by David Hair
More silence, deeper this time. Looks of anxiety passed from man to man. ‘Jones will be missed. Have you any more woe to share with us?’ Seddon asked eventually.
‘No, sir,’ Mat replied. ‘But I do have an idea.’
For the next half-hour, he outlined his plan to re-draft the Treaty, exactly like the original, and have it signed by all those who had signed the original. The premiers listened attentively. ‘My father and mother will do the actual drafting: Dad will oversee the wording, and Mum will do the inks and the antiquing. But I need your help to call together the signatories.’
‘They’re scattered all over Aotearoa, lad,’ Ward complained dourly. ‘It’ll take us months to pull them together.’ He shook his head gloomily.
‘Not if you make use of both worlds, sir,’ Mat said.
The six men frowned. ‘I suppose it could be done,’ Fraser acknowledged thoughtfully, stroking his chin. ‘Carlisle has contacts in both worlds, and there are portals everywhere. When do you need it by?’
‘Mum says Saturday morning at the earliest, sir.’
‘Then Saturday morning it shall be.’ Fraser nodded. ‘You’ll need a translator, for the Maori version: I think I can persuade Ngata or Pomare to do it, or maybe James Carroll.’ His voice tailed off as he considered, then he straightened and smiled warmly at Mat. ‘You’ve given us something meaningful to do, lad. Quite the novelty.’
‘Er, do I need to tell anyone else, sir? What about Parliament?’
‘Good Lord, don’t go there!’ Seddon exclaimed. ‘Nothing’ll get done, and that damned tohunga will know what you’re about by dusk. And by no accounts say anything to Muldoon. Good man to sink a whisky or three with, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can pee.’
‘Funny, he says the same about you,’ Savage remarked mildly, winking at Mat. ‘We should let this young fellow go, before he loses all faith in Kiwi democracy.’
They all rose, and shook hands again. When Richard Seddon gripped Mat’s hand, Mat dared to ask something he’d always been curious about. ‘Sir, women’s suffrage …?’
‘Ha! Everyone asks about that,’ the big man said in a pleased voice. ‘My Government brought that through, you know. First country in the world to give women the vote, during my premiership.’
‘But people say you personally didn’t support it.’
Seddon snorted. ‘Just manoeuvring, boy,’ he said genially, although his eyes narrowed to two hard points. ‘Played the hold-out to draw in the Opposition. Supported it all along.’
Mat saw Stout and Ballance rolling their eyes, but he knew better than to press the matter. ‘Thank you, sir. It was a wonderful thing, and I know when my mother meets you she’ll be very proud.’
Seddon puffed out his chest. ‘We all serve our country, lad. In our own, humble way.’
Humble? Stout mouthed sarcastically.
They were ushered out, where the official Carlisle still waited. Tama quickly drew Mat aside, and silently, lightly cuffed him about the ear. ‘That’s for pulling that little trick on me.’
‘Uh, sorry.’
‘You know what I said when your mother told me about what happened at the Mansfield House? “Ha, that won’t happen to me.” I suppose you thought it was funny.’
‘But, Dad, it was funny!’ He grinned and stepped out of reach.
Tama waggled a finger at him, then turned to the official. ‘Kids these days, eh?’
‘I believe recent governments have erred in abolishing corporal punishment, Mr Douglas,’ Carlisle commented dourly. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.’
‘Exactly,’ Tama said, winking at Mat. ‘Off you go. I need to work through the logistics with this gentleman. Go find your mother, and bring her back here. We’ve got work to do.’
Rewriting history
Tama Douglas yawned, and lifted his eyes from the document before him. All Wednesday afternoon he and Colleen had been shuttling between the National Archives, where a letter on government stationery, given him by the official Carlisle, had granted access to the Treaty document; and Aotearoa, where they had set up in a room two doors down from the Cabinet Room in the old Government Buildings. Seddon, Fraser and Ballance had all come to check on progress. Tama found having dead politicians flitting about surreal and alarming, but Colleen, having not grown up in New Zealand, didn’t know who they were and treated them as she would anyone else.
‘I think that big man is flirting with me,’ she’d commented after Seddon left. ‘But I can’t take a man who calls himself “King Dick” seriously.’
The job was proceeding nicely, or it had been, until someone had got it into their heads that this was an opportunity to re-word the Treaty into something completely different. ‘A clean start’ was how Ballance, the main supporter of the idea, put it. ‘We could solve all the issues in the old document, make it clearer.’ He’d fixed Tama with a serious look and said, ‘What do you think, good sir?’
I think it’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Being a lawyer, he didn’t actually voice the thought so undiplomatically, though. ‘I’d be very concerned that differing wording would lead to widespread confusion in both worlds, sir.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Ballance looked both pleased with his idea, and displeased at being disagreed with. ‘The new version will look authentic and quickly become gospel. Imagine the savings when we clarify race relations properly! Why, we could cut off the whole Treaty negotiation business at the knees. Probably do away with that Waitangi Tribunal, too — think of the millions we’d save.’
‘I doubt it would work that way, sir. More likely we’d end up with a lot of invalidated history and schoolbooks, and be forced to re-litigate every Treaty settlement since Captain Cook came ashore. Good for us lawyers, but not so good for the Crown.’
Ballance had frowned, and then pulled a downcast face. ‘I’d still like it looked into. Perhaps I could set up a committee, request a White Paper, put something before the House …?’
‘With respect, sir, that would take months, and we weren’t going to let the House about this.’
‘Hmm. I suppose so. It just seems such a wasted opportunity.’ The former premier had moped about for a while, then challenged Tama to a game of chess. ‘Great game, you know. I was quite the player. Still am, in fact. You can learn everything in life from the game, I’ve always said.’
‘I don’t know about that, sir. Knights and bishops on a chessboard go where you tell them without arguing every step of the way. People don’t.’
Ballance had just smiled secretively. ‘That depends on how you move them, Mr Douglas.’
‘I don’t play, sir, and with the utmost respect, I’m very busy right now. Perhaps after we’re done?’
The rest of the time, while Colleen carefully traced and then hand-drew copy after copy onto carefully sourced antique paper, Tama had spent haggling with the ghost of Sir James Carroll over the Maori translation. Carroll was a solid man with a heavy moustache and a serious manner, but he, too, saw opportunity in this situation. ‘The original Treaty translation was not a good match to the English,’ he told Tama, which was true enough. ‘Let’s at least rectify that.’
Tama had grown up revering men like Carroll and Sir Apirana Ngata, leaders of his people and the earliest Maori politicians, men who’d taken the struggle for their rights into the very heart of the white man’s corridors of power. Being forced to argue with Carroll’s ghost felt like treachery, but he did it anyway. ‘As I told Premier Ballance, I believe it would cause widespread confusion and reopen old wounds.’
‘Some of those old wounds need reopening, Tama.’
‘Perhaps, but we have a tohunga makutu to deal with first.’
Carroll had frowned. ‘Did you know that it was I that introduced the Tohunga Suppression Act into Parliament in 1907? Too many charlatans, misleading people who knew no better. Liars and snake-oil merchants, most of them. Have you heard of Rua Kenana? Couldn’t stand the man.’
‘The tohung
a we face today is not a fake, sir. My son would attest to that.’
Carroll had nodded at that. ‘True enough. In Aotearoa we’ve learned that to our cost. And the irony is that many who were just charlatans in their lives developed true magic here in this Ghost World.’ He’d grunted. ‘Hardly seems fair.’
In between keeping these conflicting agendas at arm’s length, Tama also had to dodge notorious former prime minister Robert Muldoon, who was lurking about convinced something was going on behind his back. Fortunately Colleen had been able to work uninterrupted. By the time Carlisle brought dinner — a roast dinner from the parliamentary kitchens served on old china — she was going over what she’d produced, a tired but pleased smile on her face.
Tama picked the piece of paper up. ‘This one looks good,’ he commented.
‘That’s my best so far, but it’s still not right. I can’t quite match the hand of the drafter. Who was it?’
‘Hobson, I suppose.’ He recalled the former governor without fondness — he’d met him in February and the man had been drunk. But apparently a younger version had teamed up with Mat later in the pursuit of the stolen Treaty, and had acquitted himself well. ‘Or perhaps his secretary, Freeman? I do know that the missionary Henry Williams wrote the Maori translation.
‘I can’t quite mimic the drafter’s “a”s or “d”s yet, but I’m getting there.’ She pushed aside the last of the meal. ‘Lord, but I’m tired.’ She studied him. ‘You are, too: your left eye gets a tic in it if you’ve been awake too long.’
Tama rubbed at the offending orb. ‘Getting old, that’s what it is. I used to be able to go all night.’
Colleen snorted softly. ‘Well, yes. But that was a while ago.’
Tama reddened and coughed. ‘Anyway, we should probably get some rest. Your copy-hand won’t get steadier unless you have a break. We’ve got until Saturday morning, Coll.’
She stretched and yawned. ‘Sure, and we have.’ When the Irish crept back into her voice, it was a sure sign that she was tired or anxious. Or feeling sentimental. Tama was all three, just now. He found himself thinking that she was still a fine-looking woman. She’d not put on much weight since her twenties and, though her face had its share of crow’s-feet and new moles and spots, and her temples were going grey and the red fading from her hair, she could still turn a few heads.
‘It’s been a strange day,’ he said, slumping in his chair. ‘Mat shouldn’t have dragged you into this.’
‘Oh, it’s not been so bad. No-one’s tried to kill us yet, nor monsters crawled out of the cupboards. I guess it’s only a matter of time, but so far so good.’
‘It’s necessary we do this. Otherwise I wouldn’t want you involved.’
Colleen’s face creased into a smile. ‘You know, if it’s helping Mat, I’d rather be doing it than not. I’ve had to pack him off before, not knowing if he’d come back. It must be like what the poor women went through sending their boys off to the wars. Or even sending our lads down the road during the Troubles in Ireland. At least this time I know what’s going on.’
‘He’s a good boy,’ Tama said softly.
‘That he is. He’s got a lot of his father in him. An’ a bit o’ me.’
‘That artistic temperament.’
‘Aye, a little. But he’s very down-to-earth, too. He thinks things through, more than I ever did. I was a total flibbertigibbet most of my life.’ She sighed. ‘Chased this Maori boy halfway around the world, so I did. Now look at us: parked up in different towns.’
They looked at each other for a while, as wind and rain rattled the sash windows. ‘Was it just the legal work that drove us apart?’ Tama asked eventually.
She tilted her head, not quite looking at him. ‘I don’t know. Nothing’s so simple as all that, is it? You were never there, and when I started the teacher training after Matty went into kindy, everyone there seemed so much sparkier than you.’ She shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘Especially … you know, that fella. It was wrong, but I wanted something I didn’t have, something exciting. But it wasn’t fun, it was just … tawdry. I regretted it, even while I was sneaking around doing it, y’know. And the prick took off with someone else anyway.’ She snorted disdainfully. ‘He told me that an adulteress wasn’t someone he could trust. Bloody hypocrite.’
‘I should have been there for you. But I was captivated with my own cleverness. I thought I could be a big-shot, if I just spent more time at the office. But it never worked out that way: I hit a glass ceiling years ago. I found I was just an average talent, after all.’
‘Above-average, Tama Douglas,’ Colleen answered gently. ‘Well above. Don’t mark yourself down. We can’t all be the best. You’re a good man.’
‘But I should have been at home. I’m not saying it would have made a difference, but I should have tried. Instead, I let us just drift apart.’
‘We both did. It’s done now. You can’t rewrite history: isn’t that what you’ve spent all day telling Ballance and Carroll? You can only go on from where you are, and try to do better.’
He grinned. ‘I thought I’d kept you away from all that.’
‘I’m not deaf, Tama.’ She stood, stretched again, then pulled on her coat. ‘C’mon, take me home.’
Carlisle, still immaculate despite having been present all day, led them back to their own world, where Tama’s car was parked behind the building. The bureaucrat shook Tama’s hand and bowed to Colleen at the door, then they ran through the rain and piled into the car. He drove in silence to her hotel on The Terrace, and parked outside.
‘Tomorrow at eight?’
She smiled shyly. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
Swallowing, he went to ask — but she put a finger to his lips. ‘We’ll talk again tomorrow.’
Something in her face left his heart beating just a little faster as he drove away.
Seeking a sign
Mat and Riki were sipping hot chocolate in the Green Parrot café, sitting on the window stools and staring out at the traffic funnelling from Taranaki and Wakefield streets into Jervois Quay, heading north towards the port, the railway station and the motorway. It was mid-morning on Thursday, and the southerlies that had blown up during the night were still scattering showers of stinging rain. The rain was forecast to increase in severity as the day progressed, with storm warnings for the next two days, and the locals were duly all dressed for it in coats and scarves. The two boys hadn’t bargained on it being so cold in early summer — it was sunny and in the mid-twenties in the Hawke’s Bay — so they were huddled uncomfortably in their jackets and warming their hands on their hot mugs when the door opened. Mat groaned as he saw the girl in the mauve mohair sweater.
‘Evie. You’re here …’
She’s a diviner, stupid. Of course she’s here. Sticking her oar in. Getting involved. It’s what you’d do. It’s one of the things you admire about her. One of many.
Riki squirmed, his eyes going from one to the other. ‘Uh, hi Evie.’
Evie looked tense and ill at ease. ‘Hello. May I join you?’ she asked a little timidly.
Mat winced. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’
She frowned, then stuck out her chin. ‘Well, we’re going to find out.’ She called to the waitress, a sulky-looking girl with a blonde ponytail —‘One long black, please’— then sat beside Mat on the next stool. He turned to face her, flushing uncomfortably.
‘Evie, stop. Think carefully: Aroha is watching me.’
Her uncovered eye blinked. ‘I doubt that. She’s nesting, and settling down for a nap. Sleeping Beauty awaiting her Prince Charming. All my readings show that she’s blind to us right now.’
‘That’s not …’ He struggled for words. ‘That’s not the only danger.’
The real danger is that seeing you makes me lose all will to go in the first place, and damn the consequences. Just looking at her face, shining with pugnacious determination, made him want to renounce any intention of pursuing Aroha. But then
he thought about Byron again.
‘We had a call this morning from Cassandra,’ he told her. ‘She phoned after she couldn’t raise her dad at home. She’s worried.’
Evie’s eye roved between the two boys, not quite looking at either of them. ‘Oh God … Byron’s been seen near my house in Auckland. And my work. Where’s Cassandra now?’
‘In San Francisco, going nuts with worry.’
Evie nibbled her lower lip. ‘I think it’s lucky she’s overseas.’
Mat felt the nagging ache that had started in his gut the moment Riki put down the phone that morning turn into full scale nausea. ‘We should call the police. Send them around to check up on him.’
Riki nodded sickly, fished out his phone and went outside to escape the café noise so he could make the call.
Evie’s coffee arrived, and she sipped it tentatively, then looked up at Mat.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she said.
‘No, it’s not. I can’t be seeing you. I have to have my head clear.’
‘I know. But I had to warn you. Something’s happening: your quest is about to begin.’
He blinked. ‘No it’s not. It’s not until late December, during the solstice …’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘Ngatoro told me.’
Evie slapped a tarot deck on the table. ‘My readings say otherwise. Something’s going to happen here in Wellington, and it’s being driven by Kiki, not Aroha. I’m sure of it.’
‘But … Aroha told me the date. She said it was set a long ago.’
‘I know, you’ve told me before. But I’m getting the inverted Magician all the time, and the timing readings have gone haywire.’ She pushed the deck at Mat. ‘Take any card.’
Mat reluctantly plucked a card from the deck at random and turned it over. It was an old robed man with a lantern looking down from a mountain top, vaguely familiar.
‘The Hermit,’ Evie told him, without even looking at the card first. ‘You might know it from the inside cover of Led Zeppelin IV—my dad’s a heavy-rock nut. You know, “Stairway to Heaven”? It’s the card for spiritual journeys and enlightenment, and it shows up in every reading I do about you. You’ve got to find your stairway and climb it.’