to its captain the additional business that would come his way if he obliged her. And while the vessel’s delay was only overnight, it was enough for Delilah to arrive from Whisper Bay with the priest to bid Adelaide farewell.
There was another reason for Adelaide wanting to see both of them before she left. She raised the issue and said, ‘I spoke to Tug and Freddy about this last night. According to Tug, the Irishman who operates the paddle-barge knows where to go. And Freddy is willing to accompany you, Father Jamieson, if you will make the initial approach. Delilah, I leave you to talk this over with Boxer. I would prefer the lepers move back to Whisper Bay but it is you who live there with your children. Freddy will need to know that decision soon. The paddle-barge will be leaving shortly to search for Andrew.’
She had made all the arrangements with Tug regarding Del Pastoral’s intent to build the abattoir, though both recognised that decision would now be up for review. There was one other task Adelaide had to attend before she left Namaga. Though stripped of foliage, the big boab was still standing. Easing back the door, Adelaide looked down at the form squatting there. Peewee would chant no more. His spirit had flown away at last, to join the Ancestors at their campfires among the stars.
'I shall tell my child about you, Peewee,' she promised.
****
At the jetty a considerable party had gathered to wish Adelaide bon voyage. Bert, Ah Choy and Toshira were among the folks of Namaga who had yet to make up their minds whether to abandon what was left of the settlement or remain. Tom was there with workmen who were no less ambivalent about whether or not to stay. Adelaide realized any hope for the settlement’s immediate survival was pinned on Del Pastoral building the abattoir but she could not commit to that decision until she met with board members of the parent company in London.
Frederick managed to take her aside and, after introducing Adelaide to Timothy, told her,‘We will persist with our search until we find him.'
'Thank you, Freddy. Tug will furnish anything you may need.’
Frederick took an envelope from the pocket of his khaki jacket. ‘You met our butler at Carnivon Hall.’
‘Horace,’ Adelaide remembered.
‘Do you think you could have this delivered to him? My circumstance being what it is with my father… it’s the only way I know for certain that Horace will get to read it.’
'I shall go there myself and deliver it personally.’
‘Thank you, Adelaide.’
She kissed him on the cheek and then moved on quickly to hug Delilah and Boxer and their children...and Margaret and Joe and their children...and Lena and Dora...and Bert... and all these people who had come to mean so much to her in so short a time. Then, she unfurled her parasol and walked up the gangway. Going first to the after-deck, she stood looking back as the freighter eased away from the jetty. It was still standing, despite the cyclone. Adelaide wondered if she would ever again see the man who had built it and whose child she carried.
Or would the future prove she was merely another shell widow of Namaga.
****
Paddy asked, ‘Do you remember that rock we almost ran into?’
‘Of course I remember.’ Frederick pointed to where it was marked on the chart. ‘It was me who warned you about it before you almost sent me flying overboard.’
Footsteps on the gangway prompted them to look up from the chart table as Tug came aboard the Irish Princes. ‘Did you get the supplies to drop off up the coast?’
‘That we did,’ Paddy assured him.
‘Do you remember where to go?’
‘Sure and I have Bung Eye to remind me if I get lost.’
‘So you do,’ Tug acknowledged. Removing a bottle from the seabag he was carrying, Tug said. ‘This bottle of Terry's Special Brew is for Andrew when you find him. He'll appreciate the joke. And this,’ he added as he handed the whisky to Frederick, ‘is for pulling me out of the drink. We’ll take care of your camels, major. Good luck.’
Tug helped stow the ramp and jerked his thumb upwards in salute as the Irish Princess cast off. Then Frederick went below with Timothy to stow their gear. Timothy held up the plate of mother of pearl that Frederick had found on a skeleton in the desert all those months ago. ‘What are we gonna do with this?’ 
‘I think we should return it to where it belongs.’
Timothy’s eyes widened. ‘To the Gadgeri?’
 'Remember that conical flat-top where we left the iron stay?’
‘Plenty konkiberri there,' Timothy recalled.
‘And miles and miles of grass too.’
‘True.’
‘That’s where we’ll be heading—after we find the man we’re looking for.’
Stowing the shell carefully in a saddle bag, Frederick put on his wide-brim hat to step out on deck. Tucked into the hat band was the emu feather Jiriga had given him. It fluttered in the breeze as the Irish Princess chugged through the passage and out to sea.

*****

EPILOGUE
‘Andrew... Andrew...’
The siren’s voice summoned him from a deep sleep.
Gannets flapped away as he sat up slowly and tried to reach the waterbag tied to the mast. Finding himself strapped in the harness he had to work his way out of it so he could slake his thirst. Sipping from the waterbag, Andrew frowned at his surrounds. The sail was furled neatly about the boom. There were gaps in the deck where planks had been removed. The tiller-oar was resting in one of the hulls and a manila line trailed from a gunwale.
Andrew turned slowly, his gaze rising from the glassy swell to scan the entire horizon. There was no hint of land but the gannets had come from somewhere. As they winged away he checked the afternoon sun to establish their direction. Land must lie that way, surely? Rubbing his jaw in bewilderment, he felt the growth that was there. When did he decide to grow a beard?
‘A beard would look good on you, Andrew.’
The words popped into his head.
Something cumbersome was tied in a rag knotted about his waist. Unravelling the knot he stared blankly at the nugget. Where did he get it? He licked his cracked lips and called hoarsely, 'Duke? Where are you, Duke?'
Duke was not there.
A fish jumped.
Andrew felt his stomach grumble. When had he eaten last?
He pulled in the trailing line to find it had been chomped through at the far end. It must have been some big fish to bite through that. Yanking the gaff out of the port hull and working loose the binding about the hook, Andrew secured it to a length of wire he found on deck and tied it to the end of the line.  
'No fish is going to bite through that!'
Then he noticed the absence of a frame for the crude dagger board somebody had carved from a tiller oar. He shrugged and raised the sail anyway. It provided a measure of shade and was preferable to sitting there, frying in the sun. Now there was nothing else to do but sail before the gathering breeze and wait for a fish to strike the lure that was skipping along in his wake. To pass the time, Andrew took out his clasp knife and began whittling the broken end of the spare tiller to smooth it down. 
Again, words popped into his head.
 ‘I love you, Andrew.’
The words conjured a beautiful face framed by long raven hair. The image comforted him. His fingers went to the Saint Christopher medallion dangling from a slender chain about his neck. He kissed it for good luck.
No matter where the lakatoi was taking him, he would survive.
### 

About the Author
David de Haviland was a jackeroo in the Kimberley; a deck-hand on a shark boat; a jug-hustler on a seismic crew in the Canning Desert and worked in the Tanami Desert, and elsewhere in Australia’s outback. After a stint with the Department of Native Affairs on patrol in Papua New Guinea he travelled further afield: the United States, the Caribbean, Mexico, Africa, Europe and other parts of the world. He finally put down roots—literally—in Queensland, Australia. When not tending the rainforest orchards he planted with his partner, Martha, he writes. Presently, he is polishing another novel: Friend Beyond Death to be published soon on Smashwords.