“I’m a platypus,” Albert said quietly.
“Theodore and I have never heard of a platypus, have we, Theodore?” Bertram looked over at the possum.
Theodore continued to stare at Albert as he pushed his empty glass in Bertram’s direction.
“Two strange creatures in as many days, wonders never cease. Perhaps we should put them on display, another attraction for the Gates of Hell.” Bertram filled Theodore’s glass.
Albert began to feel a black cloud rising from the pit of his stomach. The spurs on his hind legs began to extend themselves. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said very softly.
Bertram smiled. “And why not?”
“Because a platypus is a magical creature, and shouldn’t be made fun of.” Albert began to stare back at Theodore.
“Theodore and I don’t believe in magic, do we, Theodore?” Bertram continued to smile.
Albert wasn’t sure he believed in magic, either, but he was beginning to believe in anger. “You will before the night is through,” he said in the same flat tone he had been using since Bertram had suggested putting him on display.
Bertram hesitated for a moment, then bent over and picked up Albert’s rucksack and put it on the table. The noise of the pack hitting the table covered the sound of Albert cocking the pistol in his pocket.
Bertram undid the straps on the rucksack and began to look through the contents. The smile on his face broadened as he reached in the pack and pulled out a pawful of coins. He let the coins trickle down onto the table. “I am beginning to believe in magic, Albert. Tell me more.”
Albert watched the coins hit the table for a moment and then looked at Bertram. “I can summon demons.”
Bertram cocked his head. “A very interesting but doubtful proposition.”
Albert shrugged. “All you have to do is say zoo three times, very slowly, and I can guarantee that a demon will appear.”
Bertram filled Theodore’s glass for the last time. “I don’t believe in tempting fate, Albert. We have your money, and that is magic enough for me.”
Theodore leered at Albert, and then hissed at him. “Zoo.”
The possum’s voice was high-pitched, and under other circumstances it might have caused Albert some amusement. Theodore drained the glass of whiskey in front of him and started cackling.
“Zoo!” he almost screamed.
Bertram reached out and touched Theodore on the shoulder. “Theodore, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
Theodore shook Bertram’s paw off his shoulder. Flecks of foam began to form around the corners of Theodore’s mouth. Albert knew he was as good as dead. As Theodore started to drool, Albert attempted to pull the pistol out of his pocket. Theodore began to scream zoo for the third time, but before he could complete the word a terrible howl came from the darkness in the back of the store.
Theodore swiveled his gun toward the noise. When he did, Albert jerked the pistol free of his pocket and pulled the trigger. The shot missed Theodore, but the muzzle blast blew out the candle. A second before the room went dark, Albert saw a strange creature wearing red underwear and swinging a long chain come running out of the blackness toward Theodore. There was a moment of darkness, then the muzzle flash of Theodore’s pistol lit up the room. Albert saw a flash of chain in the light and heard the chain strike flesh. Not knowing what else to do, Albert cocked his pistol and fired another shot where he had last seen Bertram. Before he could fire again, the front door of the Gates of Hell flew open, and Bertram was silhouetted in the doorway for the second it took him to run outside and slam the door behind him.
With the closing of the door, the room reverted to darkness, and Albert was alone with an insane possum and a demon of uncertain origin.
The mere mention of being put on display had started Albert down a road to mindless anger. He had hoped that hearing the word zoo would enrage him enough not to feel the pain of being shot and would also release one of the many personal demons that he knew were just below the surface of his being. If anyone tried to torment him, that creature was going to have to pay Albert a blood price.
However, he hadn’t expected one of his demons to manifest itself in the form of a creature wearing a set of long johns. Albert sat motionless in his chair and tried to see toward the back of the room. The flash of the pistol shots had temporarily destroyed what little night vision he had. He could smell the stink of black powder in the air but nothing else. Albert knew he had to move from the chair, because whoever was still standing in the Gates of Hell knew exactly where he had been when the shooting started.
Albert slipped off the chair as quietly as he could, but before he could step away from the table, someone called his name.
“Albert!”
The voice was low and had a strange accent. It had to be the demon. Albert pointed his pistol in the direction of the voice.
“Albert, we got enough problems without you pointing a pistol at the only friend you’ve got within fifty miles.”
Albert hesitated.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Any minute this place is going to be crawling with dingoes. If they didn’t hear the shots, you can bet that Bertram will fetch them as fast as he can.”
Albert hadn’t heard the word dingo since he had left the zoo in Adelaide. He had never seen a dingo, but the other animals in the zoo would mention the name only in whispers. It was claimed that they had invaded Old Australia in times long past and that they ate the flesh of other animals. There were some who claimed to have seen them, but the descriptions had been vague, and most of the other animals were convinced that if anyone saw a dingo, he wouldn’t live to tell the tale.
Albert didn’t know for sure what a dingo was, but he had met Bertram, and given the choice between Bertram and a demon, it was the demon every time. Albert put the pistol back in his pocket. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“As far as we can get before the sun rises.”
Albert heard the rattle of the demon’s chain and a furry paw took his wrist.
“I can see pretty well in the dark, but not as good as that damned possum.” The demon started leading Albert toward the back of the Gates of Hell. The demon stopped for a moment, and Albert heard a rustling sound. The demon thrust a heavy cotton sack in Albert’s free paw.
“Carry this,” the demon said, and started moving again.
“What happened to Theodore?” Albert asked the demon.
“With any luck I killed him. I didn’t hear him breathing when I took his pistol.”
The demon pushed open a door at the back of the room and led Albert down a few wooden steps and onto the flats that led away from the Gates of Hell.
10
TJ
The demon released Albert’s wrist a few feet beyond the stairs and took back the cotton sack. The torches and the lamps from the front of the building cast a dim and shadowed light for fifty yards beyond where he was standing and, for the first time Albert got a good look at the demon.
He stood just a little taller than Albert, had a pointed nose, pointed ears, and a band of black fur across his eyes. A bushy, striped tail stuck out the back of the ragged red underwear he had on. He had a leather collar around his neck and attached to the collar by a padlock was a section of heavy chain. The demon had looped the chain over one shoulder He held Theodore’s pistol in one paw and the cotton sack in the other.
The demon handed Theodore’s pistol to Albert. “Hold this,” he said and began rummaging through the contents of the cotton sack. He pulled out a crumpled slouch hat with a wide brim, which he immediately put on. A few seconds later he pulled out a pair of dirty moleskin pants, complete with suspenders. The demon put on the pants as quickly as he could, shifting the chain from one shoulder to the other as he pulled up his suspenders.
He took back the pistol from Albert and put it in his pants pocket. Then he grabbed Albert’s paw in his own and gave it a firm shake.
“I’m Terrance James W
alcott, fresh off the boat from Frisco, my friends call me TJ, glad to meet you. You take the sack; I’ll carry the chain. If you see anything that looks like a dog, shoot it.”
Before Albert could reply, TJ let go of Albert’s paw and gave him the sack, then started trotting across the desert flats.
Albert ran after him. “I left my pack inside.”
TJ kept trotting. “Then kiss it good-bye. No more talking—sound carries a long way in this country.”
Whatever light came from the torches of the Gates of Hell was soon behind them, and Albert found himself struggling to keep up with TJ. Albert had slung the sack over one shoulder, allowing his back to take most of the weight, but it was uncomfortable, and with each step he wished he still had his rucksack.
Albert couldn’t see TJ clearly, but every so often he could see him outlined against the night sky, or hear a slight clink from the chain he was carrying. TJ kept up the pace and could see well enough in the dark to avoid the cracks and ridges that made traveling across the salt pans dangerous. Albert stayed close behind him.
Running was not something Albert was built for. He was good at swimming, but so far there had been little call for that. He had run from the zoo, he and Jack had run from Ponsby Station, and now he was running from the Gates of Hell.
Even though Albert didn’t like running very much, he understood it was necessary. He had now walked into trouble on two occasions and managed to run his way out of both of them. It was true that walking was easier on his webbed feet. But running had proved better for his health. Maybe if he had run that day on the Murray, he wouldn’t have ended up in a cage. Albert had just finished the thought when he ran into TJ’s back.
Before he could say anything, TJ grabbed his bill and pushed him down into a shallow depression on the desert floor. TJ quickly got down beside him and let go of his bill. Albert stuck his head over the edge of the depression and looked out across the flats. He couldn’t see anything, but the light wind blowing across the depression carried the smell of something that he hadn’t wanted to ever smell again—the stench of dog.
Pictures of his mother’s death started flashing through his mind, and Albert felt himself beginning to shake. The combination of fear and rage that the smell had triggered was difficult to control. One part of Albert wanted to run as far and as fast as he could, just to get away from the smell and the memories it brought with it. Another part wanted to attack something, anything. The spurs on his back legs began to leak their poison onto the alkali where he was lying.
TJ put his paw on Albert’s shoulder and pushed him deeper into the depression.
The smell got stronger, and Albert could hear the soft shuffle of many paws on the desert floor. The nearness of the danger had a calming effect on Albert. The shaking stopped. He quietly reached into his pocket, pulled out Jack’s pistol, and rested it on the lip of the depression. Without raising his head, Albert pushed himself forward a few inches up the slope of the depression where he could see across the desert.
Sixty yards from where he and TJ were lying, five figures moved across the desert silhouetted against the stars. They had pointed ears and pointed muzzles, and two of the figures had rifles slung over their shoulders. It was too dark to tell if the rest were armed. They were moving in the direction of the Gates of Hell. The group kept in single file and trotted past Albert and TJ’s position without looking to the left or the right.
The sound of their footsteps receded into the darkness, but it was a good ten minutes before TJ took his paw off Albert’s shoulder.
“If the wind had shifted, we’d have been dead meat,” TJ said very quietly as he sat up.
“Were those dingoes?” Albert asked. “They smelled like dogs.”
“Not a dime’s worth of difference between the two, as far as I can tell. Let’s get moving. I don’t want to be caught in the open when it gets light.”
TJ got to his feet, adjusted the chain hanging from his shoulder, and started moving away from the depression at a slow trot. Albert put his pistol back in his pocket and slung the cotton sack over his shoulder. The contents of the sack were lumpy and dug into his back, but after his glimpse of the dingoes, Albert knew that the loss of his rucksack was a small price to pay for his escape.
They traveled across the flats for most of the night. Several times Albert started to ask TJ for a moment’s rest and to see if there might be water in the sack he was carrying, but TJ didn’t seem inclined to stop, and Albert kept quiet.
Since his capture those many years ago, Albert had been a solitary creature, and except for the keepers who brought his food, and occasional conversations with other animals, he had depended only on himself. His journey from Adelaide had toughened him physically and mentally more than he realized, but it had also made him realize how dependent he had become on others. If he hadn’t found Jack, he would have died on the edge of Old Australia. Now he was depending on TJ, someone he had just met, to lead him to safety. Albert had become obligated to others, and with that obligation had come a connection that he had never felt before.
He knew he had been given the help freely, but he still felt he owed something in return. The debt linked him to Jack and to TJ, and maybe even to some creature he had yet to meet. Albert hoped he would be able to pay his debt when the time came. In the meantime, thirsty or not, he would just keep walking.
Dawn found them at the base of reddish sandstone cliffs that formed the eastern edge of the salt flats. To the north, Albert could see the mountain that had been his destination for the last three days. It was closer now, but still many days’ journey from the cliffs.
“Another half an hour and we can call it a night.” TJ spoke for the first time since they had seen the dingoes on the flats.
He led Albert up a faint trail that started on the desert floor and continued gradually up the cliff wall. Faded images of animals, snakes, and the handprints of men marked the cliff wall along the trail.
In the light of early morning Albert could get a good look at TJ as he walked ahead of him. TJ was tired, and he stumbled occasionally on the loose stones that covered the trail. The chain that TJ was carrying had rubbed a hole through the shoulder of his underwear, and the skin under the hole was seeping blood. Albert could see powder burns and a gash along TJ’s neck just above the collar, and assumed that the wound came from the shot Theodore fired just before TJ hit him with the chain. Watching TJ struggle up the trail made Albert feel a little ashamed for even thinking about asking to stop for rest or water on their trek across the flats.
The trail turned up an opening in the cliff and disappeared over a rise between sandstone walls. The path was steeper, and both Albert and TJ found themselves slipping on the loose rocks and having to use their free front paws to catch themselves from falling face-first on the trail. Albert began to think he wouldn’t make it to the top of the rise without stopping to catch his breath. Then he smelled it. He smelled water—and not just a little water, a lot of water.
Albert lunged forward and caught up with TJ just as he reached the top of the rise. Below him the trail led down into a small valley surrounded by the cliff walls. In the middle of the valley was a large water hole with clumps of reeds growing along its far bank. Ghost gums and bottlebrush grew in abundance in the valley, and the morning sun shining through the fronds of two red cabbage palms cast shadows across the water hole. In the brush, a few yards from the water’s edge, someone had built a lean-to out of a piece of canvas and tree branches. The blackened remains of a fire lay in a circle of rocks in front of the makeshift camp.
If it hadn’t been for the signs of habitation, Albert would have run down the trail as fast as he could and thrown himself into the water hole. But the time he had spent in Old Australia had taught him caution. He waited to see how TJ would approach the campsite.
TJ took a couple of deep breaths and walked down the trail, not stopping until he reached the lean-to. He sat down next to the fire pit and dropped the chain in the dirt n
ext to him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He put his hat on the ground next to him, then pulled Theodore’s pistol out of his pocket and put it on the hat. TJ motioned to Albert, who had followed him to the camp. “Albert, I need the sack.”
Albert took the cotton sack over to where TJ was sitting and put it down next to the chain. TJ rooted through the sack and after a few minutes pulled out a large pocketknife. He opened the knife, put the blade inside the leather collar around his neck, and started sawing at the leather. “I would have done this last night, except there wasn’t any time.”
“Can I help?” Albert asked.
TJ stopped sawing on the collar. “Are you any better with a knife than you are with a pistol?”
Albert shook his head.
TJ started sawing on the collar again. “Then I’d better do this myself. I didn’t come all the way from California to get my throat cut by a platypus.”
The leather on the collar was thick, and it took TJ a few minutes to saw through it. When he finished, he took off the collar and put it down along with the chain. Without another word TJ crawled under the lean-to and lay down. He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. Albert had a thousand questions for TJ, but it didn’t look like they were going to be answered anytime soon.
He walked over to the edge of the water hole and looked into the water. It had been over twenty-four hours since he had slept and eight hours since he’d had a drink. He was tired and very thirsty, but he couldn’t will himself to lean over and touch the water.
When he had seen the water hole from the rise coming into the valley, all he wanted to do was embrace it, to let the water envelop him and carry him back to those days when he was young and his whole world was fifty yards of riverbank. Those days had ended in tragedy, but the instinct of a thousand generations of his kind pushed through his thoughts and fears, demanding that he return to a home only vaguely remembered.
Albert of Adelaide Page 7