Well, this morning carrying up breakfast was the least she could do.
When she got to the site, she found Peter was sitting on a log staring out westwards over the bay. His eyes had that faraway lost vision thing, that told her he hadn’t noticed the arrival of tucker. Lampie coughed loudly and he blinked and swivelled his slightly bloodshot gaze towards her. “Oh, I am sorry Lampie, I didn’t hear you. Oh my sainted aunt, coffee! Here let me take that, it was very kind of you.”
Peter leapt to his feet, took the improvised tray and set it down by the log. She gave a bit of a stretch and settled down on the other side of the tray, taking her mug. Peter had the coffee clasped in his hands like a sacred relic. His eyes were closed, with the mug held up under his nose, and he was breathing in deeply. Lampie grinned. If anyone could be said to worship at the altar of fresh coffee as a devotee, it would have to be Peter Wilks.
She gave him a few minutes of sacred contemplation, then pushed into a very difficult area. “Peter, I’m very sorry about last night. Those two idiots were,” Lampie searched for a more useful description of Sid and Rob, “freakin’ stupid idiots!” Sometimes the simplest terms were the best.
Peter, sipping his coffee, gave a single nod at the apology. That was probably as much as she was going to get, now to move on to a more risky area due to those morons. This was going to be bloody difficult, thanks Sid!
Lampie took a deep breath and launched straight into it. “Look Peter, since last night I’ve been thinking. All these accidents with crocodiles and snakes, the risks are getting a bit high round here. I mean, for someone who isn’t a…” No, she couldn’t say that. He might feel insulted if she questioned his bravery and as they’d all witnessed last night, Peter Wilks, Pommie academic, had guts.
She tried for a different angle. “Well for someone who’s…” Her jaw snapped shut in mid word. No, she couldn’t say that either. It could imply he was accident prone. Once more she ground out a silent curse at Sid. Aww damn, just spit it out!
“Peter, if you want, I can take you back to Derby and book you a flight home.” There, it was out! Christ, she was as stupid as Sid and Rob. How could she just blurt it out like that! Lampie knew that if Peter left that the whole excavation would collapse into Sid-induced catastrophe and they would all be screwed.
Peter had a long drink of his coffee while she tried to figure out another way of asking, telling, pleading even, but it had to be done. Even an easterner could see that Peter Wilks had drawn more than his share of bad luck since arriving here and since she had been the one to meet and escort the Englishman to the dig site, it was her responsibility. A responsibility shirked by Sid! The minutes stretched on as he drained his mug. As for hers, she was so nervous it lay in her hands, untouched, slowly cooling.
As if he was serving tea, Peter placed his empty mug on the plank and dropped his eyes from the distant horizon straight to hers. “What would you prefer, Lampie? Should I stay or go?”
What kind of question was that? Of course she wanted him to stay – the whole expedition depended on his skills. Her subconscious gave her a pointed reminder of the ‘Brad Pitt’ shoulders and Union Jack boxer shorts. “Weeell… I think this excavation is stuffed without you Pete. And I’d like to see what we can find.”
Peter Wilks stared at her with that enigmatic Englishman look of his and she felt her face slowly blushing. Freakin’ hell, what did he want? She wasn’t going to beg! Her subconscious asked, in a very snarky manner, why not, it could be fun. She kicked that thought to the back recesses of her mind as it were.
“Since you have asked me Lampie, a gentleman should always acquiesce to the wishes of a lady.” Then he gave a repeat of the bow from last night.
Lampie felt her colour push closer to the deep red of terminal embarrassment. “Yeah, ahh sure, ahh thanks, Pete.” Lampie decided the horizon was an object worthy of attention and tried not the notice the smile Peter was giving. In the pause, she dug into Uncle Bill’s fresh damper and spread on the butter and golden syrup. It reminded her so much of grand-mère’, she always got a bit choked up. Peter joined her in breakfast, looking out over the crystal blue water, patterned by lines of dancing white crests. Where else in the world could you get such a treat?
The companionable silence lasted as long as the provisions. Then Peter, waiting until she’d wiped her hands, restarted the conversation. “Lampie, can I ask you a few questions?”
“Yeah Peter?” She tried not to sound too worried about his sudden resurgence of interest, neutral territory only please!
“You said you have been surveying up and down this coast for a few years?”
Damn this was about business. The crowd in the dress circle of her thoughts wanted it to be personal. “Yeah with Sid, and also hauling tourists. Why?”
“So you’ve seen a lot of the rock art around here?”
That was different. You couldn’t get much more neutral than that, though why he was asking had her mystified. “Yeeeah? Not as much as Wally. Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about Wally’s research. If, for thousands of years, the aborigines have been recording things they saw in every day life and signal events, are there any images of the boats that visited this shore?”
Where did that come from? Lampie tried to shift her thinking to match his new direction. “Yeah heaps – Wally’s got a stack, on all sorts of boats and canoe pics. Why?”
Peter pointed at the large trench he’d opened up yesterday. “Down there, I am fairly sure we have a wooden gatehouse and surrounding this camp, a wooden palisade. They didn’t go up in a day and according to what you told me, fifty or so Europeans would leave an impact here apart from pottery, objects and burials.”
She had to agree with that. There had to be an aboriginal record about this site somewhere either visual or in the stories of the elders. “Wally’s the one to see about all this Pete. I heard on the grapevine, some professor was working on something about depictions of water craft in aboriginal art in Perth.” She gave a shrug – around here Perth was as good as saying London. “We got him a couple of photos, but his main source was Wally.”
Peter frowned. She could tell he didn’t like the answer. Well she wasn’t too keen on it herself. The Pom was right – there had to be something around here that recorded this event.
“Any stone carvings or memorial crosses along the coast?”
That was easier to answer, though she was sure Peter was still going to be unhappy. “Up north at Kalumburu or the old mission site at Pago, they have a few carved crosses but I reckon you’re not after them.”
“No Lampie, a trifle recent for what we need.” Peter gave a shake of his head and a wry grin.
“What’s the hassle Pete? We’ve got enough here to prove a European site anyway.”
“That’s true. However I am finding it little strange, that with graves and so much charcoal residue, there is so little of anything else.”
“You reckon this place was attacked?”
“Two dead combatants, weapons and armour indicate that, yes.”
“Okay, if it was pirates, would they have cleaned out everything they could lay their hands on?’
A low chuckle gave her all the reply she needed. “Yes you’re right Lampie, they would. From what I remember, the pirates or buccaneers of the Carib were renowned for cleaning out a town or ship, right down to the iron nails.”
Lampie felt chuffed, she’d scored again. All that pirate stuff came in useful! She was very glad Pete was staying for a whole host of reasons, including the ‘shoulders’ reminder from the background. Looked like Peter was back on the job, and that excellent, academically trained, English brain of his was obviously firing away, fuelled and charged by the delightfully tasty combination of coffee, fresh damper and golden syrup.
Yeaaah, on to treasure!
She was about to ask him a few things, when her concentration vanished.
“Are we expecting any more visitors?” Peter was pointing to the so
uthwest, across the bay at an approaching boat.
Lampie shielded her eyes and squinted. The vessel was acquiring a familiar clarity in the crisp morning light. She muttered a quiet curse regarding their leader’s choice of friends and spun around to the Englishman. “Pete, I need you to do something for me real fast!”
“Certainly Lampie.”
“You know we’ve got those tarps covering every open trench?”
“Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you about those.”
“Yeah later. For now, just make sure they’re all covered in sand!”
Peter gave a confused nod. She didn’t wait to see more, instead sprinted down the hill into the camp. A minute or so’s search found Sid in the site tent checking the dig reports.
“Sid, we’ve problems. Your freckin’ friend, Fenton’s here!”
The site leader dropped the papers and his jaw, then jumped to his feet. “AWWWH shit! Who tipped that bastard off? Lampie keep him busy, I’ m going to stash some of this stuff in the lock up!”
That wasn’t quite the reaction she was seeking, but say what you like about Sid, when he had the motivation, he moved like greased lightening. Before she’d had a chance to offer a counter option, he’d grabbed two bags of dig finds and shot out of the tent at a flat out run. Lampie sighed and shook her head – it didn’t rain but it bloody poured. She grabbed her rifle from next to the sorted boxes of finds and checked the magazine was clean and full. Then, as Uncle Pierre taught her, she made sure the bolt slid free, chambered a round and flicked on the safety before slinging it over her shoulder. You never knew with Fenton, whether he was keen to share a friendly beer or rip off whatever you found. She stalked through the camp and stirred up Uncle Bill and Bluey. Rob, however was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, two were better than none. Taking a position at the top of the slope in front of their camp, Lampie stood at ease with her motley band behind, waiting for the inevitable visit.
Of all the miserable luck – bloody Fenton. How the freckin’ hell did he get to hear of this? In their line of business and exploration, they’d crossed paths with Fenton frequently. Catch him in a pub in Derby or Broome and it wasn’t so bad. He was usually half pissed and trying to sell you a piece of salvage. Well, that was the more respectable part of his trade. More commonly Fenton was into deals that didn’t see the light of day. There had been rumours of runs up to Timor. More worrying for them was Fenton’s other unofficial sideline, site ripping and illicit aboriginal artefacts. Lampie knew there was a good market in the east for top quality pieces and the art dealers tended not to enquire as to provenance or origins. A modest sized tinnie pulled ashore fifty metres in from the estuary mouth and several men piled out. The first one was a suave looking bloke in his mid thirties. He had the full Crocodile Dundee look going, the same look splashed all over the tellie. Every supposed ‘bushie’, from that wild tucker guy to Steve Irwin, all had the same uniform – khaki shirt, shorts, bush hat and arm bands festooned with saltie teeth. You could even see the like wandering the street of every tourist spot in the Outback. This specimen of the species may have pulled it off. He had the blond curly locks, four day stubble and sun bronzed appearance, but as ‘Blinky’ Fenton waddled closer, the image crumbled. All the rest of the Aussie stereotype was there. However this was paired with a less than graceful shape or height, which brought to mind a koala far more readily than a lean son of the bush. It was also Fenton’s misfortune that he possessed two other attributes that reinforced this impression. Like Blinky Bill, with whom he shared a common shape, his ears spread out in wide furry scoops underneath his hat. His eyesight was aided by a set of thick glasses that lent his face a myopic aspect as he blinked.
Despite that inoffensive appearance, Lampie swung her rifle off her shoulder and held it sloping down cradled in her arms, right hand near the trigger guard. With their puffing leader in front, the rest of his ‘crew’ sauntered up behind in a leisurely straggle – no real need to move faster than Blinky. As a consequence, they lacked the sort of menace that encouraged immediate cooperation.
Sounds of rustling and the crunch of running boots drew her attention back over her left shoulder. Peter pulled up next to her slightly out of breath. “Who are these people Lampie?”
“The pudgy one in the front is Blinky Fenton. He’s a bit of a character around here, not too popular with the Lands Council or the local police.”
“Why not? He looks an inoffensive sort of fellow.”
“Nah, the last bloke who said that to ‘Blinky’ got both legs broken. He may come across as a friendly fella, but the fat bastard’s got a nasty vindictive streak that keeps him near the top of the don’t meet on a dark night list.”
Peter didn’t say anything else but he did step to her left and angled inward, as if to flank the approaching party. They had lots of time to await the approach of Blinky Fenton’s band and by the time they arrived, their leader had pulled out a scarf and was furiously mopping his reddened face.
“G’day Blinky.”
“Hiya Lampie. Still hanging around this pack of losers? I’ve told ya before, there’s a spot on my crew for girl of ya talents!”
She didn’t bother suppressing the sneer or shift the casual ‘on guard’ position of her rifle. Nothing on God’s green Earth would convince her to spend a second more than necessary in Blinky’s company. “I’ll give that a miss, Blinky.”
The pudgy visitor tried a relaxed slouch, as if he didn’t need to use his imposing presence, while his crew cluttered in the immediate background. It didn’t work but instead reminded Lampie of a slumped pudding,
“Sid around?”
“Yeah he told me ta send you a kiss kiss.”
“Ahh shucks that’s sweet Lampie. Ya want to it give to me, I even shaved!” Blinky tilted the left side of his face forwards as if in the expectation of a reward.
“Shaved? Y’ sure y’ old enough Blinky?”
His crew chortled and laughed at the joke. The banter still didn’t lessen the tension. Lampie wasn’t expecting a fight – Blinky tended more towards the intimidation line. If it came to it, well they were still out numbered two to one. As for firepower, only her rifle was on display but reputation had Blinky’s boys usually packing an assortment of pistols. In the Mexican standoff stakes they came a poor second.
“Ohh Lampie, I’s wounded to the heart. I’ll tell ya what, find Sidney, an I’ll forgive ya?” Blinky clutched at his chest and gave a lopsided leer.
“I told y’, Sid’s busy.”
Blinky shook his head. “I reckon Sidney’s gonna want to talk real fast. Words out. Ya got something, and as a mate, I’d thought I’d came over an’ give ya a hand. Face it, Lampie. Better me than that oily smoocher, Doyle. He ain’t near so generous to his mates.”
“Doyle! Doyle? Don’t pull that one Blinky. Doyle got lost trying to leave Broome harbour. He couldn’t cross the road without a guide dog and a boy scout!”
Blinky’s grin sagged as the threat was laughed off. One of his minions lent forward and whispered in his ear and spirits once more restored, Blinky broke into a wide mouth smile.
“Lampie, I gotta hand it to ya. You’re a smart girlie. Nah, Doyle’s a waste a space though I reckon ya haven’t heard Miloseczov is cruising the coast again. Now ya can deal with me or I can give him a call – I don’t mind?”
“Ahh Blinky, that’s a piss poor bluff. Miloseczov’s still got a year or two till he gets out.”
“”Yeah well, he got out early for good behaviour. I reckon he might want to cruise around and say hello to his old mate Sid.”
Oh freckin’ hell, that wasn’t good news. Miloseczov had let it be known that he wanted a ‘chat’ with Sid when he got out.
While Lampie was sorting through viable options an English accent hissed in her ear. “Ahh Lampie, who are all these people this fellow is talking about?”
“Peter, you remember that list of people not to meet? Well Doyle’s on the bottom and Miloseczov’s on the top.”
/> “Ohh I see, thank you.”
Then to her greatest surprise, Peter stepped forward hand outstretched and grasped Blinky’s, pumping it up and down energetically. “I say! So you’re a friend of Sidney’s. Pleased to meet you!” Peter had put on the most frightfully plum-in-the-mouth English accent and appeared to be both chortling and simpering at the same time. Lampie tried hard not to let her jaw drop on the ground.
“So you are the ‘famous’ Mister Fenton! I am so honoured to shake your hand. It’s incredible I…” Peter paused in his flow and, hugging a stunned Blinky’s shoulders, swept his other hand around to encompass the rest the dig crew. “I’ve heard so many stories of your feats. I would have thought they were those of as much older man! I must say I just loved the one of you wrestling that crocodile to save that little girl who fell in the water! Look I know Sidney is going to love seeing you!”
Blinky flickered his eyelids like a windscreen wiper, while the rest of his crew looked on in stunned disbelief. A couple nudged each other and sniggered. Lampie watched as she tried to figure out why the Englishman had gone bonkers. Peter had a an arm wrapped around the shorter ‘Blinky’, who found himself being walked along the slope away from his crew, with Peter chatting away about all the deeds Blinky was supposed to have done. It seemed a waste but Lampie had an idea.
“Uncle Bill, could you crack open a few Monsoonal Blondes for Blinky’s crew? Can’t have them standing around dry while Blinky catches up with old friends!” Lampie had heard that in some elite units of bodyguards, loyalty extended to the ultimate sacrifice. Napoleon’s Old Guard, for instance, held off the pursuing British at the battle of Waterloo, to the last man, protecting their beloved emperor. Blinky’s lads didn’t match that exacting standard. At the call of free Matsos ale, they cheerfully clustered around, ignoring the swivelling head of their captain as he was marched off towards Bast.
Since the instant beach party appeared to be hitting it off, Lampie left Uncle Bill in charge of the drink distribution and walked off after the puzzling Pommie and his new friend.
Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery) Page 28
