The Secret Fate Of Mary Watson Part 43

The man with the medical bag has coaxed Ah Sam back down onto the mattress on his stomach and is rubbing something into his wound.

Roberts sits in my rocking chair, puts his boots on a nearby crate. 'This place smells like a cross between an opium den and an abattoir.'

'We've no water.' My throat is dry from just saying the words. 'I couldn't clean up.'

He looks at a blood-soaked rag on the floor, then c.o.c.ks his head towards the door. 'You've had a spot of trouble with the blacks, I see.'

Some sound - a mangled laugh - escapes me. My tongue slips its harness. 'Ah Leung is dead. They killed him over at the farm.'

Roberts shrugs. 'Small loss.'

He seems so calm, so much himself. I rub my dry lips, suddenly uncertain. I'm thirsty. Very thirsty. I wonder if it's affecting my judgement.

'Where's Percy?'

'You needn't worry about him any more.' There's a lightness behind his deep voice, almost a chuckle.

'Are you working for the French, like he is?'

'No. And I wish you'd put that b.l.o.o.d.y rifle down. You're making Anderson nervous.'

Anderson must be the surgeon. He has large hands, I notice, and a bald spot in his brown hair on the crown of his head. He pinches the skin gently on the back of one of Ah Sam's hands and turns to Roberts.

'We need some fresh water. He's dehydrated, as well as everything else.'

Again, I lick my lips. Ferrier stirs behind me.

'Go and tell Davis and Green to fetch some,' Roberts says to Anderson.

'No,' I say quickly. 'The natives. That's where they hide. Over at the swamp.'

'We've water in the rowboat and on the junk. Plenty of it.' He eyes me steadily, his voice gentler this time. 'Put the gun down, Mary.'

I lay it carefully on the shelf, still within reach and put a hand on the cradle for support.

'Did you know Percy was working for the French?' I ask.

'Yes.'

'How long have you known?'

'All along.' He looks around. 'Do you have any food? The men will need to eat.'

It seems such an odd question under the circ.u.mstances ... like asking whether I have ever flown to the moon.

'Um. I don't know. I'll look. But I have to go into the bedroom and feed the baby first.'

I lift Ferrier out of his cradle. My hands are shaking so much, I almost drop him.

'You're thirsty too, aren't you?' Roberts comes over and holds out his arms. I pull Ferrier away from him, shield him with my body. But he brings my face around with one cupped hand. 'It won't do him any good if you drop him on the floor.'

I think about this. Roberts takes a step back, but makes a wriggling motion with his fingers. After a few agonising seconds of indecision, I hand Ferrier over. The comparison is comical. A creature so small up against one so big. A beetle on a cliff face.

Roberts rests the baby over his shoulder, pats him awkwardly but softly enough. The span of his hand reaches almost all the way across Ferrier's back. As for Ferrier, he's apparently forgotten his hunger and thirst. This new perch interests him, or rather the vegetation he's found on it. He tugs at the beard, fascinated. Roberts winces theatrically, which inspires Ferrier to repeat the experiment, this time with a larger handful, a more forceful pull.

'I might have to sign you up, you little blighter. Put you on torture duty.' Roberts catches my eye. 'Go to my satchel. There's a canteen of water in there. You'll pa.s.s out if you try to feed him without a drink.'

I find the canteen at the bottom of the bag. Under a looking gla.s.s, a book, a compa.s.s and a wad of cash. I unplug the cork and drink greedily. Then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. There's still some left in the bottle.

'Ah Sam?' I offer.

Anderson looks up, gives a small nod. I hand him the bottle. He pours a little into his cupped palm, holds it to Ah Sam's lips. The Chinaman manages to swallow a little of it then turns his head away.

'A small amount is best for the moment,' Anderson says. 'Too much would just make him heave.'

'The child is getting more than enough liquid if this wet end is anything to go by,' Roberts says, holding Ferrier away from his body, his nose screwed up.

I go to retrieve him, but Ferrier doesn't want to let go of his new-found hairy toy. I have to peel back his tiny fingers one by one while Roberts grumbles like a deep earthquake. I take the baby into the bedroom, sit on the bed and give him the breast. By the time I've changed him and gone back into the communal room, Ah Sam is sitting up on the mattress, pale, but looking much better. I place Ferrier in the cradle, pa.s.sing him a wooden peg to play with and maul with his gums.

'You'll be all right now, Ah Sam,' Roberts says.

'Yes, boss.'

'Boss! Ah Sam?' I look down at the Chinaman, bemused and hurt.

He stares back at me, apology in his eyes.

Roberts is inspecting the last remaining box of ammunition on the shelf.

'How long has Ah Sam been one of your minions?' I ask.

'I mentioned back in Townsville that I used to work for the Chinese government all those years ago. Ah Sam was similarly employed. Our paths have crossed many times since then.'

A stocky crewman with wiry black hair brings a few more canteens of water into the house. His pants are tucked into boots that are cracked at the toe.

'Where do you want these, missus?'

'Over in the corner.' Roberts answers for me, pointing. He perches uncomfortably on a stool. None of our seats is large enough for him, except the rocking chair.

Before he leaves, the crewman turns back to the captain. 'The blacks' camp is behind the hill.' Threads of blood l.u.s.t pull tight in his brown eyes.

'Leave them be,' Roberts says. 'We'll be off the island soon enough.'

The crewman mumbles something. Roberts's response is swift and cold. 'Keep your mouth shut, Henson, and people might not notice you're a fool. Exactly how do you reckon one woman and a wounded Chinaman could account for ... how many? Twenty blacks? You'd have us leave a ma.s.sacre behind so blatant even incompetent idiots like Fitzgerald and Brooke would know we've pa.s.sed through.'

Henson leaves, abashed. I go foraging for still-edible potatoes in the bin under the bench.

'Are you going to take us off the island, Captain?'

'Of course. I didn't come here for the balmy air and coconuts.'

While I was feeding the baby, he must have noticed Bob's rum and poured himself a slug. I watch as he downs what's left in the pannikin and pours in some more. I put the few potatoes that are pa.s.sable in a dish, sit opposite him and start peeling. Part of me knows that I'm exhausted, that I desperately need sleep. But I'm even more desperate to know what's happening. Why Roberts is here. And what comes next.

'Where's Percy? You owe me an explanation.'

Roberts looks into the bowl. He turns to the surgeon. 'Rations are short here. Send the boat back to the junk for meat and bread. And make sure a proper watch is set on the beach. No fires, but ensure the blacks know we're armed and alert.'

It's clear he's sent the surgeon away so that we can talk. He gives me a candid look as soon as the other man has gone.

'Fuller's fine, I'm sure. Off to tell his Froggy friends where to find a catboat carrying a few dozen rifles bound for New Guinea.'

'No! You mean he'll get away with betraying you? I can't believe it.'

'He didn't betray me. On the contrary, he's been very helpful, albeit inadvertently. I wouldn't stop his quest for the world.'

'I wish you'd stop talking in circles. All I know is I risked my life going up that hill. And it seems it was all just a game. I've gone through all of this for nothing.'

'Oh, no. Not for nothing. That reminds me. The money in my satchel is yours. There's another packet in the front compartment for you, Ah Sam.'

The Chinaman looks up. His colour is better, and he's had more water to drink. I notice that my mouth is hanging open. I close it, but I can't take my eyes away from Roberts's smug face.

'You need more explanation, don't you?' he asks.

'I could have been killed. It doesn't matter so much for me, but the baby ...' I feel the emotion well up in my throat.

He takes another long sip of rum, then puts the pannikin down on the table with a thump. 'I a.s.sessed you carefully in Cooktown, when I last saw you. I knew that you were having a baby. Believe it or not, I'm not in the habit of putting a woman's life in danger, particularly one with a child. I knew Ah Sam's protection could only stretch so far.'

'So, the coded messages, the signalling - they were diversions. Let me guess. You had someone on another island sending and receiving the real signals?'

'No. Not exactly.' He's sick of the too-small stool and goes to sit in the rocking chair. Pulls a crate over and rests his boots on it. He stares into the middle distance. 'Do you remember me speaking back in Townsville about Britain's decoy ships? The political machinations over territory? Just five years ago, Disraeli spent four million pounds to buy the Suez Ca.n.a.l. He did so because Egypt was essentially bankrupt. If the hopeless government of Ismail Pasha had fallen, Grevy would have pounced. Even so, we still share financial administration of that b.l.o.o.d.y country with France. For the moment, at least.' He grunts and frowns. 'Forget I said that. That's another project, another time. Anyway, the French have invested a great deal in their network of spies. Now the Germans are getting involved. Bismarck thinks colonies a great waste of energy, but the captains of German industry would love to change his mind. They imagine colonies to be a bottomless trove of free resources ... though they're hopeless at colonial administration. Utterly hopeless. And they, too, have spies.'

I shake my head, bemused. 'What has any of this to do with Percy and Charley? Or with me, for that matter?'

'I'm getting to that. What we've done - no, what you've done - is give them exactly what they wanted: information on what measures Her Majesty has taken to protect the Empire's trade in the east. But, because we already know what they've learned, how they've learned it, and, often, whom they've told, we now have a very good idea of who their contacts are. The French think themselves very clever indeed, though all they're doing is wandering about inside the trap we've set. That boat that Fuller's intercepting is carrying forty-odd Gewehr 71 rifles, and the crew is Prussian. Now the French will be very peeved with the Germans, even though it's a perfectly reasonable shipment in support of Germany's trade mission in New Guinea. But the French know it's suspicious, because they learned of it by intercepting the message traffic of Her Majesty's Foreign Office.'

My head is whirring with the subterfuge of it all. 'Percy had no intention of coming back to take Ah Sam and me off the island, did he? He just thought to leave us here for Ah Leung to take care of, or the blacks?'

Roberts looks rueful. 'I'm sorry you've had to keep such bad company for so long.'

'So you intend to let Percy and Charley continue to do what they're doing?'

'Oh, they'll be dealt with when the conditions are right. When they are of no further use to us, or else the French have abandoned them.'

There's a sudden chill in the air. The old Roberts is back, complete with shards of obsidian in his gaze.

I finish peeling one potato and start on another. 'Why didn't Percy catch on sooner, after the first drop, that things weren't going to plan?'

'Because it did go to plan. As far as he could tell, anyhow. What I told you in Cooktown was the truth. There were delicate manoeuvres relating to French spies in Cairo. Boule and Fuller were told to cool their heels, play the game. Not to make a move until they had word to go.'

'You seem very sure I wasn't in league with them.'

A look pa.s.ses between Roberts and Ah Sam. I feel anger flushing the skin on my neck.

'I see. Ah Sam was watching me all the time, wasn't he? Not looking after me so much as monitoring me.'

Ah Sam looks insulted. 'I look after you, missy.'

I push the finished potatoes aside, put my elbows on the table and rub my eyes. From what high moral ground can I fling my accusations? So they both lied to me. My whole life, since I met Percy in Brisbane, has been a lie. I look up dully.

Roberts glances over to the shelf in the corner, with its jars of fishhooks and insect-ridden flour, as though summing up what my life here has been like. 'How are you going to stop your husband looking for you and your son if the house is empty when he returns?'

I stand and walk over to the shuttered windows, rest my hands on the bench. 'I don't know.' I try for neutrality, but manage to sound resentful. I need time to think. Time to sleep.

'Be ready to leave at dark tomorrow night,' Roberts says. 'Until then, I'll get the men to take the junk up the coast. There's a cove half a mile north that's secluded enough.'

'Where's your steamer?' I ask.

He gives me a pitying look. 'I'd hardly advertise to all and sundry that I've set anchor off Lizard Island now, would I?' He glances at Ah Sam, who grins back. 'Ah Sam's connections come in handy sometimes. Though, no doubt, there are some disgruntled John Pigtails down the coast wondering what happened to their old junk.'

'Oh, I forgot.' I turn to face him. 'I have a surprise of my own. Then again, maybe you know about her too.'

'Her?'

'There's a dead woman and her baby in Percy's hut. The one just up the beach. Ah Leung's body is in the hut beyond it.'

He gives a low whistle. 'Starting a makeshift mausoleum, are we? Who is she, do you know?'

'One of Charley's girls. The baby is Bob's. She was sick when she arrived in a rowboat looking for him. Typhoid, I think. The baby was already ... gone. Ah Sam found her body this morning, after Ah Leung was killed.'

'It's a wonder the blacks didn't make off with her.'

'Maybe they knew what she died of and didn't want to catch it. As for Ah Leung, Ah Sam locked him in their hut so that they couldn't get at him.'

'Ah.' Something clears in the Captain's eyes.

'The bones. They need to be shipped back to China.'

Ah Sam nods solemnly, then looks at the floor. 'Very bad otherwise, boss. Spirit wander, always.'

58.

My best thoughts come to