Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery)

by Gregory House

  In his first law Newton talked about the concept of inertia, when an object is at rest it stays at rest, while an object in motion stays in motion at a constant velocity, when it is not acted upon by force. Now that’s easy to sort out. The object at rest was the ‘surprise’ while the tinnie with two goons was in motion and it was being acted upon by force, ie the supercharged outboard.

  So we come to the second law. That one is the real kicker of physics. It defines force as the product of mass and acceleration. To get this you go through the simple process of figuring out whether the mass has a resistance to acceleration. Well, in the case of the tinnie, it has a streamlined hull so that under acceleration it can push through the resistance of the water, and as in the previous law, the high octane super charged outboard provides the acceleration. There’s some kind of formula that can give a useful set of numbers, F=ma for the mathematically inclined. All you have to do is calculate the weight of the tinnie and its passengers and the speed it is travelling, in this case too fast.

  Okay all too simple. Now the third law comes into play. This is the one everybody knows and if you don’t, well it is one hundred percent guaranteed that you have experienced it. That law obverses that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. We’ve all been there. Now the tinnie and its occupants can see the reality of the three laws in action as it where.

  Lampie estimated the tinnie was rocketing along at fifteen to twenty knots, and as we’ve figured out, was in motion. Then all of a sudden this changed and the second law kicked into play. The tinnie hit the sandbar submerged under a few inches of water. What sand bar you ask? The one that the RIB with its shallow draft skimmed over when Lampie raised the outboard. Well remember the previous calculation about the streamlined hull – well it works great with water but not with the solid inertia of the sandbank, ergo the first law.

  So in the blink of an eye we come to the famous third law, the painful one. The sandbank possesses a much greater amount of inertia than the speeding tinnie so the imparted transfer of energy isn’t going to go smoothly. It doesn’t. The fragile hull of the tinnie slams full speed into the sandbar and crumples. At the same time its forward motion is translated into an upward motion, leaping above the river. At this point one more of Newton’s laws sneaks in, the one about gravity. Yeah, as they say gravity sucks, and if the two goons were cognisant of its implications, they would have said the same thing. They didn’t get a chance!

  Lampie watched it all with Peter, well away from the scene of the crash. Lampie liked physics and for a change she’d prepped her own academically based argument to justify her plan to her Pommie passenger. It was all lined up ready to roll when Peter asked a very unexpected question. “Why didn’t it blow up?”

  “What?”

  “The boat when it hit. Why didn’t it blow up? They always do in the movies!”

  Lampie shook her head – how the freckin’ hell could you answer that logic?

  “Y’know Pete, I reckon we’re not in the movies.”

  “What about those two guys chasing us?”

  Lampie gave a very evil grin. “Y’know what this place is called Pete?”

  The Pommie academic looked at her with a puzzled expression and shook his head.

  “Saltie Bar.”

  You could see the cogs turning as he worked through the implications of the name. If he was having problems putting the clues together a splash and cry echoed across the water. “Ahh oh!”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend a dip.” Lampie swung the RIB around and began to head back towards the basin. Ye haww The White Whale scores a double hit! Take that Captain Ahab!

  Chapter 34 Where’s The Castle?

  The sun was pushing up over the eastern horizon and flooding the Kimberley bush with a soft rose yellow glow. The birds had begun their chorus heralding the day, led by the sweet trill of the parrots. Lampie always liked this time of day, when the sun loving creatures began to stir and the morning light reflected in sparkling cascades off the Kimberleys rocks. Mornings were pleasurable, still cool enough to enjoy the splendours of the dry season without the build up of heat and humidity. She looked across the sheltered niche of their camp at the sleeping Peter Wilks. For a Pom he was actually doing rather well, except for that occasion with the wombat, oh yes and the saltie and of course the taipan and as for the goanna, well he shouldn’t have made such a fuss. Bluey was the best of the team at a wager. Two flies on the wall and he’d have the tote up in trice. If he’d known Peter was volunteering to traipse through the bush, he would have slapped down the odds of a hundred to one. The betting would all have been one way – that the pommie academic would have been broken by the strains of the journey through the Kimberleys ranges. Lampie was ashamed to admit that she would have brassed up the cash as well. At Camden Harbour she’d thought he’d die of shock when she suggested that they march overland to St George Basin.

  At the recollection Lampie shook her head. He’d made it – unbelievable – and hardly complained, well not after she’d edited out the muttering and the moans about lack of coffee and the green ant incident or the leeches. Though his solid effort still hadn’t made up for his prior omission, she had been really tempted to truss him up when he’d revealed the bugged laptop problem and the fact that he’d been keeping back that connection between Mr Wallace and Skaze University. Her conscience pointedly reminded her that Peter Wilks wasn’t the only one who played at secrets.

  Wallace’s open mention of her father during the dinner was deeply disturbing and when she got a chance, that link was going to be chased down. It was freckin’ annoying that according to Wallace, her pursuit of archaeology could be misinterpreted as an extension of mon père’s diverse ‘business interests’. As much as she loathed the thought, it could be a smart move to head east for a brief trip to see what mon père was up to. On the family front, it had been too silent for too long. However, that thought circled her straight back to Peter Wilks, archaeologist and crusader expert. Damn those howevers, they’d snuck up again. Lampie shook off the creeping feeling that she was going all soft and gooey on Peter Wilks. It wasn’t the fact of his ‘Brad Pitt like shoulders’ or his twinkling grey eyes that had restrained her from giving him the wallop he deserved over his evasion. Despite the fact that her dress circle chorus sighed over his profile, and occasionally trembled at his flashing smile. It was purely a business arrangement that drove this unusual partnership. So far according to her calculations, she was down a good fortnight’s worth of ketch and surveyor fees, not to mention the repair bill due because of that little number Wallace’s goons did on her vessel. That she felt was the real motivation for this expedition, not sentiment. The only way ‘Lampierre Marine Services Pty Ltd’ was going to come out in the black was if they found the castles Peter insisted where here. Of course the prior thoughts of treasure were only a slight incentive!

  So, as at Deception Bay it was all coming down to the abilities of Peter Wilks. The association with mon père brought another dearer member of her family to mind, her grand-mère. The old girl would have liked Peter and his diverting stories. She could even imagine what grand-mère Heloise would have said to her. ‘Yvette, ma chère, stick with that one, he has the aptitude à découvrir, the gift of discovery.’ Of course knowing her, she’d have also gone on to make embarrassing comments about nice shoulders and serré les fesses and cheekily questioned how he performed ahh elsewhere.

  Those were distractions she didn’t need right now. Lampie had to admit she was getting used to the Pommie archaeologist, not as much as her dress circle wanted. In a professional capacity Peter was streets ahead of Sid and as far as she could see the Pom lacked her former business partner’s failings of blatant dishonesty. That was apparent during his show and tell lecture on Wally’s barge. Since she’d catalogued the finds from Deception Bay, she knew that it was an astounding site, comparable to the Batavia wreck. What had really tweaked her interest was the poorly suppressed excitement that Pet
er had exuded over the possible castles. That was a real contrast to how he behaved back at the dig site. There he had been reticent and reserved about the finds, always cautious about dates and significance, until they came to the lacquer box and journal. That’s when it had all changed. Looking back on that event, she should have realised Sid was pulling a fast one. As Peter said, Wallace’s arrival was too well timed. They made the really big discovery and bang the evidence was quickly locked away where neither she nor Peter could get to it. The incident at the site tent was the last straw. Bloody Sid and his freckin’ side deals! After a past history like that she could almost understand Peter’s two faced play. His reluctance to share knowledge was perhaps forgivable, well at least so her dress circle urged.

  During the trek from Camden Harbour, Lampie had lots of time to do some thinking, that was when she wasn’t pulling her Pommie companion out of his scraps with the local wildlife. The fact that Peter had been prepared to follow her through the daunting terrain of the inland, despite his complete lack of bush skills, told her that he believed everything in the journal. More than that, during the hike he’d only let slip the word ‘treasure’ once, and as far as she could tell that had been accidental, as opposed to Sid’s incessant babbling of the ‘T’ word. That had helped firm her instincts that Peter was on the right track.

  Then there were the items that he’d insisted they rescue from the site, the three skulls, the cross and the pair of lion candlesticks, still safely stored on Wally’s barge, or so she hoped. Not much you’d think in antiquities value and certainly not enough to have Wallace chasing after them, unless there was the prospect of a greater haul. That was the clincher that had her trust in this peculiarly attractive Pommie academic and his crazy ideas. How the hell was that rational and business like? Lampie still couldn’t believe she’d put her faith in intuition and the hints of her grand-mère’s shade. Lampie shook her head bemused at the contradictions. ‘Archaeology by superstition’ – wasn’t that a change from the past! What would Professor Richards, back at the university, have said about that? Nothing complimentary that was sure! Anyway they’d better get moving before the antiquities dealer’s thugs checked out this part of the Basin. After the fracas last night, they probably weren’t in a good mood. It’d get worse when they figured out a pair of goons and one tinnie were missing. Thank God for physics and Newtonian principles!

  Lampie nudged her slightly snoring companion with her foot. Time to get moving – the castle wasn’t going to spring out of the bushes. “Pete. Pete, wake up.”

  The recumbent archaeologist rolled over in the sleeping bag, throwing a sleepy remark over his shoulder. “Ahh oh thanks Fi. I’ll have my cappuccino and brioche on the balcony later. How about we have a cuddle first?”

  What the freckin’ hell, cappuccino and brioche! Where the hell did he think he was, Broome? Instinctively her eyes narrowed. Anyway who’s Fi? These questions and their ringing implications were probably the reason for her next action. Instinct and sudden anger took over as Lampie booted the exposed rump and Wilks slammed his head into a tree root. “Wake up Wilks. We’ve got to go and find your bloody castle!”

  “Owwhh! Oh flipping hell, where am I?”

  “St George Basin. The Kimberleys, remember?”

  She could see he was finally awake and suppressed a wicked smile at his forlorn reaction. Wilks rubbed his long stubble covered face and dropped back moaning. “Oh no, this can’t be true? Another day in the wilderness without coffee!”

  Ho ho, how interesting! The wicked smiled tweaked up a notch. Coffee depravation – now there was a lever to use. “You know Pete, I could always make some coffee if you wanted?” There, the hook was baited.

  “Really? Oh that would be wonderful Lampie. Thanks, you’re a life saver!”

  This was so easy, thought Lampie. Now the fish bites – time to reel him in. “Yeah it’s easy. First we find a bush kurrajong, harvest the seed pods, roast and grind them. Then we find some honey ants and bite their…”

  Lampie halted her recipe as Peter surged out of the sleeping bag in a rush, furiously waving his hands. “Oh God no. That’s disgusting. I think I’ll skip coffee for today thanks. Ahh, what’s on the menu for breakfast anyway?”

  Lampie gave a wicked grin and fossicked in the pack, pulling out a leathery strip just to rub it in. “Taipan biltong.” She then pulled out her knife, cut off a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Hmm hmm. Damn tasty this, it’s great with the dried pepperberrys, nice and spicy.”

  Her companion shook his head in dismay. “You and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall would get on so well.” At his evident distaste, she smiled, tucked the snake ration back into her pack and began to lace it up.

  “The morning won’t last forever Peter. We don’t have time to lay out a full continental breakfast. If you’re hungry then grab yourself a fruit and nut bar!”

  Peter had finally shaken off the fuzziness of sleep and after an all too brief rummage in his pack, pulled forth a single bar. Breakfast! He’d finally gotten the urgency of their situation and had shrugged on his pack with a groan, while trying to savour the brief delight of his energy bar. Lampie watched, amused, while she chewed on the still succulent taipan. Peter polished off the bar with all the attention you’d lavish on a freshly steamed lobster, and then hoovered out the packet for stray crumbs. Damn these Poms were odd, forgoing a decent bit of tucker for a compressed bar of sugar and fat, sprinkled with a couple of long dried out nuts. No accounting for taste! If only she had time for a camera shot, this would have made it onto Wackiest Home Videos, straight out. Pete’s hunt for the last crumb didn’t go well. He stared at the clean silver foil as if it had swiped his Yorkshire pud. Well at least he was moving. Lampie slung the pack on her shoulder and nestled the rifle into the crook of her arm. While her companion was still snoring away the dawn, she’d checked that the bolt was clean of dirt and slid cleanly with a satisfying metallic snap. All ready to move out, she snuck another peek back over her shoulder at his breakfast progress. . He’d looked so forlorn over his all too small snack. She’d had to bite her lip to stop from laughing, but freck who could waste the opportunity?

  “That Hugh bloke, is he a mate of yours back home?” Lampie scanned the landscape towards the water’s edge to the south, as they walked along up the slope. On and off through out the night, they’d heard the low growl of patrolling tinnies, while they’d moved along the mangrove lined shore. St Georges Basin was too damned large for the reduced crew that Wallace now had, so getting here had been a lot less traumatic than the race down Prince Regent’s River. Despite that advantage, time was against them and Peter was still in mourning over his meal. Time for some Pommie prodding!

  “Hey Pete, did y’ hear my question?”

  “What, oh yes, well no, not as such, but in many ways Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall reminds me so much of our recent jaunt. He liked to travel all over Britain, eating roadside provender like nettle pottage and baked hedgehogs. Perhaps you could swap recipes?”

  Ohh we did get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning! That was almost snarky. Lampie stifled an incipient grin and tried to remember a hedgehog from her brief time in Britain. She was sure she saw one while on a hiking walk in Yorkshire. “Aren’t they those little versions of echidnas, y’know small and spiky?”

  Now he perked up, Peter gave an eager nod at her interest, the skimpy repast was shoved aside as she played upon the links with his foggy home. “Yes they are. Beatrix Potter included them in her stories. Mrs Tiggywinkle was one of my favourite characters.”

  Lampie pushed past an overhanging branch, avoiding the nest of green ants. She remembered them now – less than a quarter of the size of an echidna, and not nearly so difficult to move. Once those heavy digging claws got a grip on rock they were harder to pry off than dynabolts. Also she recalled that while she was in Britain they had some kind of row over installing hedgehog crossing-points under roads to save the hedgehogs from being run over, which they seem
ed to do with all the willingness of the proverbial Lemming and a cliff. At that point she had a very mischievous thought. “Yeah, thought so. That means if you roll them in mud, then bake them, y’ don’t have to worry about the spikes. They just peel off.”

  “Bake Mrs Tiggywinkle? Oh flipping heck. My, my…” Peter appeared lost for words and shook his head then shuddered. “You Aussies are just so gross. Urrckk!”

  Lampie grinned at the response. These Poms were so easy to stir! However they had a damned urgent task. The pleasant chat had cleared them of the fringing bush up from the mangroves. Now they had the splendid panorama of the twin mountains looming above them. She passed Pete his water bottle and ensured that he only took a sip. His water discipline had been a cause of some contention on the trek from Camden Harbour. She was warily pleased to see he was beginning to learn. But now the whole reason for their venture rested on Pete’s proclaimed abilities as an archaeologist and no doubt Wallace was getting closer!

  “Okay Pete. I’ve got y’ here. Where do we find this castle?”

  Peter Wilks was obviously still suffering from the breakfast time blues. Rather than eyeing the scenery, he was staring at the empty packet in his hand. Lampie suppressed a snigger, then snapped her fingers repeating the question. “Hoy Pete, castle time. Where is it?”

  The Pommie regretfully tucked the wrapper in his pocket, probably for later inspection, and gave what was supposed to be a meaningful scowl. He pulled at that feathered monstrosity on his head, giving the brim what he may have considered a jaunty pitch. Lampie bit her tongue. Peter baiting was a lot of fun, but too much too soon and they’d get nothing done and he’d get into a sulk. “Castles, Mlle. Yvette don’t all have towers, banners and princesses. A castle is something more than what appears in a Hollywood fantasy or a fairytale!”