The Head Line phone buzzed. Picking it up he said, “Editorial, good morning. Mike Davidson speaking.”
“Oh, hi Mike. It’s Karen. Is Sam there?”
Davidson’s heart fluttered. “Yes, hold on.” He pushed the receiver to Tyler. “It’s Kaz!”
Tyler grabbed the phone and slammed it against the side of his head. “Where the fuck are you?” he demanded.
Tyler’s eyebrows danced as Karen spoke; for once Davidson noticed the editor doing most of the listening. “What do you mean you’ve got one?...Yeah? OK, bring him in. No, no, you listen to me...Jesus! That’s too...Look, I can’t condone that…I’m telling you to...”
Even Davidson heard the loud click on the other end of the line. He waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come. Tyler’s face contorted and his eyes rolled deviously. The suspense was too much for the cadet. “What happened?” he blurted.
Tyler’s eyes rolled around to fix on Davidson. “She’s picked up one of the guys from that ship, that’s what. She’s sticking with him for the story and won’t tell me where she is. Bitch!”
If there was a way of saying ‘bitch’ respectfully, then Tyler had discovered how to express it. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. Cogs were turning in his head and Davidson felt uneasy. He’d heard stories of Tyler’s zeal and the lengths to which he would push reporters. He hoped Karen knew what she was doing.
Tyler looked at him again and said four words that brought back other stories the cadet had heard. They made him even more uneasy. “Get me Harry Decker.”
BLANEY
Christopher Blaney allowed the young woman to lead him from the carriage to a small, attractive house overlooking a stunning harbour inlet. Sailing boats with brilliant white sails glided across the sparkling blue water. He felt a pang of regret for the Marlin.
“It’s called the Spit,” said the woman, watching him closely. He was both unnerved and flattered by her interest.
They had travelled in the vehicle for only a quarter of an hour, yet in that time had covered a vast distance. Blaney’s heart was still pounding after the frightful speed and his fingers were stiff from gripping the surface in front of his seat. He needed time for his brain to catch up with the miraculous events unfolding before him. The view to the water was slowly doing the trick.
The woman had remained silent after their first exchange, though she was obviously enjoying herself, probably at his expense. However, Blaney was concentrating on surviving the journey and did not have time to dwell on her reaction. They had stopped only once, when the woman left the carriage and spoke, rather disturbingly, he thought, into a small box she removed from her bag. God only knew what she was doing.
“Come inside,” she said, walking away along the path to the house.
Blaney followed and stumbled on the stairs leading to the front door. He felt strangely dizzy and a little nauseous.
“Here, let me help you,” said the woman as she stepped down to help him.
“I am quite capable of mounting three steps,” he said briskly, immediately regretting his tone.
The woman was unperturbed. “Suit yourself.”
She unlocked the door and led Blaney inside. “This is my mother’s house. She’s away, so you are quite safe.”
Blaney found himself in a spacious sitting room filled with brightly coloured furniture and an incredibly plush carpet. The wealth reflected in the furnishings was astonishing. The woman disappeared for a moment and came hurrying back into the room with an old blanket, which she threw over a settee.
“Why don’t you sit down while I make a cup of tea,” she said, tossing her bag onto a chair before leaving the room.
“Thank you,” said Blaney, feeling a little guilty about his earlier tone. With relief he sat down on a couch so soft he thought for a second he had missed it. He luxuriated in the smooth folds of fabric, the sensation wiping away the months on a hard bunk. The feeling of nausea rapidly receded, allowing him to study his surroundings.
The house was hardly palatial, yet Blaney knew the woman’s mother was very rich indeed. Another couch and two chairs matching the one in which he sat were arranged in the centre of the room, all of them of the highest quality. The walls were adorned by beautiful polished cabinets filled with porcelain and fine glassware. A number of paintings were also on the walls, one of them, unless he was mistaken, by Gainsborough himself! Even more incredible were the framed paintings balanced on the cabinets. One of them, a miniature of the woman who brought him here, was a masterpiece. The detail was so good it was life-like. The artist must be a genius and Blaney could only marvel at his skill.
In a corner of the room was a rectangular box with a glass window, perhaps a cupboard of some kind, but the woman returned with two cups of tea before he could study it in detail. He stood to receive his cup and the woman stepped back in surprise. She recovered quickly and sat down on the chair opposite and invited him to sit again. Blaney felt disoriented.
He sat down and studied her over his teacup. She wore a simple blue dress with a short-sleeved white shirt. The clothes revealed much more of her body than was decent, yet she looked perfectly natural and did not strike him as a woman of low morals, despite her manner and frequent use of foul language.
Her body was very shapely, not too thin, and her legs, visible from the knees down, were perfect. She had a balanced oval face with dark, almost mediterranean features, full lips and a long, aristocratic nose with an attractive bump on the bridge. He liked a strong nose on a woman. Her eyes were deep, green-brown pools of light, quite the most beautiful eyes he had seen in his life. Her age was difficult to ascertain, perhaps a little younger than Blaney, in her mid-twenties. And she appeared to have all her teeth, which were very white, and, quite unusually, even.
He came out of his enchantment and realised she was looking just as intently at him. He felt himself flush. This was no coy debutante. He sipped his tea noisily and felt a sudden urge to break the silence. “This is excellent. Indian?”
She shook her head. “No Frills.”
Blaney lapsed again into silence.
“You don’t say much, do you?” she said.
He composed himself before answering. “Please accept my apologies,” he began, “I am not, in normal circumstances, so reticent. However, given the hectic and tumultuous nature of this morning’s events, I am...”
“OK, OK!” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry I asked.”
The woman smiled enchantingly and set down her cup on a small table. “Let’s start again,” she said. “My name is Karen Jamison.”
Blaney immediately stood and bowed, splashing tea over his trousers. “I am Lieutenant Christopher Blaney of His Majesty’s Navy. It is most pleasing to meet you, Miss Jamison.” He bowed again, this time treating the carpet to some tea. He hoped she did not notice, but knew she had. He felt so damned awkward.
“Call me Karen,” she said. “And sit down. Please.”
He sat, recovering some composure. He had allowed this woman – Karen – to unsettle him, when thoughts of how he could remedy the situation with his crew should be dominating his mind. Needing rest and time to adjust, Blaney felt it was better to let Karen control the situation for the time being. “I shall call you Karen,” he said, enjoying the way the word rolled off his tongue. “Jamison? You are from Scotland?”
“You are very observant,” she said. “I am Australian, but my grandparents came out from Elgin in the thirties.”
The thirties! Blaney felt his heart beat faster.
But she was looking closely at him. “Why did you run from the police?” she asked.
Blaney stiffened, his senses alert. “Police?”
“Yes, the men chasing you.”
Feeling defensive in the face of Karen’s question, Blaney had to reassure himself he had done nothing wrong. Therefore, he had nothing to hide. “My Captain issued orders for his men to avoid capture and rendezvous at Government House. Alas, from wha
t I saw, the plan was largely unsuccessful.”
Karen’s brow knotted in confusion, Damned attractively, thought Blaney. “And your ship...?”
“The Marlin.” He shook his head sadly. “Lost, I’m afraid. Now I must discover where Captain Cross and the men have been detained.”
“Look,” said Karen, standing, “the news will be on in twenty minutes and there’s bound to be something about your Captain on it. Then, if you like, I will help you look for him.”
Blaney was puzzled. Was she waiting for a news pamphlet to be delivered? The morning’s events could not be in print this soon. He was reassured, however, by Karen’s kind offer of help. Without assistance, his task would surely be impossible.
From her bag, Karen took a small silver object and sat down again. She placed the object on the table and Blaney was startled when a tiny red light started flashing. He restrained his curiosity and added another item to his lengthening mental list of unexplained phenomena.
“I should tell you straight up,” said Karen, a little sheepishly, “that I am a journalist.”
“I see,” he said. And he did. It was a little naive to believe his personal attributes had attracted Karen’s interest, though he did feel a pang of disappointment. Still, someone so well connected, even if she was female, could be of value.
Karen studied his reaction and relaxed. “I’d like you, if you would, to tell me how you came to be on the harbour this morning. And don’t leave anything out.”
Blaney was surprised at the change in her manner, as though she had suddenly become possessed of purpose. Her voice was often brusque, yet there was still a softness about her. Most intriguing. “I would be most happy to relate the circumstances leading to my present predicament,” he said, smiling. “But first, I have a question.”
“Fire away.”
“What year is this?”
Karen appeared surprised. “It’s 2017, of course.”
“My God!” he exclaimed. His head reeled and the nausea returned.
“Are you all right?” asked Karen. “You’ve gone white.”
Blaney took a moment to compose himself. The year answered so many questions and raised so many more. But first he must regain his senses. “I am quite well,” he said, “a little shaken by your information, but quite, quite well. I am ready to tell my story.” It would allow him time to settle down.
Karen raised her eyebrows and then leaned back in her seat. “But please, try not to waffle on so much, will you?” she said, hopefully.
Blaney did not understand, so he ignored the comment. “The Admiralty, having confirmed Captain Cross’s appointment as commander of HMS Marlin and HMS Fortune, ordered him to transport a number of convicts, by way of the Cape of Good Hope, to...”
Karen looked to the ceiling and shook her head. Then she leaned back on the couch and listened to Blaney’s story.
DOROTHY
Dorothy Baines never tired of the view from Middle Head. To the west she could gaze out through the Heads to the ocean, then north to the brilliant white buildings of Manly. The south and east revealed views of Sydney’s eastern suburbs and the tall buildings of the city.
Dorothy and her husband Jack had walked the path through the wartime gun emplacements for more than forty years from their Georges Heights home. In that time they had also travelled the world, yet they had seen nothing to compare with the scene from where they now stood on this fine summer morning.
Looking up at his profile, Dorothy watched Jack light up his pipe, enjoying the familiar ritual. Three years older at seventy-six, Jack was still in good health, a situation Dorothy prayed would continue for many more years. “You’re still a handsome devil, you know.”
“I know,” agreed Jack.
Dorothy laughed, punching him playfully on the arm. He was as modest as ever.
“We’ve got company,” he said.
A young boy, perhaps twelve years old, was walking purposefully along the path toward them. He was still a hundred yards away, yet he stopped and hesitated when he saw the couple. After a moment’s thought, he strode firmly in their direction once again. Dorothy became a little nervous. Kids today...
But as the boy drew nearer, her heart went out to him. The boy’s clothes were ragged and strangely old fashioned. He appeared well fed, though badly in need of a good wash. He must be one of those street kids.
The boy approached boldly and surprised them both when he spoke. “Good morning, sir – madam,” he began, bowing. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to direct me to Port Jackson Heads.”
Jack pulled out his pipe and gestured back down the path. “Afraid you can’t get there from here, son, unless you want to walk for miles. Your best bet is to catch a ferry from Mosman to Manly.”
Clearly embarrassed, the boy shook his head. “I would much prefer to walk, sir.”
Dorothy elbowed her husband. “Give him some money, Jack.”
He fumbled in his pocket and held out some change. “Here, take this. Go back the way you came and turn left into Mulgrave Street. It’s less than a mile to the wharf, but it beats walking all the way to the Heads.”
The boy looked at them both nervously. He’s a handsome boy, thought Dorothy, but very intense for his age. Clearly intelligent, too.
“I am most grateful,” he said, “but I cannot accept your money, sir. I have no means of repaying the debt.”
“Just take it,” said Jack.
The boy smiled for the first time and Dorothy felt like hugging him. He took the money and bowed again. “I thank you both very much and wish you a good day.” With that he turned and ran away down the path, leaving the couple nonplussed.
“What did you make of that?” asked Jack, putting the pipe back to his mouth.
“The poor boy,” said Dorothy. “He looked to be in terrible state, but he was obviously well educated and bright. And so polite.”
“Yes,” agreed Jack wistfully. “Just like kids in the old days.”
KAREN
Karen listened to Blaney’s story with growing bemusement. He was quite sincere – she could sniff out a liar at thirty paces – yet his tale made absolutely no sense. Talking about convicts and marines in the present tense and storms and floggings and killing; it sounded like a bad pirate movie. Only the genuine shock on his face earlier, when he asked her what year it was, stopped her from dismissing the whole thing as fantasy. Well, it was a fantasy he clearly believed.
Blaney, in addition to being handsome and smelly, was intelligent – no doubt about that – and quite lucid. His story was told in a matter-of-fact manner and did not appear rehearsed. If anything, he appeared a little bored with it. This is either going to be one hell of a story or the end of my career, she decided. Although by effectively becoming an accomplice, she would likely be writing the account up from a prison cell.
She stared at Blaney, trying to work him out. If he was spinning a yarn, it was a very convincing performance. She had no idea as to how people from the 1700s spoke or behaved other than what she had seen on TV and in movies, but there was an authenticity to Blaney she found hard to fault. There was only one conclusion that made sense; he was a lunatic. Which was a shame, as he seemed like a very nice guy.
Blaney was summing up in his usual pedantic manner, “...out of the alleyway, my momentum carrying me forward into the path of your carriage, prior to your spiriting me away from danger.”
He sat, silent, and Karen did not know what to say. His expression both challenged her to contradict him and pleaded for understanding. Feeling herself about to laugh, she spoke to cover the involuntary response. “OK,” she began, “I believe you. At least I believe that you believe your story.”
“What do you mean?” asked Blaney, indignant.
“Look, don’t get shitty with me. You tell me you left port in 1795 and arrived in Sydney this morning with a boat load of convicts. They escape, lots of people die and the ship burns!” Karen raised her eyebrows. “Would you believe me if I told yo
u that?”
“Of cour...” Blaney stopped himself and his anger evaporated with a grin. After a pause, he answered, “I would think you were mad, actually.”
“Well, there you go,” she said, laughing. “But my problem is that despite your madness, something weird happened out there this morning.”
He nodded.
“But your story is totally crazy. People don’t travel through time, nor do they have pitched battles with swords and knives. Christ knows what happened on the water, but I can’t accept what you said.”
Blaney became irritated again. “You really do not have to belie...”
Karen held up a hand. Something occurred to her. “You said that during the fight you fell back and hit your head?”
“Yes.”
“When you were attacked, right?” she hurried on.
“Yes, by Rufus Redmond.”
“The big bloke?” Maybe that was the key. A long voyage from somewhere or other. A blow to the head. Bingo! He’s off with the fairies.
Standing up, Blaney said, “I know what you are thinking. The injury to my head was only slight.” He could not stop himself wincing when he touched the wound. “I remained with my companions after the battle. Surely their behaviour would have been at odds with mine were I delirious.”
Karen was sceptical. “It’s odd that you were the only one to escape.”
“Be that as it may,” said Blaney, stepping toward the door, “a fact is a fact. It seems pointless to discuss the matter any further. Thank you for your assistance. I will be on my way.” He bowed and turned away.
Shit! thought Karen. She hurried after him and grabbed his arm. It was all muscle. “Wait. I’m sorry. It’s all a bit too much to take in.” She let go of his arm and stepped back. In a way, he was very handsome close up and his teeth appeared dirty rather than rotten. But that smell...
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