by David Hair
Mat tried to remember his history lessons. ‘Didn’t the government drive the Maori off the land. Wasn’t there a war?’
Spriggs nodded. ‘There is a war, Mat me lad. Governor Grey has declared all the lands south to Huntly are Crown lands. He’s cut some deals with some of the tribes, and is bullying the rest. They ain’t takin’ it lyin’ down, and some of them have got themselves some guns, so this ain’t going to be no stroll for the troops.’
‘That’s not right, is it?’
Spriggs shrugged. ‘No, it probably ain’t. It’s just the way of it though. The Queen wants this colony to be productive and defendable, so we must make it so. Otherwise, well, we may as well just hand it over to the Frenchies, eh lad?’
‘But can’t you do it without having a war?’
Spriggs frowned. ‘Well, thing is, the war happened in your world, so it will happen in ours. Nowt a fellow like me can do to stop it. Just got to ride it out. I don’t like it, and it isn’t right, but what can you and I do about it?’
Mat sighed. ‘Nothing I guess. I just wish…’
Spriggs nodded. ‘Aye, lad, me too. Me too.’
They stayed in hotels as they travelled north. Twice soldiers stopped them, travelling through the ‘Fencibles’ districts. These were armed militia settlements, so named because they were ‘defensible’. At first, the soldiers all knew Captain Spriggs well and weren’t suspicious, but the further north they came things became more tense. There was one close call, in which a suspicious Colonel demanded Spriggs’ papers and eyed Wiri and Kelly coldly for long moments. Afterward, Wiri asked Mat to be returned to the tiki, saying he was too conspicuous. Mat agreed, but doing so made the party feel jittery and anxious—despite Mat’s assurances that he could summon Wiri in an instant.
Manu took over the reins, acting as a servant. Kelly became Spriggs’ ‘niece’ to anyone who asked, and Mat was his ‘boy’—his lackey and valet. They stayed in the carriage, and Kelly was tense without Wiri. Fitzy had come back and in dog form had run outside for a time, but he stayed in the carriage more frequently the further north they travelled. The houses were becoming more numerous, the roads better and busier. It rained one day, turning the road to muck, and travel became slower. The view had become limited to a narrow strip of buildings alongside the road since they had climbed the Bombay Hills, then descended into South Auckland. The atmosphere became tense in the carriage, each stop for security checks more fraught. Mat was hidden under the seat at one, while Captain Spriggs introduced his niece to a hard-voiced, unfriendly-sounding officer.
‘Damned irregular, Spriggs. All leave has been cancelled, that’s what I heard. There’s going to be a push down south, I hear. Into the King Country. That’s where you should be, not playing chaperone.’
But eventually he waved them through. Spriggs was relieved afterward.
‘I think we’re going to be fine,’ he said. ‘If we can get past Major Oakden, we can get past anyone!’
It was evening when they rolled into Auckland, past places that in the future would be sprawling suburbs—Manukau, One Tree Hill, Mount Eden, and into Newmarket. They descended toward the sea, intending to make their way around the harbour. The water was choppy and grey. Fleeting showers of rain could be seen across the water, toward Devonport naval base and the North Shore. Mat was riding in the carriage with Spriggs and Kelly. The turehu was in dog form, sitting beside Manu on the driver’s platform. They could hear Manu singing above the rattle of the carriage and the thudding of the horses’ hooves. He had a pleasant voice, singing a mixture of old Maori chants and country ballads from the sixties and seventies. Kelly giggled every time she recognised a tune.
‘I can’t believe you know that song,’ she would call. ‘Wichita Lineman! Do you know my parents, you relic?’
Mat was heartily sick of travelling by carriage. They bounced, they rocked, they were noisy, and their wheels got caught in ruts. The views were terrible, there was no stereo, and worst, he decided, no air conditioning. By day’s end they were all sweating and the air was ripe inside the small boxlike space. Several times he was travel sick, and the worst part of that was having to hang his head out the window. The hostels they slept in were usually crowded and poor quality—they had to split up, and share with strangers, which made Mat very uncomfortable. Often they weren’t able to bathe.
He was really looking forward to arriving in Auckland. Captain Spriggs had assured them he had contacts, and they were going to the home of a solicitor who would look after them well, and see them onto a ship sailing to Russell in the north.
Mat had hidden his watch in his pocket when they started to encounter checkpoints on the road—now he fished it out as they bounced down the sloping road to the harbour. It read 5.11 p.m. There were wooden ships dotting the harbour, but not the multitude of white yachts he remembered from holidays in his own time. The wind was swirling the trees beside the road. To his left, out the other window, they were passing large rich-looking houses, with wonderful views out over the harbour.
‘I’ve heard that a place up here will set you back millions in your world,’ Spriggs commented. ‘They certainly cost a few quid here, I can tell you.’
Mat didn’t pay much attention. He had an awful headache, and had the window handle in his hand in case he needed to throw up. His stomach was churning with a familiar feeling of impending nausea. Kelly didn’t look any better.
‘Are we there yet?’ she moaned. Her face looked ghostwhite, a perfect match to her bonnet, which she had put back on now they were in an urban area again.
As if in answer, they slowed, and turned left, away from the harbour, and into a short driveway that wound past roses and trellised climbers. A pleasant waft of flowers came through the windows. Kelly sighed thankfully. Even Spriggs looked relieved. ‘I’ll be looking forward to a good mattress tonight, I don’t mind saying,’ he commented.
Mat nodded fervently. He’d slept badly in the hostels and felt worn out.
When the carriage lurched to a stop, he pushed the door open and stumbled out, landing on hands and knees. The grass was wet, but blessedly solid and still. He stayed there on hands and knees, gasping down an urge to vomit. The feeling passed after a few seconds, and he felt the cold wind chill his sweating face.
Someone coughed discreetly.
Embarrassed, Mat looked up at a plump young man with immaculate black sideburns and close-trimmed hair, watching him with an anxious face. ‘Is the young sir alright?’ he asked, with a reedy voice.
Mat flushed red and lurched to his feet, which made his head spin. ‘Yeah, sure, I’m cool.’
‘Cool?’ The young man looked around in puzzlement. ‘Er, yes, it has turned a little chilly.’
‘Oh, no, I mean, I’m OK,’ explained Mat. ‘Right as. Fine, y’know?’
‘Are you then? Good. Jolly good!’ The man nodded briskly.
‘Excellent. Ah, Spriggs, how are you, old chap?’
Spriggs had climbed down unsteadily, waved at the young man and helloed, then reached in and helped Kelly out of the carriage.
Spriggs turned to the young man and shook his hand. ‘Hello Forbes, nice to see you again. Are you well?’
‘I’m well, Spriggs. Very well. Though it has turned a bit chilly. Your young friend here was complaining that it was cool a moment ago.’
‘Forbes, this is my niece, Miss Kellyanne Gaffin. Eldest daughter of Amelia’s eldest sister’s sister, you know. Kellyanne, this is Simon Forbes, barrister and solicitor, educated at Oxford. Fine fellow.’
‘Charmed, Miss Gaffin. Delighted to make your acquaintance.’
Mat looked at Forbes curiously. Though he might be ‘charmed’, he looked as pale and ill as Mat felt. He was white, and little beads of perspiration were forming on his upper lip; his hand was damp and clammy when they were introduced. The servant who came to help with the baggage also looked frightened, and Mat began to look around him.
The house was large, with white timber and a tiled r
oof. All the curtains were drawn, though one was stirring faintly in the nearby left wing. Behind him the gardens were damp and overgrown, and looking back at the road, he noticed a pair of soldiers standing opposite, smoking nonchalantly, but leaning on muskets.
He had a sudden feeling they shouldn’t go into the house. He recognised the impulse immediately—it was his instinct—his warning bell—the same one that had gone off when his father had spoken with Puarata, and when the tiki had lain before him, and he’d pocketed it. But it had failed him in Taupo…he wavered in an agony of indecision, turning back to the others. Manu was smiling at the porter, trying to get him to take an extra suitcase. Kelly was holding onto Spriggs’ arm as Forbes led them to the door. Their voices sounded oddly close yet distant and distorted, like a bad recording. He looked up at Fitzy, who was still on the carriage, sniffing the air and looking around warily. He realised the turehu felt it too, this sense of peril. The horses shifted uncomfortably and all turned to look first at him, and then behind him. He saw curtains rustle in a window where the windows weren’t open, as if someone had parted them to peek, then dropped them again.
It’s a trap! It’s all a trap!
He opened his mouth to speak when a thick arm wrapped around his shoulders from behind and he was wrenched off his feet. The arm was black-sleeved, and a stench of tobacco blew over him as a scratchy voice spoke in his ear. ‘Shut it boy. Move and you’re for it.’ A cold metal circle pressed against the back of his neck.
Mat stopped struggling immediately, tried to go limp, and send his hand creeping into his shirt, seeking the tiki. As if in a slow-motion dream he saw the doors of the house fly open and black uniforms flooded out, armed constabulary led by a red-bearded officer with a scowling face.
Fitzy barked and tried to leap in front of the soldiers, between them and Kelly. A musket swung and caught him about the head with a sickening crack, and he was tossed aside, going limp as he rolled into a crumpled heap in the gravel. Kelly opened her mouth and turned to see Mat caught. She turned to Manu, her eyes panicked. Manu was reaching for his pistol, shouting something at Mat.
‘Get Wiri!’ But the servant beside him swung the suitcase in a blurring circle and smashed it into Manu’s chest, sending him flying backwards. Two soldiers leapt onto him as he hit the ground, fists bunched and swinging. Kelly screamed and spun wildly, looking at Mat helplessly.
Spriggs stood immobile, his normally cheery face gone slack, his eyes on his friend Forbes.
‘I’m sorry, old chap,’ said Forbes, looking at his feet. ‘They knew you were coming. There was nothing I could do.’
A soldier rammed his musket butt into Spriggs’ belly and the captain collapsed choking, his boots thrashing in the gravel. Kelly took a step toward him when another soldier grabbed her shoulder. She spun and raked her fingers over his face, shrieking. Two more grabbed her, and one flung a chokehold over her neck while putting his hand over her mouth. She thrashed at them with legs and arms, and Mat heard the dress rip as she was borne to the ground.
A woman slid out of the door, clad in black, colonial style. She wore a dark bonnet, over a hard lean pale face, that was disfigured with purple bruises. A thin scab ran from left to right cheek, across the bridge of her nose, which was crooked. Both of her eyes were swollen in purple and yellow bruising. She looked like a walking corpse.
It was Donna Kyle.
Mat snatched at the tiki.
‘To—’
Something heavy smashed into the side of his head, and everything exploded in light and pain. He tried to hold the thought of Wiri, almost saw his face, shouting to him, but Wiri’s mouth turned into a black hole that swallowed him down into darkness.
14
In Donna’s house
Fitzy lay motionless on his side. Kelly was screaming as the guardsmen tore her clothes and skin. Manu lay bloodied and broken. Spriggs was choking on the ground and Donna was laughing, her mouth full of yellowed teeth that grew more and more pointed with every piercing gale of malicious joy…
Mat woke from his dream gasping, spluttering cold wet water, and for an instant thought he was drowning, that Donna had cast him into the sea. But then his head cracked against a hard wooden floor, and a fresh wave of pain surged through him, almost causing him to black out again. The blow that had knocked him out had been to the side of his head, just in front of his right ear. It felt swollen and raw. He shifted slightly, and felt ropes tighten around his wrists and ankles. Light tried to prise open his eyes, and someone was hissing at him. ‘Wake up! Wake up, you little pig!’
He reluctantly opened his eyes, and blinked them into focus.
Donna’s face pressed into his. She looked ghastly, her face a mass of swelling and bruising, cut in half by the slash Mat had made with Wiri’s patu in Taupo. Her nose had obviously been broken and the green moko on her chin was scratched and dripping blood, as if she’d been tearing at it. Her eyes were blazing. ‘Look what you’ve done to me, you little maggot! Look at me!’
He stared up at her in terror.
‘You have caused us so much trouble, you and that girl, so much trouble. And you are going to pay. Oh yes, you are really going to pay…You’re going to wish I’d killed you. You see my face? I’m going to make you pay a hundred times over for every mark. I’m going to give you pain and ugliness for the rest of your short miserable life.’
Mat tried to turn his face away, his stomach boiling with acid, his mouth filling with a wave of bile that was surging up his throat. He was in a tiny wooden storeroom, empty of anything except him, with only one door. Where was everyone else? He remembered what he’d seen before the blow on the head, and felt a clammy fist tighten in his belly. What if they were all dead?
Donna’s cold hand clamped on his chin and pulled his face back. ‘Don’t you look away. You listen to me!’ Her fists grabbed his jacket and pulled him to his feet. She was horribly strong. Her eyes were bloodshot and her breath reeked of coffee and cigarettes. ‘Help me or the girl dies. Understand? She dies in agony.’ She pulled him to her. ‘I’ll pour kerosene onto her face then light it, unless you help me. Do you understand? I’ll burn her face off.’ She shook him like a doll. ‘So will you help me or do I burn her?’
Mat nodded frantically, with no idea how he could help, but desperate to protect Kelly.
Donna dropped him to the floor, slamming his head into the wooden boards and sending a new blackness flickering over him. She panted, looking sick and feverish, and he had a sudden intuition. She’s terrified of something…‘I’ll send someone to clean you up, and then you will come to my study. If you don’t cooperate, the girl burns.’
She turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her, leaving him in darkness.
He wasn’t alone for long, but it was long enough for the nausea to subside, long enough to take stock. The tiki was gone and so was his koru knot. His pockets were empty—at least they felt that way when they pressed against the floor. His shoes were gone, but he was still clothed like a settler boy. Kelly must be still alive, if Donna was to be believed. What about Spriggs, and Manu? What about Fitzy? Was the turehu alive or dead? Where were they? Were they alive? He felt a wave of helplessness, but fought it. I won’t give up! I won’t! He remembered the look on Donna’s face. Why does she need my help? And what is she so afraid of? She has the tiki…she wants my help…why does she need my help? She has the tiki…shouldn’t she be giving it to Puarata? Where is Puarata? I can use the tiki…can she? She wants me to help her to use the tiki! Why?
Where is Puarata?
The door opened, and a fat soldier with a bulbous nose, who stank of sweat and tobacco, stomped in. Mat remembered the smell and guessed it was the man who had hit him. Big-Nose lifted him effortlessly, one massive arm under his belly, and carried him out of the tiny storeroom, carelessly smacking Mat’s shoulder against the door frame.
Big-Nose carried on down a hall and into a bathroom. It was a modern bathroom, with a shower, a bath and a toilet, a
nd carpet in pale yellow. A rubbish bin sat beside the toilet, and the bench was littered with women’s make-up and grooming accessories.
Showing no surprise at these modern surroundings, Big-Nose dropped Mat and bent over him, unknotting the ropes about his wrists and ankles. Blood surged back into his feet and hands, making them tingle painfully. The soldier prodded him with his boot.
‘Clean yourself. You have fifteen minutes.’ He folded his arms across his belly and leant against the door.
Mat glared at him. ‘Can I have some privacy?’ he asked bitterly.
Big-Nose shook his head. ‘Just get on with it, you skinny little half-breed.’
Mat felt a surge of hatred. But he turned the shower on, then peeled his clothes off, his hands shaking, feeling scared, and embarrassed, and so angry he could almost scream.
It was terrifying to be naked in front of the brute, and it was a relief to step into the shower, and be hidden by the curtain. For a minute he stood there, letting the water wash over him, and the steam envelop him. For a minute he let himself go, just a little, just enough to let some tears come, to let his helpless despair well up and be washed away.
He lent forward, and groped downward to the left for the shampoo. As he opened his eyes, he saw the rubbish bin, which was empty of all but a few fingernail clippings, stained with bright-red polish. This must be Donna’s house.
They must have shifted us while I was unconscious. How long have I been unconscious? Where are the others?
He washed his hair, and soaped his bruised body. Everywhere seemed to ache. He felt sore and tired, and desperately wanted to lie down, crawl into a ball, and wish everything away. But I can’t do that, he thought. I have to save Kelly, and Wiri, and everyone else.
‘Hurry up,’ growled Big-Nose.
Mat felt a surge of fury. He thought of the nail clippings, and wondered if he could pocket the nail scissors Donna had used. Perhaps if he could get the soldier to leave…He climbed out, trying to form a plan. There was a towel, and he used it to dry himself, conscious of the soldier watching his every move with piggish eyes. He dressed. ‘I need to use the toilet.’