Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  She caught the party on the shore by her ketch. Considering the events of last night, she gave the shoreline a careful scrutiny. No tell tale skid marks but that little saltie could be hiding in the mud or skulking further up near the thin line of mangroves. Peter still had his arm wrapped around a reluctant Fenton. While Sid was standing there a very smug grin on his face waving his arms excitedly. The site poacher though had the most despondent expression, as if he’d just been forced to hand over a sizable refund.

  “Get lost Fenton, ya wanker. There’s nothing here for ya!”

  “But Sid, we’ve been such good mates for years! I’ve always cut you in on my best deals.”

  Lampie tweaked an eyebrow at that one. Why the hell was Blinky acting like this? Usually the podgy little stand over merchant was a lot more arrogant and slimly. This was distinctly odd. As for Sid, well Sid tended towards the slimly groveling if he felt himself out numbered and…and right now he wasn’t.

  “Not in this lifetime you fat freak Blinky. You picked the wrong day to pull this stunt! You can clear out or wear the consequences!”

  Lampie stared at Sid. Oh freckin’ hell he must be ripped to the tits again. Oh no, they were all going to get done over. Blinky’s lads would only be starting to get merry. She edged closer to Sid ready to deliver a rifle butt sedative if required.

  “Look Sidney, ya got a help me out. At least cut me in on the fringe pieces? Its been a really bad stretch! Oww, careful there ya Pommie bastard. That hurt!”

  What was going on? Blinky was whining. She’d never seen him do that, even when Doyle had dislocated his shoulder in an arm wrestling match. As for Sid, it was just getting weirder. He was positively bouncing up and down with excitement. Then there was Pete. He still had his arm companionably around Blinky and was smiling

  “No deal Blinky. But I tell ya what – ya got ten minutes to piss off or else. That’s my best offer.”

  “Ahh Sidney, how about I take our friend Mr Fenton here, for a walk along the shore and help him back to his boat. Poor fellow appears a trifle overcome?”

  “Yeah, sure Pete. Great idea.”

  The Englishman began to head back along the shore, Blinky in tow. Lampie just shook her head perplexed. Fifteen minutes ago they were staring down the barrel of a serious thumping. Now it was all over and no one was telling her how or why.

  Sid turned to her with a grin larger than Luna Park, and waved towards the camp. “Lampie, can you tell the rest of them to piss off. We gotta lot to fix up in the next few minutes”

  “What? Tell ’em y’ self Sid. I’m not sorting out your mess!” Lampie swung the rifle back over her shoulder and stormed off in the wake of Peter. She was going to get some answers, either from him or his new mate Blinky and she didn’t care who squealed first!

  Chapter 23 A Fortuitous Happenstance

  Peter kept a firm grip on Blinky as they strolled along the shore. His new ‘friend’ kept up a constant string of swearing and curses, but he didn’t pull away. Peter felt it was time for a touch of psychological warfare.

  “I say Blinky old chap. Sidney was in a right funny mood, wasn’t he what?”

  “Yeah, too right, ya Pommie arsehole!’

  Peter increased the pressure from his right hand just a smidgen. “Now, now Blinky – manners old chap! Tell me, have you ever played cards with our friend Sidney?”

  “Yeah lots!”

  “Have you ever noticed that Sidney suffers from a singular handicap?”

  “What? What are ya talking about ya crazy pom?”

  Peter sighed. Sometimes it was so hard to speak to the colonials. Perhaps he should take it slower, and use a child’s picture book, with big helpful illustrations. “Does Sidney have what you would describe as a ‘poker face’ while playing cards?”

  Blinky began to snort and tried to shake his head until reminded that sudden movement was bad for his continued health. “Nah, yeah could read Sid like an open book!”

  Peter nodded – this was getting easier. “Yes, Sidney always had a tendency to display his luck. I used to earn half my rent in games with him – very useful that.” As well as getting out of a number of household chores that had fallen his way. From what he could tell Blinky was looking thoughtful. Time to sink a few more barbs. “Well Blinky, if Sid had a bad hand today, as it where, why was he bouncing all over the place? A trifle odd that, don’t you think?”

  Blinky began to move his jaw as if chewing cud and frowned. “Yeah it was.”

  Peter gave a smile and an encouraging nod. “From what I recall of my games with Sidney, it looked to me like he was sitting on a Royal Flush. Now Blinky old chap, what you have to consider is, what hand our mutual friend has just been dealt that makes him think that he can top you and this Miloseczov fellow?”

  Blinky had gone from the thoughtful to the worried. The repetitive eyelid movement was back, then as they walked past the last of the shielding sandbar, Blinky Fenton got a clear unobstructed view of the bay. His vessel wasn’t the only one at anchor. It had been joined by another that made his trawling craft look like a kiddie’s row boat. Poor Blinky. He halted next to his tinnie and quivered, watching the large sleek white cruiser discharge a couple of outboard launches that were powering toward the beach with distinctive intent.

  “Hmm, Sidney did have a Royal flush. A word to the wise Blinky. Now could be an excellent time to look for a new port of call as it where, probably before those two landing craft hit the beach.”

  Peter’s new friend didn’t need any further prompting. He gave an urgent call to the rest of his crew who had witnessed the new arrival in all its glory. To say that they sprinted for their tinnie would lend too much dignity to their progress. Stagger, trip and sprawl would be a better description. Blinky was the last to tumble in once Peter had released him. He turned back as the boat was being pushed off. “I won’t forget this you fuckin’ Pommie bastard!”

  Peter smiled and gave a wave. “Ahh Blinky, I look forward to meeting you again. Have a good trip, old chap!”

  Lampie arrived just as their first set of visitors were departing, rifle still held in her arms. Peter raised an eyebrow. She looked rather fetching in a fishin’ and huntin’ sort of way, striding determinedly along the sandy shore. He reminded other parts of his primeval subconscious that now was not a good time to play caveman.

  “Peter bloody Wilks! What the freckin’ hell is going on?”

  He raised an eyebrow quizzically at her stormy approach. “I have been playing the good host and seeing our friend, Blinky Fenton off.”

  Lampie’s face passed through a series of conflicting expressions – amazement, disbelief, anger and, for want of a better description, crogglement, before settling for a simple frown. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Lampie gave a dismissive wave of the hand towards their departing guests, then growled out a clarification. “Get all palsy with Blinky and convince him to walk off.”

  “Oh that. Just my natural charm and friendly manner.”

  Lampie however was not following the proper script for the heroine. She looked at him with a most suspicious glare, and with her rifle still held at a meaningful angle continued her interrogative manner. “Yeah sure, I believe that! Look Wilks, I know that slimly rat Blinky. He wouldn’t just bolt like that. What else did you do?”

  “Oh just a little parlour trick, Lampie.”

  “So spill it Wilks!”

  Peter opened his right hand presenting it for Lampie’s inspection. Between two of his fingers nestled a glinting sliver of steel.

  “What the freck is that?”

  “Oh it’s just something I made up from a broken saw a few years ago. See, these two lugs fit over the fingers on either side, and the blade protrudes an inch past the tip of the fingers, running back to the small plate over the palm.” Peter noticed that Lampie’s eye’s had widened. Hmm nice. It made the hazel colour of her eyes stand out – hmm very attractive.

  “T
hat’s a nasty little weapon Wilks. How ever do you get away with using that in a brawl? The cops’d nick you as fast as anything!”

  Peter shook his head and made a sweeping motion with his fingers. “Weapon? No Lampie. This is an ergonomically designed finger trowel. I made it for a friend who’d sprained her wrist, then found it damned useful for cautious excavation. After that I made a few. Always keep one in the pocket – handier than a trowel as it where.”

  “So you had that against Blinky’s neck? No wonder he was so docile. That‘d take a bloke’s throat out in a second!”

  Peter frowned and ran a finger along the edge, then held it up blood free. “Well I suppose it could give a nasty cut though I don’t think that’s what did it.”

  “Okay then. What scared Blinky?”

  “Well, once I had my hand around his shoulder, I whispered in his ear that I was the great grandson of Sweeney Todd and he could do with a shave. Then I tapped his throat with the finger trowel. I can do a really menacing cockney accent when I have to.”

  Lampie swung the rifle onto her shoulder and muttered something under her breath, then turned to him with a half smile. “Peter Wilks, sometimes I don’t know whether you’re a crazy Pom or just plain crazy.”

  As if it were a compliment, he tilted his head in a gesture of a bow. That was as good as he was going to get. Anyway he was glad his little ploy worked. If it hadn’t, he was running out of ideas. At least playing the eccentric Englishman had paid off this time.

  In the meantime, the two vessels from the cruiser charged into the estuary in an excellent imitation of the Normandy assault and hit the beach. A couple of hefty men leapt out, led by a heavy built gentleman with what Peter thought was called a buzz cut, favoured by the US Marines. Ignoring him Buzz Cut turned to face Lampie and snapped off an American style salute. “Larry H Carlew at your service, Ma’am. Mr Wallace got a call that you were in trouble here!”

  The rest of his band thumped onto the beach and spread out. Peter didn’t mind the dramatic rescue, though he felt it was a tad late. He was also concerned by another significant factor of their presence. These gentlemen were, as our Americans cousins put it so succinctly, ‘packing heat’, and not just the odd revolver sticking out of the belt. These characters had enough automatic weapons to storm a Nazi bunker. The generic assault rifle seemed to be the most popular along with a smattering of Uzis.

  “I was ordered to find a Mister Brydges. Do yer know where he is Ma’am?”

  Lampie appeared somewhat stunned by the rescue, a bit like finding the state anti terrorist unit had arrived in response to her call for a kitty up a tree. She pointed over her shoulder and Larry H strode off purposefully while speaking into a small two way hanging off his field webbing. The rest of his well armed band spread out and slowly moved up the slope, weapons at the ready. Uncle Bill and Rob, seeing the lay of the land, had open bottles of ale out stretched in a clearly friendly ‘don’t shoot’ us gesture.

  Peter, left on the beach as it were, swung around to a still bemused Lampie. “Lampie is this what they call extreme tourism?”

  “No…”

  “Ahh, aren’t they a little over equipped for salties?”

  “Yeah...”

  Peter noticed that Blinky’s fine and stalwart men were scrambling about their trawler in frantic haste. That urgency may have been aided by passing the incoming assault flotilla and the two or so prominently armed figures on the deck of the large white cruiser. “Do you know if Sid has any wealthy or important friends?”

  Lampie gave a nervous laugh. “Sid? Get real. Blinky was one of his more reasonable mates!”

  Peter gave his face a rub and swapped his view between the battleship-sized white cruiser and the easy manner of the landees. They were awfully well armed for sailing Aussie waters. “I didn’t think so. In that case, I take it that people who can afford their own version of the Queen Mary and fully accessorised storm troopers are a little unusual in this region?”

  “Ahh yeah.”

  “And Sid apparently sent out a call for the cavalry.”

  “Yeah, he must have.” Lampie’s reply wavered into uncertainty.

  “And look who turned up.”

  “Pete, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Lampie, fortuitous happenstance occurs in books or films to get the characters out of a fix, where the writer has lost the plot. They do not tend to occur so readily in real life.”

  “Why not, why we can’t we get lucky? I mean this lot caused Blinky Fenton and his packrats to scarper.”

  “Yes I know, but I have to ask – why does it feel like the Serengeti?”

  “What? I had to deal with Sid being bloody loopy last night. Don’t get all Pommie and academic on me Pete!”

  He gave a deep sigh. Peter hadn’t originally meant to sound so stuffy. He was actually thinking out loud and automatically included Lampie as a sounding board. “Have you seen any of those nature programs on the wildlife in Africa? David Attenborough does a lot of them.”

  ‘Yeah, who hasn’t?”

  “Well on the Serengeti plains, when one of the grazing beasties like a wildebeest, goes down, all the scavengers gather round and tuck in. However, when they hear the lion’s roar announcing this sitting of dinner has finished, they all disappear. The top predator king of the plains has arrived.”

  “Yeah, so?” Lampie made the reply sound a lot bolder than she felt

  “Lampie, I think Blinky the weasel heard the lion’s roar.”

  Chapter 24 Sun Sand and the Serengeti

  Oh God, will this freckin’ day never end! It started poorly at past the witching hour with Sid, Rob and Peter’s crocodile. Breakfast was a high spot and then it rapidly descended from there. Who the hell tipped off Blinky Fenton? She’d suspect Sid and his chronically loose mouth, except that he was quarantined in Bast with Wally and the girls playing guard, though you had to wonder how Blinky knew they’d found something. She could have sworn everyone on the dig was watching each other like hawks. The only, and she did mean only, person who couldn’t have spilled anything was Peter, since he knew nothing until his first day at Deception Bay. So right now, when they should have been getting stuck into the excavation, everything had stalled. Instead the merry band of excavators, including a very hung over Bluey, were awaiting the presence of Mr Adrian Wallace, rescuer and if the cruiser was any measure, a man of substance. While Lampie was appreciative of the ‘rescue’, a part of her kept on teasingly revisiting Peter’s open scepticism, and the hanging around waiting gave those doubts more room to play. It was damn frustrating. They’d made so much progress over the past few days and from the clues Peter had dropped, she felt that this site may deliver her long held wish, proof of a Portuguese landing before the Dutch. Yeah!

  Eventually, after an endless bout of clipped conversation over their two way radios, Mr Wallace’s ‘assistants’ agreed that it was safe for him to come ashore. Wow she was so thrilled. Lampie remembered all too many occasions like this, the rigmarole was not endearing their saviour to her. Instead it was more like building up a simmering dislike.

  After another wait, where Sid fidgeted nervously, a well dressed character walked up the slope flanked by two of his ahh ‘crew’, both fine strapping characters with broad shoulders. She may have regarded their physical presence more favourably, if every single one of them hadn’t been bristling with guns. As it turned out, Mr Wallace wasn’t quite what she expected. He strolled up to the camp in a leisurely manner that implied ownership without overtly claiming it and was dressed in, of all things, an up to date version of the old colonial tropical suit. She’d seen old faded black and white photos of her great uncles dressed in a similar style, as they lounged on the verandah at Raffles, sipping G and Ts. When their visitor came closer, Lampie was able to pick out more details. He was slight in build, maybe five and a half foot tall, and possessed a lean, ascetic face with a pointed chin, emphasised by a short silver flecked goatee beard. His eyes were steel grey
and unlike his strolling approach, they moved over everything, assessing the surroundings with a roving thoroughness that reminded her of a hawk on patrol.

  Then Sid stepped forward and began his usual spiel. Lampie switched off for that – she’d heard it all before, every time they had an inspection from the museum or from one of their other employers. A twinge of wrongness crept into the presentation as Sid introduced Peter. His old friend was portrayed as a specialist, invited to assist with the excavation due to his unique qualifications. Sid mentioned experience in European archaeology which gained a margin of interest from Mr Wallace but when Peter spoke up, mentioning medieval studies, that seemed to spark up a lot more attention which was quickly rerouted as Sid steered Mr Wallace to her. Gee thanks Sid, just what I needed a handshake reeking of insincerity. Their visitor gave her a lingering smile and a penetrating stare, before he spoke to her in a crisply precise accent that hinted of an exclusive north shore Sydney education. She almost thought he was a fellow Pom like Pete.

  “Miss Lampierre, Mr Brydges here has told me that you are the site surveyor.”

  “That’s right Mr Wallace.” Why hell was he asking her?

  “I see. I had thought that you had engaged Mr Brydges or he was your business partner. This is not the case?”

  She tried very, very hard not to looked confused or any other deeply embarrassing reaction. Instead, despite a deep urge to disappear, she looked their visitor straight in the eye. This however didn’t give any hints, as to why he was asking, though it did remind her of the verbal skirmishes her father often engaged in. Without any other clues from Sid or Mr Wallace she gave the simple truth. “Sid is the site director and in charge of this excavation.”

  Their visitor gave a smile and a nod in reply and after a quick word with the rest of the party, turned back to the shadowing Sid. “Mr Brydges, am I to understand your archaeological excavation here has uncovered evidence of an early colonial settlement?”