by Joanna Orwin
‘Once the police are informed, I presume things will start happening fast?’
‘Good god no,’ said Rod. ‘That’s just for starters. The local police can’t do anything either. The request has to go through Police National Headquarters in Wellington.’
‘And then?’ prompted the newscaster. Hamish could tell he was enjoying this.
‘And then,’ said Rod, playing along nicely. ‘Someone of appropriate rank at Police National Headquarters has to apply to someone of appropriate rank in the Army General Staff Headquarters.’ He paused dramatically.
‘Go, Rod,’ said Tod admiringly.
‘If the person of appropriate rank decides shooting rogue dogs on farmland is a suitable role for the army, approval will be sent to the Regional Army Headquarters down here.’
‘Which brings you back to where you started,’ said the newscaster. ‘Asking a local sniper team to come in.’
‘Quite,’ said Rod.
The camera cut to the picture of Doug Armitage they’d used the night before, talking about the number of sheep being lost each day. As the image faded out, the newscaster said, ‘We’re informed that the army can’t act on private land without authority received through the proper channels. However, the sniper team is ready to go and will move into the area as soon as….’
‘Actually, the telly guy is a bit behind the play,’ said Kirsten. ‘Phil told me the sniper team is already here, staying on Doug’s place. They’re starting tomorrow, under the guise of an exercise.’
‘Did Rod know that?’ Hamish asked. ‘Before he went on telly, I mean.’
Kirsten nodded, grinning. ‘Oh yes!’
‘Rod’s a cunning bastard,’ said Tod, delighted. ‘But he doesn’t know the half of it, does he? We’ll soon show them!’
Kirsten mouthed at him to shut up as she crossed the room to switch the television set off.
It was too late. Jane MacIntyre had caught the implications of what Tod had said. ‘Don’t you lot even think of getting involved,’ she said firmly. ‘Promise me you’re not planning anything rash.’
‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Hamish. ‘He’s not talking about anything to do with those dogs. Believe me.’
≈ ELEVEN
‘OKAY,’ said Kirsten. ‘Tell us exactly what you need us to do.’
The four of them were standing on the edge of the hollow. Hamish was convinced it had to be the right place, but its bleakness was demoralising. Grey shingle screes stretched above them. A patch of beech forest straggled below. Old trees, damaged and slowly dying, branches broken by wind and snow. Shingle had overrun the forest floor.
A fitful sun hadn’t succeeded in warming the air. Early morning shadow still stretched across the hollow, and it was cold where they were standing. The hollow itself lay halfway up the hill slope, its rim formed by the edge of an ancient slump. The shingle was loose underfoot and shifted with every step. Hamish had a nasty suspicion that this was Pouākai country all right, that the giant eagle could be lurking up there somewhere, amongst the crags still hidden in fog.
‘Owl?’ said Kirsten.
Hamish shook himself impatiently. ‘Right, sorry. What we have to do is build some sort of roof over this hollow. It has to be open latticework that’s strong enough to protect us, with room underneath to stand up.’
Tod walked round the rim of the hollow, pacing it out. He called measurements to Kirsten. She wrote them down, then did some calculations. ‘Okay then. We can use four by threes for the framing, I think. What about this lattice? What’s it made of?’
‘Timber, I suppose,’ said Hamish.
‘That would take ages to build,’ said Kirsten, frowning. ‘What about that reinforcing steel netting Dad had left over from the new woolshed?’
‘I dunno,’ Hamish responded dubiously. ‘I reckon it has to be traditional.’ He was thinking that modern weapons had been useless against Pouākai.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Tama suddenly. ‘Didn’t the old girl say something about the patterns reflecting the times? If it’s okay for you Pākehās to be involved, I reckon it’d be fine to use modern Pākehā stuff.’
‘Sounds logical to me,’ agreed Tod. ‘I’ll ignore the implied insult. Be realistic, Hamish. You’ll be wanting us to cut down trees with stone adzes next.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ said Hamish. He thought about it some more. ‘I s’pose what matters is that it’s latticework.’ But what if it was metal that Pouākai was resistant to?
Tama said, ‘That would fit in with your theory of parallel patterns okay.’
‘I s’pose,’ said Hamish again. ‘It seems logical.’ He had a sneaking feeling that logic probably had very little to do with it. So much depended on his theory being right. Too much. That stone was forming in his stomach again. Then he remembered something Dad had said, that it was easy having ideas. What took guts was acting on them. He took a deep breath.
‘Yeah – let’s go with that.’
That afternoon, they loaded up the Landrover and the farm bike with all the equipment and materials Kirsten thought they might need. It was a good thing his mother was pretty much confined to the house, thought Hamish, looking at the piled vehicles. It’d be difficult explaining this lot away. Feeling guilty, he slipped back inside to say goodbye.
Jane MacIntyre was in the living room, her heavily strapped ankle propped on a pile of cushions. She had a stack of papers on a table beside her and writing materials on her knee. She looked at Hamish over her reading glasses. ‘You’re not to worry about me,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m pleased you’re making the most of this break in the weather. There’s plenty to occupy me here.’ She added as Hamish continued to hover, ‘Stop fussing, Owl! I’m fine!’
Hamish left to join the others. She did seem fine, he thought. Or at least more like herself. Not so … vague.
The strengthening sun had some warmth in it by the time they reached the end of the four-wheel-drive track. Tod and Tama took the bike up the hill through the trees while Hamish and Kirsten unloaded the Landrover. They’d just finished and were sitting on the pile of timber, enjoying the sun, when Hamish spotted movement in the matagouri scrub below them. Alarm quickening his pulse, he sat up and narrowed his eyes against the unaccustomed brightness of the light. There was something down there all right.
‘What’s up?’ asked Kirsten.
‘Shh, keep your voice down,’ said Hamish. ‘Someone’s down there, skulking about.’
Kirsten looked where he indicated. ‘You’re right,’ she said after a while. ‘More than one. They’ve just gone behind that rock.’
They watched the bushes shaking, the odd bird taking flight, as whoever it was made slow and circuitous progress up the hill. Kirsten choked back a sudden snort of laughter. ‘Guess what?’ she murmured. ‘I reckon the sniper team’s about to pay us a visit.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ said Hamish. ‘But it’s not funny – we don’t want them poking about up here, do we?’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Kirsten. ‘I’ll think of something. Set them off on the wrong track.’
The other two arrived back well before the shake in the bushes reached where they were sitting. The four of them sat and waited. Tama lit a cigarette and stretched his legs out comfortably. He tilted his cap over his nose. ‘This is more like it,’ he said. ‘Reckon this is the first time off I’ve had since I got here. Lucky for you guys I don’t belong to a union, eh.’
‘It won’t last, so make the most of it,’ retorted Kirsten.
‘Shut up,’ hissed Hamish. ‘They’re almost here.’
When the heavily armed and camouflaged soldiers emerged panting from the scrub, the four of them were relaxing in the sun as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Hamish sat up and regarded the six soldiers with considerable interest. They didn’t look much older than Tod. Their faces were smeared with blacking and their helmets, like green overturned hubcaps, were festooned with twigs of matagouri and
plumes of tussock grass. If it weren’t for the weapons they were carrying, he’d find it hard not to laugh.
‘It’s kids,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘What are you lot doing here?’
‘Waiting for you to get here,’ said Tod innocently. ‘Gidday!’
The soldier blinked, then said. ‘Those rogue dogs are out here somewhere. You kids shouldn’t be mucking about.’
‘I could say the same to you,’ said Kirsten mildly. ‘You’re actually trespassing – this is our land.’
‘Steady on!’ protested one of the other soldiers, shifting his lethal-looking rifle to a more comfortable position. ‘We’re here to help.’ He mopped his face with a khaki handkerchief.
‘I thought you didn’t have the authority to do anything yet,’ said Kirsten.
‘That’s true,’ admitted the one who seemed to be in charge. ‘We’re treating this as a recce trip. Checking out sign.’
Sign, thought Hamish, startled. Pouākai sign? He kept quiet. These guys would be following Doug Armitage’s lead, wouldn’t they? The soldier had to be talking about dog turds or paw prints. Kirsten and Tod were doing a great job – he could leave this conversation to them.
The one in charge abandoned his earlier aggressive approach. ‘You’re obviously local. How about giving us some lowdown on the area?’
‘Well, you’re unlikely to find the dogs around here,’ said Tod helpfully. ‘For one thing, there’s no sheep up here. This land was retired some years ago. For another, they haven’t attacked sheep at this time of the day. They’ll be lying low somewhere, under cover, not out here in the open.’
‘What about higher up there, through that bush?’ the one in charge asked.
‘No cover up there, it’s all shingle,’ said Tod. ‘The bush itself would be too cold to provide good shelter during the day. You should be searching rock outcrops. The ones that lie to the sun.’
‘Well, thanks,’ said the soldier uncertainly. He tried to reassert his authority. ‘School holidays, isn’t it? You kids planning on camping or something?’
‘A bit cold for that,’ said Kirsten. ‘We’re repairing a fence up through there. Keeping the stock out of the retired land.’
There was a pause. The soldiers shuffled their feet, shifted their weapons.
‘Right then,’ said the one in charge eventually. ‘We’ll leave you to it. The local farmers will be informed once we’re on active duty.’ He paused, then added. ‘At that stage you’d be best to stay right away.’
‘Sure,’ said Kirsten. ‘We’ll be finished by then anyway.’
The six soldiers beat a retreat down the hill. Tod watched them go. ‘What a bunch of dorks!’
‘Dorks or not, they’ll be back in a day or two,’ said Kirsten. ‘So you’d better get off your butts. We’ve still got all this gear to lug up the hill.’
By the end of the afternoon they’d made a good start on assembling the trap. A solid rectangle of timber spanned the hollow, bolted to uprights that Tod had driven into the shingle. They’d succeeded in heaving the heavy reinforcing steel into place and were halfway through attaching it to the timber frame with lacing wire. Now the sun had gone and the site was in shadow once more. They’d have to leave the rest of it until the next day if they were to get home before dark.
‘So far, so good,’ said Kirsten, standing back for a critical assessment. ‘Another hour should finish the lacing.’
‘It’s great,’ said Hamish. He surreptitiously crossed his fingers. It looked the part. He hoped that would prove enough.
‘Just how d’you want to lure this beast into the trap?’ asked Kirsten. ‘We need to know where to put the entrance.’
‘Of course,’ said Hamish, frowning. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, had he? Dad was right. It was all very well having the ideas, but he’d be lost without Kirsten’s practical approach to things. ‘Er … Tama?’
‘Reckon we’ve got to go back to the photos,’ said Tama. ‘We’ll need to suss that out from the rock drawings – it’s the next step in the pattern.’
‘Of course,’ said Hamish again. It seemed he was no longer the one having to make the decisions. He was secretly relieved not to be carrying the responsibility on his own any more.
It was dark by the time they reached the house. They found Jane MacIntyre in the kitchen.
‘Good timing!’ she said. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready. Just fish pie out of the freezer. You’ll have to top up with bread.’
‘Mum, you’re not meant to be on that foot!’ said Kirsten sternly. ‘I could’ve done that.’
‘Now, I’m not going to sit here and rot,’ said Jane mildly. ‘I’m okay, you know.’
It was the second time she’d said that, thought Hamish. He was beginning to think it was true. The oppressive atmosphere in the house seemed to have lightened. Perhaps it’d just been the fog all along, and he’d read too much into all that other stuff.
When they had done the dishes and their mother was settled on the sofa with her foot up, it was time for serious business again. The four of them retreated to Hamish’s room. He passed round the set of prints. After a while, Tod gave them back to him, frowning.
‘Can’t make much of these, Owl,’ he said.
‘Guess you two are the experts,’ Kirsten agreed. ‘We should leave you to get on with it. You decide what’s needed, we’ll think of ways to do it.’
After they’d left, the two boys settled down to look closely at the photos. ‘Has to be the grouping next to the trap picto … thingummy,’ said Tama. ‘Right?’
‘Right,’ said Hamish. ‘This one, I reckon.’
They stared at the concentric circles, the latticework, the group of human figures, and the solitary faint figure separate from the rest.
‘I dunno,’ said Tama dubiously. ‘Not telling us much, is it? This doesn’t get any easier.’
‘D’you think it could happen again – like last time?’ Hamish said hesitantly.
‘Hearing the old lady?’ asked Tama. ‘Maybe. But what triggered it?’
Hamish thought hard. ‘I was sort of looking through the print, with my eyes out of focus. Trying to remember what she’d said about the legend. We could try doing that again?’
‘So, look at this print and focus on what comes next, after they built the trap,’ said Tama.
They tried it. At first nothing happened. But just as Hamish came close to giving up, it worked again, like the time before. He could hear Tāua Gray’s words in his head.
‘… and then the trap was completed. Only one side was left open as an entrance, the side facing towards the rising sun. They set snares of plaited flax in the gaps amongst the latticework, snares that would catch the bird’s feet and wings when he alighted on the roof of the trap, then hold them fast….’
When the voice had faded, Hamish lifted his head slowly and looked at Tama. The other boy looked back. He nodded slightly. So Tama had heard her again too. Hamish shivered. It was unnerving. When they really needed guidance, they got it, as if the old lady somehow knew what they were thinking, what they were doing. It was unreal. But in a way that Hamish couldn’t explain rationally, it made the whole scene, Pouākai and the challenge of trapping him, seem truly concrete for the first time. And that was even more unnerving.
Tama was staring at the print. He didn’t seem to have any problem accepting the improbable. Not now anyway. ‘Sounds okay,’ he said. ‘Don’t see how we could’ve sussed all that detail from this drawing though, not without help.’ He clicked his fingers in front of Hamish’s face. ‘Hamish?’
‘What? Oh – yeah,’ said Hamish, coming out of his reverie.
‘Shouldn’t be too difficult for Kirsten to sort this lot out,’ said Tama confidently. ‘Apart from these snares….’
‘Heaps of old rabbit snares in the shed,’ said Hamish. ‘We used to make them up when we were kids, set them in the vege garden, then bawl our heads off when we caught any rabbits.’ They were made of steel wire though. His earlier co
ncern about modern materials resurfaced. An image flashed behind his eyes; bullets parting the feathers on Pouākai’s breast, but having no impact. Resolutely, he suppressed it.
‘Next thing, how do we actually kill him once he’s trapped?’ Tama was pressing on.
‘Oh – yeah,’ said Hamish again. He’d been putting off thinking about that.
Tama was rolling up his sleeve, looking at his tattoo. ‘We decided these were adzes or something, didn’t we?’
‘Maybe we can use axes….’ said Hamish slowly. Putting it into words made it worse. He didn’t like the idea. Messy. Violent. Not clean like shooting would be. But shooting wouldn’t work, not on Pouākai.
‘Reckon axes would be fine,’ said Tama. ‘That’s what we use nowadays for anything adzes would’ve been used for, eh? Another parallel.’
‘S’pose,’ said Hamish. Every decision they made added to the element of uncertainty. He’d never expected so much would depend on one of his theories.
‘And we need to plan some tactics,’ said Tama. ‘Can’t just charge in there.’ He was ignoring Hamish’s hesitancy, hadn’t even noticed it.
‘That’s something else I hadn’t thought of,’ said Hamish blankly. He stared at the print again. Stared blindly. Chopping off Pouākai’s head wasn’t going to be like chopping a chook for the pot, was it? And anyway, he’d always left that to his father. The images on the print blurred. Before he realised what he’d done, the voice in his head had taken up the telling of the legend at the point where it had left off.
‘… All the preparations were ready. Ruru and his forty companions took up their places while it was still dark. Ruru stood some distance from the trap, on a prominence where the giant man-eating bird would see him. His companions waited in the safety of the trap. At dawn, Ruru began his chant of enticement. The bird heard him, and flew down the mountain towards him. Ruru ran for his life, with the bird in pursuit. Swift as the wind, he ran down the slope. At last he reached the safety of the trap.
