Fire in the Sea

by Myke Bartlett

  ‘Hang on, slow down, rewind. You know Frobisher, the lawyer?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Of course. His family has always looked after my affairs. It took a great deal of convincing to bring them out here.’

  There was something not quite right about the way he spoke, Sadie thought. He sounded like an old film, the sort her grandmother loved and her grandpa scoffed at—a fighter pilot keeping a stiff upper lip on a train station platform. It wasn’t a way of talking that matched an athletic boy in boxer shorts.

  ‘Why are you talking like that?’

  ‘Talking like what?’

  ‘Like, I don’t know. Like it’s fifty years ago.’

  The boy frowned again. It seemed to be his default expression—brow lowered, as if there was always something very serious just out of sight ahead of him. He put the sword down and held his hand out to shake hers. ‘Jacob Freeman.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘That’s not even funny.’

  The boy snatched back his hand. ‘Regardless, it’s my name. I suppose yours is too much to ask?’

  ‘Sadie Miller.’

  ‘Of course. You’re protecting the relic. It’s why I left you the house.’

  ‘Mr Freeman left me this house. And nobody said anything about a relic. What relic?’

  ‘A box, a wooden box, containing something terribly dangerous.’

  ‘Frobisher didn’t say anything,’ Sadie began, but she was already looking to the mantelpiece, at the empty space between the busts of gods and monsters.

  ‘But you came in anyway, alone. To confront a burglar. To protect this house?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  Then, at last, there was the barest hint of a smile. ‘Impressive.’

  Before Sadie could say anything else, the dog began barking downstairs. Jacob’s shoulders tensed.

  ‘Did you really call the police?

  Sadie shook her head.

  ‘Friends of yours then?’

  ‘Tom. He was going around the back to look for a spare key.’

  Jacob ran for the stairs.

  The dog had Tom on his back on the dry grass, grasping his right forearm in its slobbery maw. Each seemed to be growling at the other.

  ‘Kingsley!’

  Jacob threw open the screen door and strode out onto the veranda. The dog relaxed its jaw and ran across the yard and up the back steps. Reaching Jacob’s bare feet, it paused, sniffed each one, and then licked his hand.

  ‘He’s very loyal,’ Jacob explained. ‘And excessively defensive. He doesn’t take well to strangers.’ He cupped the dog’s crumpled face in both hands and ruffled his ears. ‘Kingsley, this is Miss Sadie Miller. Say hello to her.’

  The dog dropped both paws from Jacob’s knees and, without looking up, offered one to Sadie.

  ‘Kingsley?’ Sadie asked, lightly shaking the paw.

  ‘I always call my dogs Kingsley. It avoids confusion.’

  ‘You get confused?’

  He nodded, looking for Sadie’s gaze. ‘I suppose you don’t believe a word I’ve said.’

  ‘Did you expect me to?’

  ‘I suppose not. But you’re clever.’ He glanced at Tom, who was brushing dirt and grass from his bare knees. ‘Come and see me here tomorrow,’ he said quietly to Sadie. ‘We’ll go to Frobisher together and he’ll explain everything.’

  ‘My grandparents,’ Sadie began, but Tom was already at the steps. He frowned at the half-naked stranger.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  Jacob lifted his chin. ‘I’m—’

  ‘This is Jake,’ Sadie said quickly. ‘He’s a distant relative…of the old man.’

  She wondered why she had come so quickly to the boy’s defence. Who was she protecting?

  ‘I thought the old bloke didn’t have any family,’ Tom said, holding out his hand to Jacob.

  Jacob didn’t move. ‘You were wrong.’

  Tom looked to Sadie and withdrew his hand. ‘You okay with this, Sades?’

  Sadie considered, while Jacob waited patiently for her answer. Could any of this be true? It was a ridiculous story, so why tell it? And then there was ferocious Kingsley, lying blissfully on his back while his belly was being rubbed.

  ‘We’ll go see the lawyer,’ she said. ‘First thing in the morning.’

  6

  DEATH AND THE DALAI LAMA

  Early the next morning, Sadie wheeled her bike across the small front yard and waved to Ida on the veranda. She was off to the beach, as far as anyone was concerned. Even as the gate closed behind her, she expected to hear her grandfather call out, demanding proof of her destination.

  Maybe it was paranoia that made her notice the two suited cyclists who hurriedly swung their well-polished shoes over the crossbars on their bikes.

  It was the same pair who had accosted Ida on the doorstep. They built up speed along the narrow street. At the stop sign, Sadie considered waiting to let them pass, just to prove to herself that they weren’t following her.

  But something made her turn right, hurry downhill in the wrong direction and quickly pull left into Gill Street.

  Gill Street ran nowhere. It was a short sprint of squat houses and dry grass. Sadie waited at the next intersection, as if checking for traffic. Sure enough, the God squad came around the corner behind her.

  Miming forgetfulness, as if she had only now remembered where she was going, Sadie turned left again and headed back uphill. She moved slowly, waiting to see if the men followed.

  They waited at the kerb behind her, seeming to look for traffic. After a brief discussion, they pedalled away in the opposite direction.

  Sadie smiled. She was ridiculous. As if anyone would be stalking her.

  Jacob was waiting for her on the front step, dressed in the old man’s clothes. He had clearly found the paper bag in the kitchen. The hooded watch was on his wrist and the talisman around his neck. It wasn’t nine and the ride over had been gentle, but Sadie’s skin was glistening. In cap, trousers, waistcoat and shirt, he had to be boiling.

  ‘You can’t wear those,’ Sadie told him, parking her bike.

  Jacob didn’t blink, or smirk. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘You’ll, well, you look a bit, well, gay, that’s all.’

  ‘And gay is a bad thing?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just—’ The earnest stare had Sadie disappointed in herself. ‘I don’t even mean gay, not really. Look, all my, well, okay, so none of my friends are gay. As far as I know. But I’d be very happy if they were. I mean, not more happy than I am now, I wouldn’t prefer them that way or anything, I just mean we wouldn’t stop being friends if, well—’ Sadie caught the tip of her tripping tongue and began again. ‘Why, are you gay?’

  Jacob frowned, glanced down at himself, and seemed to give the matter some consideration. ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘It’s cool if you are. All I meant was, people around here will think you’re a bit odd, going out like that.’

  ‘Rubbish. I’ll wear what I like.’

  ‘Okay, the thing is, you just can’t. Not around here. People can be a bit, well, limited? Judgmental.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I don’t mean me. That stuff doesn’t even fit you.’

  This was true. The shirt was too tight, the trousers ankle-high and the waistcoat snug about the ribs. Jake attempted to fasten the top button, but gave up. ‘What should I be wearing then?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m not exactly Miss Fashionista myself. But— ’ Sadie’s shoulders surrendered. ‘Just, please, at least lose the cap, Jake.’

  ‘My name’s Jacob.’

  ‘I’m not calling you that. Nobody’s called Jacob.’

 
‘To be honest, I’d prefer you called me Mr Freeman.’

  ‘Shut up now, Jake.’

  Jake got rid of the cap and, after some negotiation, unbuttoned his collar. Ten minutes later, Sadie waited beside him on the highway for a bus. A Commodore screamed past, heavy bass threatening to fracture the windscreen. Some idiot wound down the back window and stuck his head out.

  ‘FAAAAGGOTTT!’

  Jake frowned, as if puzzled by the brake lights. Sadie said nothing.

  To Sadie, Fremantle was an appealing blend of the flash and the feral. Graceful sandstone houses nestled their two-tone tin roofs against decaying council flats of pebbledash and concrete. The sea breeze was cool on the back of a dress damp with sweat and, most seductively, there was the constant movement of the docks. Fremantle was the edge of the world, where vast vessels visited from far better places.

  Today there was no breeze, and the stench of a docked sheep ship draped itself across the town. Sadie followed Jake towards the dead end of High Street, where paint peeled from forgotten shops. The sun was prickling her bare shoulders and searing the pavement.

  Across the road a strange-looking bloke in a long military coat kept to the shade of the Army Surplus shopfront. There were always a few crazies about—overdressed and underwashed, seeming to inhabit a different, cooler planet.

  Jake had stopped. He was looking up at a dusty sign above a warped, flaking door. The Law Offices of Horace Frobisher, it read, First Floor. Jake went up, three stairs at a time, threw open the frosted door that topped them and called for the lawyer.

  By the time Sadie had caught up, Frobisher’s flushed and shiny head was peering around the door.

  ‘Make an appointment,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘This isn’t one of your drop-in centres. We charge.’ Then he saw Sadie, standing with her arms tightly folded, and he straightened up. ‘Oh,’ he said, mopping away with his handkerchief. ‘My word.’ He wasn’t looking at Sadie anymore. The young man in the borrowed clothes had his full attention.

  Jake had lifted the brass talisman from beneath the front of his shirt and was letting it catch the light.

  ‘Mr Freeman?’ Frobisher asked. ‘My word. Is it you?’ He was mopping twice as hard now. Any moment, Sadie thought, he would pause and wring a bucket of sweat from that rag.

  ‘The girl called in sick,’ he said, wincing in the direction of the empty desk. ‘Ordinarily, there would have been someone to meet you. I’m not accustomed, I mean, I have people to do these things for me.’

  He was nervous, Sadie realised. Perhaps even scared. Wondering why, she looked to Jake. He was smiling serenely.

  ‘Calm down Frobisher,’ Jake said. ‘I’m sure my business remains in safe hands. You’ve done well this time.’

  Sadie realised Jake was looking at her.

  Frobisher bowed with what was either forced humility or genuine gratitude. ‘After all these years, I would hope I knew my business,’ he said. His eyes flickered towards Sadie. ‘I presume you’ve come to resolve property rights.’

  Jake nodded. ‘In a moment. First, tell her who I am.’

  The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘Tell her everything.’

  ‘Everything? My word.’ Frobisher sank into his absent secretary’s seat. ‘W-well then.’

  Sadie stepped forward. ‘Okay, look, you said I was the caretaker. You said I had to look after the house and all its belongings, yeah? Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You told me to watch out and I did. Last night, I went round there and found this idiot pulling the place to pieces.’

  ‘Right, yes. Of course. What you need to realise, well. The thing is, Miss Miller…’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s been reincarnated. Like the Dalai Lama.’

  Sadie enjoyed Frobisher’s blinking astonishment. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘That’s what you’re going to try to tell me, yeah? Reincarnation. The Dalai Lama carks it and his mind, spirit, soul, whatever, gets handed on to someone else. Then the poor monks have to go looking for him.’

  Jake looked at her, as if seeing her properly for the first time. A smile felt its way onto his face.

  The lawyer didn’t smile. ‘Well, Miss Miller, you do seem very well informed. I’m not sure there’s much more I can tell you.’

  ‘You reckon? Why not try convincing me that that’s the same man over there, the one who died last week on Cottesloe beach.’

  The lawyer nodded, straightening up in his seat as if taking his place in court. ‘My family has been his lawyers for two centuries. We ease the transition. These days there’s an interminable amount of paperwork…’

  Sadie persisted. ‘Okay, fine, whatever. Is it him though? Actually him?’

  ‘That is Mr Jacob Leonard Freeman, the same man who bequeathed his estate to you less than a week ago. I’m surprised to see him again so soon. It can take months. I was expecting to be arranging passports and plane tickets.’ He frowned, looking to Jake. ‘I imagine I’ll still need to. You’ll be moving on, if they’ve found you.’

  Jake was looking at his watch, allowing it to hold his attention.

  ‘I can have you in Rio by the end of the week,’ Frobisher continued. ‘Unless,’ a note of hope rang, ‘you’d prefer somewhere cooler? We’ve never done Toronto. I hear it’s something to be seen at this time of year. The streets all ice and snow.’

  Jake was staring at Sadie, so intently that she worried she’d blush. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s certainly too dangerous to stay here.’ His square chin lifted and he went to lean on the edge of the desk with both hands. Finding the edge lower than expected, he fell forward. ‘But we have a problem. The relic’s gone. Stolen.’

  The lawyer edged his squint towards Sadie. ‘You think the girl took it?’

  ‘No. I want to speak to Vincent.’

  ‘Wait there a moment,’ the lawyer said and disappeared into his office.

  There was an assuredness, an authority to Jake’s movements that was, well, Sadie wasn’t sure what it was.

  ‘So how old are you then anyway, eighteen?’ she asked. ‘Nineteen?’

  He held out his hands before him, turning them over. ‘You tell me. All I know is, I feel like I belong in my skin again. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Okay, whatever. The thing is, it doesn’t make any sense. The old man only died last week. How can you be here, that age, this week?’

  Jake nodded. That smile again flickered. ‘You know about the Dalai Lama. Well, he’s rarely found as an infant, is he? The spirit can move backwards, forwards, sideways even.’

  ‘You don’t even sound like you believe that.’

  ‘Nevertheless, here I am.’

  ‘Okay, whatever. You’re not the Dalai Lama. What’s so special about you?’

  Frobisher returned from his office with the small black address book he had carried at the hospital. ‘Most of your squadron have kept themselves close by. But I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Vincent for some years.’ After an extended search through his secretary’s drawers, Frobisher located a Post-It note and a pen. ‘He was running a secondhand bookshop in the city. Rather grotty little place—last I heard, it closed down.’

  ‘Patrick might have seen him,’ Jake suggested. ‘He had more patience than the rest of us.’

  The lawyer nodded, flipping pages in his book. ‘Of course. Exactly what I was about to suggest. Patrick runs a newsagency now.’

  He gave Jake the address, then, without looking at Sadie, handed her a stapled wad of forms. ‘I’ll need your signature,’ he said. ‘To transfer the deeds and other property. As you’re under eighteen, I’ll also need that of your legal guardian. I trust this won’t be an issue?’

  Sadie thought of her grandfather. She wondered what he would think if he saw her here. Something about Frobish
er had rubbed him up the wrong way and she wasn’t sure it was just his manner. In any case, that wasn’t why she hesitated now. This was all too quick, with too many gaps in the story. She folded her arms more tightly, refusing the forms.

  ‘Why exactly do you need me to sign? I was just the caretaker, he’s the rightful owner.’

  ‘I’m sure you can understand that might be difficult to establish, legally.’

  Sadie smiled. ‘Yeah, right. So maybe we should just wait a bit. Until everything’s established, I mean.’

  ‘Now, listen to me, young lady.’

  Jake stepped forward. ‘Wait, Frobisher.’

  The lawyer’s face burned. ‘I’ve never seen such insolence. She had one simple job to do and—’

  ‘Frobisher, don’t rush her.’

  ‘Don’t rush her?’ Sadie repeated. Something about Jake’s worried tone and the slight edginess in the way he held out his hands crystallised her suspicion. She felt, at last, that she understood what was happening. This was all a performance—they were in on it together, playing out some elaborate scheme that would only make sense when it was far too late.

  ‘This is all a con.’

  Jake blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’m such an idiot. You two are no better than all those Nigerian princes sending out spam emails.’

  Jake straightened up, as if slapped. ‘Nigerian princes?’

  ‘Did he even die, the old man? Or was that just part of the scam? Come to think of it, I don’t even know if those were real policemen. I mean, who has a moustache like that, seriously.’

  ‘Sadie,’ Jake said, ‘shut up and sit down. You’re not making any sense.’

  His irritation merely strengthened Sadie’s conviction. ‘Bullshit. I finally am making sense of all of this.’

  Now the lawyer took his turn, attempting to corral her back into their well-rehearsed scene. ‘Listen, Miss Miller, I know this must all seem strange—’

  ‘It’s supposed to seem strange,’ Sadie snapped. ‘That’s how these scams work, isn’t it? You offer something too good to be true, something unbelievable but irresistible. You make someone feel that, just for them, just this time, it could all be real. Money, a house, a handsome prince.’