Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  “Ahh I felt a lot better and...and I thought I’d write up some notes.”

  To Lampie the words sounded right, but the mannerisms didn’t. If called to describe it. she would have described it as ‘sprung at the teacher’s desk’ “Mind if I have a look Pete?”

  She ignored his spluttered complaints and pushed past. Yeah, there was a laptop open and running on the table, all fine and... Ahh no, it wasn’t – that was Sid’s laptop! Now while their excavation leader wasn’t one of her favourite people right now, Pete had no right to look through it. The reason for her visit to the camp flared up and, impelled by suspicion and anger, Lampie took a step back and swung the rifle back off her shoulder. “Bloody Peter Wilks. What the hell do you think you’re doing? And what did you do to my ketch, you bloody clumsy Pom? Move away from the table you, you…”

  Words failed her for a moment. It was difficult to put into ordinary language the surge of loathing and disgust that was shaking her. How dare Peter pull this stunt! She’d been feeling really sorry for him this evening, what with Sid’s stupidity and the rest! As soon as he’d stepped or rather fell onto the tarmac at Derby she’d realised the Englishman was extremely out of his depth here in the Kimberleys. Despite that woeful start, he’d impressed her with his willingness to listen and learn, while his unfailing politeness and friendly attitude had been quirkily endearing, even the snake incident. Her subconscious wanted to promote the sleeping bag rescue to the status of a major coup and at the time it had made a few intriguing suggestions as to potential rewards. As for Pete and the crocodile incident of the previous night, well that went way past impressive – his feat of bravery had made her all tingly! Now she found that one English academic, Peter Wilks, to her own great surprise, was edging his way into her fondest regard. All this was despite his addiction to burbling on about history and his natural defect of being a Pom. All that cultural baggage had been pushed aside as inconsequential. It must have been his Brad Pitt like shoulders and endearing trait of always being the proverbial gentleman, even when covered in sand and dirt or having triumphed over crocodiles. But now… Now he was here in the site tent and, from a brief glance, going through Sid’s stuff, and had her supervisor’s laptop open and running.

  Taking a deep breath to regain an elusive measure of calm, Lampie started afresh. “You’d better have a bloody amazing explanation for this Wilks, cos it’s a long way to swim back to Derby!”

  “I do! I do! Could you please put the rifle down Lampie and I’ll show you!”

  She frowned and gnawed at her lip. Her first instinct had been towards more violent and demonstrative action, but the outrage was cooling, slightly. Lampie knew that to many people she appeared easy going and relaxed, always willing to help out. That was kind of true, but that didn’t meant she was dim. She’d watched the fragile interaction between Peter and Sid fracture with the mounting stresses that seemed to pile up with each incident. Sid was being freakin’ weird over this site and with each passing day, the story it revealed became more complex. Did she want answers? Oh yeah! That was a cert. She’d had enough of the games these two ‘old friends’ seemed to be playing, as well as Sid’s obsession with secrecy. Well here was her chance to find out!

  “Okay Pete, tell you what. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t throw you to the sharks out there.”

  Wilks slowly put his hands down and licked his lips nervously. Lampie could see he was trying to frame some kind of answer but didn’t seem sure of where to start. If the light from the laptop was better, she might have thought the look in his eyes was anger rather than fear. Well, if anyone pulled a gun on her, what would she feel? Good question. A twinge of compassion prompted her to sling the rifle back over her shoulder. She wasn’t going anywhere until this was finished and the Englishman wasn’t really a threat. At the thought of threat, her obliging subconscious supplied one, Wallace’s assistant Larry H. Carlew. Now there was a bloke who made her flesh creep! Her subconscious while commenting on the present, made a few pointed comments about whether it was really such a great idea to have Peter pissed off at her? Conceding the point she eased up on her aggressive stance and threw out a more reasonably framed question in a calmer voice. “Pete, how about we start with why you’re going through Sid’s laptop?”

  Peter flicked his hand in the air and she could almost hear the sneer in his reply. “History Lampie, it’s all about history.”

  Had everyone gone round the twist tonight? “What? Have you gone troppo or something? Speak in bloody English!” She frowned and automatically fingered the strap of the rifle, in clear suggestion that the former menace could return. It didn’t seem to make any difference. Pete the Pommie just glared and stood with his back straighter than a ramrod and shot back his own demand. “What did Sid tell you about our mutual history, before he called me?”

  What the hell? Why was he asking questions? Did he have some translation problems with her very polite request? An incipient growl got strangled by her better nature before it could emerge. Pete put up his hands in an open and non threatening gesture. “Please, Lampie I promise I’ll give you the truth, but I need to know that first.”

  Yeah right that was like ‘it’s okay darl I really love you’ or the other favourite ‘of course I’m after a real relationship this time’. She spent maybe a minute or more staring at him, weighing feelings against instinct. That was painful. Her anger reckoned she ought to kick him in the balls right now, while memory prodded her instincts. Peter Wilks had proved pretty straight so far, and the fact was that he’d travelled thousands of miles to the Kimberleys to help out. Well maybe? A previously subdued part of her subconscious kicked its way forward and raised a hand, suggesting that perhaps Peter had a compelling reason for his actions, apart from stupidity. Tonight’s dinner could certainly be one reason. She was pretty certain Peter had his own beef with Sid about that. Lord knew, she did! Bloody hell, screw democracy, the dress circle won out. Pete the Pom deserved an opportunity to put his side forward!

  “Alright Wilks, I’ll give you a chance. All Sid said was that he’d shared a house with you while you were in Canberra, that and you were some hot shot expert on old ironwork, medieval history and stuff, plus he kinda mentioned you two had worked together. That’s it!”

  Wilks frowned and shook his head as if the answer didn’t make any sense. “What? That’s it! That’s all it took to bring me out here to the Kimberleys! Flipping hell, Sid said we spent some time together. Didn’t you even think to check?”

  Wilks’ answer was unmistakable, holding equal measures of disgust and incredulity. Lampie was beginning to have a few twinges of concern. Now she thought about it, that whole conversation before the satellite call was a little odd, even for Sid. “Well hmm, yeah. That is yeah, it’s not as if we had much choice out here!” That kind of popped out without thinking and Lampie cringed over how weak and defensive it sounded. Freck, she must look like a gullible idiot!

  Wilks gave a brief bark of laughter. To her ears, it had a hollow and bitter edge. “That’s Sid all right, always economical with the truth. So good to see he hasn’t changed!”

  This comment went way past hollow and bitter to the extreme end of sarcasm. An independent observer might even conclude that Sid had a history of pissing people off.

  “Yes, I shared a house with him, a damp, mouldy, cockroach palace at O’Connor, the suburb next to the university. What a great experience, really character building! The fun never stopped as all sorts of lowlife popped in for a quick snort. Even better, on weekends, Sid and his barking mad girlfriend from Customs and their friends would fry their brain cells with a select combination of sewer grown dope, magic mushrooms and nitrous oxide, with the occasional side order of Mexican Marching powder. Oh yes I loved sharing with Sid – everyday an adventure, every meal a mystery!”

  Lampie didn’t quite know what to say to that. She’d spent a few years working with Sid and then before their current enterprise he’d been one of her tutors. So she had to a
dmit to having witnessed Sid on the occasional bender. But he’d sworn off it since he’d been with Elaine and that had been for years! While Sid had sometimes admitted to being a bit of a wild lad in times past, how did that equate with Peter’s take on history? Her subconscious gave her a sound kick in the memory department. Ahh remember the other night, the incident with the crocodile or perhaps a little further back. That time you had to race through that house in Broome, the other year and grab all the salt, washing powder and Draino, before Sid succumbed to his urges. Well perhaps it was a more accurate description than she was prepared to publicly admit.

  “Well that was the jolly excitement of home life! At the university, Sid was working on a colonial era excavation along some proposed very fast train line, just north of Canberra. He used to ask my advice on period ironware and weapons, and what condition you’d expect to find it in.” Wilks gave a shrug and slumped back into the camp chair as if shedding a burden.

  “I didn’t think much of it at the time. You know, just trying to be helpful, fit in with the local culture, what there was of it. Then one day Sid came home really excited. Their dig had discovered an aboriginal massacre site and it was in all the papers. That segment of the VFT project was looking like falling over and the investors were bailing out as the land claims and historical monument demands rolled in.”

  Peter Wilks rubbed his face wearily and Lampie felt the rumble of the approaching avalanche of truth. This version of Peter’s history had an awful symmetry to it. It filled in some interesting gaps Sid had left conspicuously empty. She was beginning to suspect that one Yvette Lampierre, archaeological graduate with honours, had been too keen to escape from her family’s plans and hadn’t delved into Sid’s past as much as she should have. With an ominous inevitability she asked the next question “Okay. What happened next?”

  “After all the build up and publicity for weeks, overnight the whole excavation was discredited.”

  As one question had begun the process, the second automatically followed on, like trains shunting on a rail line – when one bumped into the next the chain reaction started. She wasn’t sure everything would still be fine when the dust cleared. “How did that happen?”

  Peter slowly shook his head. “Part of my work at the university was giving reviews of any piece brought in by members of the public – you know publicity, a bit like Antiques Roadshow on the tellie. Well one of the faculty professors asked me to give the once over to a selection of pieces brought in by someone off a farm.” Pete had slumped and his face took on a bitter frown. Her heart twinged at his look of past dejection. “What the hell did I know about the faculty rivalries? I was just the naive Pommie student, absolutely perfect for the role of the patsy. Well, I spent a couple of days going over all the pieces and gave my report. Next morning it was in all the papers, on all the TV stations and radio. Sid’s dig had been salted with a barrow load of fakes.”

  Lampie stayed very still. That avalanche had rolled into view and from here it looked like all her past was speeding towards the inevitable collision. She really didn’t want to ask anymore questions. Four years of friendship, mutual work and the current dig trembled on the brink of ruin. However without faltering she pushed. “How come you picked it up while a whole department missed it? You’re not some genius detective are you Pete, like Sherlock Holmes?” She’d tried for a lighter touch on that one, hoping to avoid the rumbling rocks of Sid induced chaos.

  Like her previous efforts it didn’t work. The Englishman gave a wry smile and dismissive shrug. “Not genius, Lampie just thorough. Plus a combination of the politics of funding, sloppy preparation and my experience back home on digs. . Three examples spring to mind. The first was a rusted musket lock. Any details or stamps had disappeared due to corrosion, but the application of a simple compound and viola, Made in Italy appeared. Just a tad late for a 1830s date for the massacre site.”

  Lampie was getting a sinking feeling in her stomach. This was all beginning to remind her strongly of the Calliance items they’d recovered under Sid’s inspired management and direction.

  It was clear that Pete wasn’t satisfied with one piece of proof. As he began to mark off others on his fingers, Lampie swallowed a suddenly dry throat. “The second item was a wooden spear with a fire hardened point. I cored a small sample and it was still green inside. Not what you want to see in a piece of supposedly almost two hundred year old timber.”

  She’d thought the ribs of the SS Mildura looked in too good nick. Oh dear, what was the museum going to say? “The third item was a classic. A military button – right period, correct insignia, the proper metal alloy, the perfect fake. Absolutely undetectable, except for one minor stamping flaw.”

  What the hell was Wilks, a psychic or something! He was listing most of their previous finds almost exactly. Automatically she though of the silver coins they discovered near Geraldton. Sid had been the driving force for that expedition and discovery as well. This conversation was beginning to follow a very predictable path. It looked like they were reading from a play script. So that’s why she knew it was her turn to question, so she did.

  Part of Lampie considered whether Peter was just playing obnoxiously smart. Anyone else listening in would have thought so. No, her subconscious was telling her to look past the surface. This Pommie wasn’t revelling in nasty tales of the past. She could see it in the pained lines around his eyes. If he’d wanted to do over Sid for something in the past, out here in the Kimberleys was just the wrong place. Pete had no friends or allies and could call on zero support, well almost zero. Lampie had the feeling that if Pete could have avoided this mess he would have. As usual her subconscious once more chose the wrong time to ask a very intriguing question. Okay well why is he out here? That got shunted off into the much, much later basket, while shame made its long overdue appearance. Maybe the rifle threat was a bit over done? “All right, what was it that tipped you off Pete?” There the final question for good or ill it was done!

  “The flaw was off a die stamp, a stamp I asked one of the Arts Faculty silversmiths to make for a Sydney based company of colonial re-enactors.” The sound of the rocks tumbling over her was deafening. There went years of joint work and research!

  The English archaeologist gave a shrug and lent back in the chair. He looked relieved at the confession. Well at least someone was. Personally Lampie felt wrecked.

  “It was so simple a scam and I pulled it down. Several senior faculty staff had to resign or take early retirement and Sid disappeared fast, somewhere away from Canberra. As a consequence I was left to pick up a months rent plus extras for Slyme Crescent, since everyone in the household bolted. Ahh – you Aussies have a phrase for it.” Wilks paused, his face creased in concentration and clicked his fingers. “Oh yes, faster than a rat down a drainpipe! After all that history between us, you’ve got to ask why did Sid bring me on for this?”

  It was Lampie’s’ turn to shake her head. Why the hell did Sid do it? Why did Sid do any of it? Then she pushed past the anger of betrayal. Clues for this dig began to lock into place, the obsession, the prior knowledge, the weird behaviour! Christ, did he have any idea of what would happen when news of this scam blew? What a dreadful blow this was going to be for Elaine! Stuff that! Bugger worrying about Elaine. What was she going to do? How the freckin’ hell were they going to keep the contracts after this disaster? Oh no, that’d mean going back to hauling tourists around the archipelago, or even worse, having to crawl back to the family to borrow some money for the ketch’s upkeep. She knew what lay at the end of that slippery slope! Sid, you moron! Lampie clenched her jaw. She was going to murder him for this scam!

  “Great freckin’ news! All this bloody work here, just to dig up a pile of fakes!”

  Her anger must have been pretty brazen because Peter pushed himself up, waving his hands, wide eyed and startled. “Oh no, no, no. Lampie, you’ve ahh, what do you Aussies call it, ahh yes, got the wrong end of the stick. This dig is a hundred percent legi
t, all the finds are real. It’d take the finest team of forgers in the world to pull off this one off and I don’t think Sid has anywhere near enough money, or talent.” Peter Wilks paused for a moment before adding a further comment to the list. “Or planning.”

  Reluctantly she had to agree with that assessment. Peter’s tale gave background to what she’d already suspected was a dubious history. Sid’s habits were well entrenched before he’d even got to the Kimberleys. She’d been too good a friend, accepting and blind to faults. Christ, how stupid and naive! That only answered one of her questions though. What about the rest? “So if that’s what Sid used to do, it doesn’t matter. Why are you looking through his computer?”

  Peter Wilks lent back and crossed his arms. “I’ve told you all my sordid past. Before I tell you what I’m doing here, I want a bit of honesty from you Mlle Yvette Lampierre. Wallace was impressed with the reputation of your father. He seemed to think it had bearing on him being here, and he thought you where in charge of this expedition. How’s my translation so far? Oh by the way, what is your real name?”

  “You understand French?” Oh shit she hadn’t counted on that! But then she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her ancestors could hold their heads up along with the most famous explorers and settlers. “I am Yvette Ginevre du Chesney Lampierre and my family has been here since the eighteen forties!” She forbore mentioning the older heritage. That may have been too confusing for the Englishman.

  “I see. Well Mlle Yvette, I can read medieval French. As for modern, I understand it well enough to get insulted for using it in Paris.”

  What was the use of denying it? Wallace had played his games and so did her father and almost in the same damned field! Now Peter Wilks had a cause to suspect her – it was a disaster of monumental proportions! How could she explain it? Did she dare explain it? What would he think of her if she did? Commonsense rallied, pushing past the shock and the shame. What was the point of keeping that secret? Everybody in this venture had too many secrets and look what’d happened. Lampie tightened her resolve and made a choice. Damn her family – what they did wasn’t her fault.