Redmond’s hopes soared. Lockwood led them to the wharf, but they were turned back by the gatekeeper. They had to buy a ticket first from the metal box they passed a few yards back. Lockwood watched several people operate the contraption before he ventured a turn. He asked Redmond for some coins. The big convict reluctantly obliged. For each round of drinks, he made Hand change the paper money for coin. His pockets now bulged with gold.
“It’s very simple!” announced Lockwood, surprised, when he returned with three tickets. He led them back to the gate, but a queue had formed because a ferry had just arrived and they had to wait.
“Just make sure you stays close together,” said Redmond, turning to check the rear. Seeing it was safe, Redmond relaxed and looked at the attractive girl a few places behind. He idly wondered if she liked to sail.
WATKINS
His plans in ruins, Doctor James Watkins trudged to Circular Quay and sat down on a bench. The sky was blue, the air warm, but all he could see was darkness and gloom. The world was against him and he had lost his fight. No one deserved so much misfortune, he lamented, least of all me. The only bright note was that the pain in his groin had subsided, although it was now replaced by a bruised left shoulder. He rubbed it gently, remembering how his dreams were dashed.
The area where he had encountered the whore was called Kings Cross, he discovered. It was a similar theme throughout the city; old, familiar names had been used for the streets and precincts, denoting, he decided, a bland and unimaginative society. William Street led to the tall buildings, and there he turned right and walked along the edge of Hyde Park toward the Quay. The deed in his pocket awarded him a prime site close to Government House, a place in keeping with his position in society. Once settled, he would ensure the whore was publicly flogged and the crone with the broom run out of town.
These thoughts kept up his spirits during the long walk and he idly studied the people on the way. As in London, he judged the general population to display a basic stupidity, riddled as it was by many members of inferior races. All milled around aimlessly, clogging the footpaths with their obese bodies, baggage, ugly screaming brats and stuffing their faces with vile-smelling foods. He occasionally stepped into the road to negotiate the crowd, only to find noisy metal beasts bearing down on him. It was a wonder that people could stay alive here at all, he decided.
He noticed an increasing number of uniformed men on the streets. While part of him thought he should order one of them to transport him to Government House, another, more dominant, feeling told him to remain inconspicuous. These men were mean and coarse and, he suspected, quite undisciplined. Standards in the colony left much to be desired. He would present his credentials to the Governor before asserting his rightful authority.
While waiting at a corner for traffic to pass, Watkins saw a dramatic headline on a newspaper
DEATH ON THE HARBOUR!
and was most interested to hear a conversation between a vendor and client.
“It’s all out of date, this stuff,” said the client, pointing to the paper he had just purchased.
The vendor was interested. “What the latest, then?”
“The cops shot a bunch of blokes in East Sydney, though it looks like some escaped.”
The convicts? wondered Watkins, as he followed the crowd across the road. He had mastered the art of waiting for the little green light to give him permission to walk. How easy it is to behave like a sheep. So, the troopers had caught up with Redmond and his evil cronies. Pity some of them had escaped, though. Watkins was certain Redmond would be the last to die.
Presently, the surgeon arrived at Circular Quay on the corner of Young and Alfred Streets. Across a square there was a huge building blocking the water where, as he watched, a long silver carriage rumbled along the middle storey. Many people were out enjoying the sunshine, seemingly without a care in the world. He leaned against a wall and took out the title deed. He was incredibly hungry, but food would have to wait. His appetite was material. A map had been drawn on the back of the papers, showing his land to be due east of Government House. Gaining his bearings from the quay he saw he must have passed the Governor’s residence on the walk, though he could remember nothing resembling such a building.
Retracing his steps, Watkins headed back up the hill to Bridge Street. It should be here, he thought, but there was only a museum.
He stopped a man walking by. “Would you tell me the location of Government House?”
“Government House?” repeated the man. “Yes. Follow this road to the end,” he advised, pointing east, “turn left into the Botanical Gardens and follow the path to the building with the towers.”
Watkins thanked the man and looked at his map. Strange, he thought, the map must be wrong. He was not too concerned, eager as he was to seek out the Governor. He set forth for the Botanical Gardens, confident of his future. The land was certainly big enough for a large residence and built with convict labour it would also be cheap.
Government House was a far bigger building than he had expected, more in keeping with a large country residence. The grounds were protected by a high wall and a formidable ornate fence guarded the driveway. Two uniformed men, dressed differently than the men in the streets, loitered on the driveway beyond. They saw Watkins at the gate and one of them approached him.
“Can I help you?” he asked through the bars of the gate.
“You certainly can, my man,” said Watkins, elated his journey was almost at an end. “My name is Doctor James Watkins, formerly surgeon to His Majesty’s Ship Marlin. I wish to see the Governor.”
“Do you?” said the guard. He looked at a sheet of paper clipped to the board he carried in his hand. “You’re not down here. What’s your business?”
Watkins was not prepared to put up with this line of questioning. “See here, I demand to see the Governor. It is my duty to report to him on my arrival. You are only required to announce my presence. Nothing more. Now, allow me in!” He shook the gate for emphasis.
The guard was not impressed. He was joined by his colleague. “What’s up, Carl?”
“This joker wants to see the Governor,” answered Carl.
“Well,” said the newcomer to Watkins, “if you’re not on the list, you can’t come in.”
“I demand to see the Governor!” shouted Watkins, losing his patience. “I am not interested in dealing with incompetent imbeciles. I have important business to discuss!”
He waved his title deed at them.
Carl snatched the paper from his hand.
“How dare you!”
Carl backed away from the gate to avoid Watkins’s outstretched arm. “Look at this,” he said to his colleague. The two men inspected the document and then laughed. Carl approached the gate and glanced about behind Watkins. “Alright, where’s the camera?” he asked.
“What!”
“We’re on TV, right?” Carl studied the trees and bushes, a ridiculous smile on his face.
“What the devil are you talking about?” asked Watkins. People of the lower classes were such buffoons. “Is there no one of intelligence in this place?”
Carl became angry. He threw the title deed between the bars of the gate. “Piss off!”
Watkins gathered up the papers, horrified. “I’ll have you both publicly flogged, you pathetic worms!”
Carl and his partner looked at each other, then opened the gate. Watkins did not believe they would dare to touch him, but they grabbed his arms and marched him across the road before tossing him down a steep embankment. “Fuck off and don’t come back, ya stupid wanker,” one of them called, then they both went back to their posts laughing.
Crying tears of frustration, Watkins sat at the bottom of the hill. He rolled his shoulder and winced at the sharp pain. “How dare they!” he ranted. How dare they! He looked at the tattered title deed and sobbed and beat his fists on the ground. The pain in his shoulder flared again, making him stop the tantrum. By God, they would pay, he promise
d himself. He needed to think.
Retracing his steps, the surgeon walked to the waterfront at Circular Quay and sat on a bench. An old man started to talk to him, but Watkins scowled at him and the man stopped and wandered off to find another seat. He decided to bide his time. The wall at Government House was not too high and could be easily scaled. After dark he would go back and break into the residence. He would find the Governor and all would be well. He was not thwarted, merely delayed.
Satisfied he had a plan, uninspired though it was, Watkins settled back in his seat and turned his thoughts to his next problem. Food. It was early afternoon, and, apart from a little bread and meat at the navy offices, he had not eaten for almost a day. There were plenty of food vendors on the quay and many people. There must be a way of stealing some food.
As he thought, a young woman caught his eye. She wore a very short dress and thin shirt. He could see her breasts through the material. She had a pretty face and wore dark spectacles, of which he had seen many during his travels. Watkins was amazed that whores could so openly flaunt themselves in daylight. He felt a pain in his groin as he watched her progress along the quay, but he was not tempted to avert his gaze.
She walked into the wharf building opposite his seat and stopped to put some coins into a large metal box. She collected a piece of paper in return and joined the queue waiting to go through a gate. Other people moving behind her soon obscured Watkins’s view, but his eyes idly lingered on the people in her vicinity. The tall man ahead of the young woman did not register with him at first, but the surgeon was drawn back to him. He was familiar somehow. Then the man turned to speak to his two companions. Those eyes! Though the man wore a smart suit and was clean shaven, there was no mistaking those eyes. Gone from Watkins mind were thoughts of the Governor and of his deed.
“Oh my God!” he whispered.
KAREN
Pulling open the rear door of the Police Van, Karen peered inside. The men immediately became silent and stared at her. She felt as she imagined an antelope would feel if it accidentally stepped into a lion’s den. The object of so much naked lust, Karen felt light-headed. Men were attracted to her, she knew, but this was different. There was hunger in the way they looked at her. Karen sought out Blaney to break the spell.
He sat on the floor of the van with Cross and Kite. There was a look in Blaney’s eyes too, when he saw her, yet Karen welcomed this. In some way, the two of them had connected. “Do you still want a boat?” she asked, a little more huskily than she intended.
“Of course!” Blaney and Kite said together, provoking laughter from the men. The mood inside the van changed, much to Karen’s relief.
“You’ve got one!” she announced.
Blaney’s face lit up, making everything worthwhile. But before he could speak, the men cheered. Karen furiously waved her hands to shut them up. Blaney kicked a couple of them to help. “Do you want to be caught,” he said angrily.
Captain Cross pulled himself to a sitting position. He looks terrible, thought Karen. “A boat, you say? Is it big enough for us all?”
She nodded. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of room. I’ll take Chris with me and see if we can fetch some better clothes for you all.”
The use of Blaney’s Christian name was not lost on the men. They sniggered and nudged one another. Karen felt her cheeks flush. This is bloody ridiculous, she thought. “Look,” she said to them, “have you any idea how much danger you are in? If you carry on acting like stupid schoolboys you won’t last five more minutes. Behave yourselves!”
There was a little grumbling over this, but Karen stared at them until they were subdued. She suspected they were not used to a woman telling them off. Blaney was grinning, which irritated her. “I was talking to you, too!”
Blaney frowned, though it was too late to hide his embarrassment. “Come on,” she said to him, “we’ve wasted enough time.”
Without realising it, she had put Blaney in a tremendously awkward position. She saw it on his face and on the faces of the men. The men clearly expected Blaney to assert his authority and tell her to go to hell. If he did Karen would make things worse and give him another mouth full; if he did not and went along with her, he would lose face. She kept a neutral expression, yet she was highly amused and fascinated. Serves you right for grinning, she thought.
Cross stepped in to save him. “I believe I speak for all the men,” said Cross, “when I say we are very much in your debt, Miss...”
“Call me Kaz.”
“Very well. Thank you, Miss Kaz.”
There was a reluctant, muted chorus of “ayes” from the men, followed by the sound of Blaney clearing his throat. “Let us not delay,” he said, leaping from the van. He closed the door behind him with indecent haste and tried to disguise a sigh of relief. He looked sharply at Karen, challenging her.
“You don’t fool me,” she said.
He looked hard at her for a moment, then he laughed. “You are a most unusual woman,” he said.
She liked him saying that. His words carried many unfathomable connotations, all of them intriguing. Not trusting herself to speak, Karen smiled and turned to leave the car park. But he stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “I do not know how to thank you for what you have done”, he said.
I can think of a way, thought Karen. Then she brought herself up sharply. What’s got into you? she asked herself. You have to step back and observe. You can’t become involved with these people. They’re all going to be in jail – or worse – before too long and you have to make sure you don’t join them. It was a difficult line of thought with Blaney standing near and touching her shoulder. But she needed some distance. “I think we should bring your mate, Henry Kite, with us.”
The look of disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, but he did not try to argue. “Very well.” He went back to the van and ordered Kite out. The three of them made for the exit.
“Will they be safe here?” asked Kite, as they walked up the ramp to the street.
“Nowhere is safe today, Henry,” answered Karen. “But they should be fine – as long as they stay quiet.”
“Oh, they will,” said Blaney, “after what you said.”
Karen hurried them along. The car park was safe as long as no one questioned the presence of a police vehicle in the basement of a commercial building.
Lavender Crescent curved down a steep hill to a park fronting the bay. A railway viaduct followed the water’s edge from Luna Park and they walked under an arch, emerging to see one of the most beautiful sights in Sydney. The Harbour Bridge towered above them, the city visible beneath it. The water was blue and sparkled in the sunlight and a hundred yachts bobbed at their moorings. The effect was breathtaking.
Karen led the men toward a dilapidated wooden wharf, on which a man stood and watched their approach. A small runabout was tied up close to his feet. And there behind him, in the middle of Lavender Bay, rested the Newshound, reputedly forty-five million dollars worth of customised cruiser. She thought about Decker. He’ll want something in return, she thought. But that was for later. Now they were here.
Blaney and Kite were gazing at the cruiser, open-mouthed. “There’s your boat, as promised,” she told them happily.
TRAVIS
The ship on the horizon was much closer now, but still impossible to identify. Yet Midshipman Tommy Travis would have staked his future career, if one actually existed, on the vessel being the Fortune. His problem, however, was how to get out to the ship and warn Captain Forrest not to enter the harbour.
Since he first saw the ship an hour ago Travis had searched North Head for a boat. He knew there were plenty of sailing boats in Manly, but after his encounter with those boys he considered it too dangerous to return. Yet if he did not find a boat soon it would be his duty to do so.
The ocean side of the Head was a rocky shore where waves beat against the giant boulders at the foot of cliffs. He did not need to inspect that side too closely to know
it was fruitless. The western, harbour side was more promising. It was also rocky, but much more sheltered. But as Travis picked his way through the rough terrain of bushes and trees – he could not see far ahead – he knew he would most likely have to face another trip to Manly, ruffians or not. Either that or swim. One look at the breakers rolling through the Heads to his left ruled out the latter.
Closer to the water he heard a noise. A voice. Two voices! He stopped and waited. A man and a woman were ahead somewhere, though he could not hear what they were saying. He picked his way through the scrub determined not to make a noise, every snapped twig sounding like thunder to his ears. He suddenly remembered his father shouting at him to be quiet and thrashing him when his attempts to obey resulted in even more noise. Terrifying at the time, the memory was strangely comforting now.
They were nearby now, directly ahead. He veered to his left to skirt around them, at the same time discovering why he could not understand what they were saying. They were both moaning.
Perhaps they were injured from falling down the hill, Travis thought at first. He stopped to listen and decided they were not in pain. Quite the opposite. He moved toward them once again. He could see something moving and crept forward, dropping to his hands and knees. In a clearing a few yards ahead he saw them. The couple were lying in a naked embrace.
He knew what they were doing. He saw the sailors of the Marlin engaged in frigging with the harbour whores whenever the ship dropped anchor but, in the confines of the sailors’ quarters, he had never been able to get a good look, despite a number of attempts. On this occasion, however, nothing was left to the imagination. Travis thought it looked dreadfully uncomfortable, though for some unfathomable reason the couple appeared to be enjoying themselves.
Travis tore himself away from the mysterious, yet riveting, sight. He realised he would have to get around them before they finished thrashing about and moved past at a safe distance, to resume his path along the shore. It was fortunate there were no clearings closer to the harbour, as directly below where the couple lay, a small boat had been pulled onto a patch of sand and tied to a tree.
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