The moment me money touches the pile, de Silva is unable to restrain himself. With a huge smile what shows off his six gold teeth, and some fast babble in what I takes for Portugese, he puts down his medium running flush. His hands shake with the thrill ‘cause he thinks he has won the night.
I stays calm, though I admits me heart is pounding. I lay down a running flush as well. Mine is only one number higher than his, but it is enough. One tiny little number different and the pot is mine. The game is over, yours truly has taken the loot. Every bloody penny! De Silva groans and the other five players cannot believe what they has just seen. I look at him and point to the five pounds in front o’ him. ‘What says you, Captain, another hand?’
De Silva shakes his head and slumps in his chair. He can scarce believe what has happened. He has been made to wager everything on one card, and lost. The emotion I know to be always contained within him now bursts to the surface like a dam wall breached by flood water. His face crumples and he buries his head in his hands and starts to weep, his shoulders heaving.
It is Ikey what comes to me mind again. ‘When you wager everything and lose, show nothing. When you wager everything and win, show even less. Cards played well be a game as cold as ice, my dears!’
I reaches over and scoops the pile o’ money to me side o’ the table, close to eighty pounds. I picks up his hand from the table and then me own and calmly shuffles the deck. With a little relocation, I replace it with the original, so that my own marked deck is returned to me. If Nottingham and de Silva has marked the deck and should examine it later, they will see that it remains what they bought.
Hawk and me are away, clean as a whistle! I hands the deck to our gaoler, who is gone purple from rage. Alas, poor Sheriff o’ Nottingham, Robin Hood has slipped through your fingers once again! I smile at the other players and thank them most cordially for the two games. Then I nods towards Hawk, but says nothing. Finally I turn back to the gaoler. ‘What says you, Sergeant Nottingham, a bit o’ luck for the wee lad, eh?’
Nottingham turns away from me, unable to contain his anger or to meet me eye. I silently apologise to Ikey for this transgression of his laws o’ behaviour. It is the biggest game I has ever played, and also the neatest win. I would have liked to play de Silva clean, for in the end I was sure I had the better of him.
Nottingham’s promissory notes, plus the five-pound stake money Hawk gave him, takes care of twenty-five pounds of our freedom money and, while we still has to give him another twenty-five to make up the fifty, we have Hawk’s original twenty-five pounds back plus close to thirty more. Our freedom has come to us at a great profit!
I lean back and give the gelt to Hawk, who I am proud to say don’t smile. He folds the notes carefully and puts them into his pocket and slips the gold sovereigns into his purse. I turns back to the table and suddenly the old fear rises in me like swamp mist. Here, in the smoke-filled room of Kororareka gaol-house, I sniff the early morning scent of the wilderness, smell the wet damp earth under my nostrils as I lie over the skinned Huon log with my breeches down around me ankles. My heart is beating furious again. The mongrels are here in this room and they has us trapped.
I turn quickly to see that Maple and Syrup have come to stand on either side of Hawk. I look ‘round. The Hairy Horror is standing beside the window holding his rum bottle by the neck, his great, ugly, tattooed phiz smiling drunkenly. His tiny eyes is hard as black agates and I know Hawk and me is in danger.
The huge Maori smashes the bottle against the window sill. The bottle is not more than half empty and a shower o’ dark rum splashes into me face and over me blouse, so that me eyes sting and for a moment I can’t see nothin’. I am too frightened even to lick at the rum and when me eyes clear I sees Hori Hura moving slowly towards Hawk with the jagged green bottle neck clutched in his enormous fist.
‘You give back me money, nigger!’ he growls.
Chapter Eight
HAWK
Kororareka
March 1857
I have just completed putting our winnings away when the two Parkhurst boys come to stand on either side of the chair to which I’m shackled. I am feeling most proud of Tommo, who has won us our freedom, and so I take little notice of Maple and Syrup. They are both small men, now somewhat tipsy, and I do not feel intimidated, though perhaps a trifle uneasy.
Nottingham seems most agitated by the events of the evening, and his complexion has gone from a rose to purple hue. This I cannot understand as he will soon be twenty-five pounds the richer. I suppose he is playing the bad loser. With the twenty pounds in markers that we have and the five-pound buy-in he owes us, he will no longer collect the full fifty.
I hear the sound of glass shattering and a shower of dark liquid hits Tommo in the face, splashing across his blouse as Hori Hura smashes his rum bottle against the window sill. He pushes the jagged neck and shoulder of the bottle towards me.
Maple and Syrup grab at my arms and of course my ankle is shackled to the chair leg. Nottingham is grinning evilly and behind him Mrs Barrett and Captain de Silva have backed away in alarm, their hands and backs flat against the opposite wall.
‘Hawk!’ Tommo yells as the two Parkhurst boys cling tighter to my arms and the huge Maori draws closer. ‘The chair leg! Break it!’
I am not quite sure what happens next, for I have never fully tried my strength, other than to lift a firkin of beer ten times above my head as a joke for Mary’s brewery workers, and to punish Jenkins when he tormented Tommo. But I stand up as much as my shackle-chain allows and jerk my arms free, sending the two villains flying backwards across the room. Then I lift the chair and with my free hand break off the leg. With the chain, and the chair leg attached to it, still about my ankle, I face the Hairy Horror. He hesitates a moment, giving me just enough time to swing the broken chair at him before the neck of jagged glass slashes towards my face. Hori Hura takes the blow on his shoulder, staggering sideways a single pace, and the glass misses me.
From deep inside of me comes a rage so cold and hard that everything in the room seems to slow down. I drop the chair, which appears to bounce on the floor, and I watch as my left fist takes an eternity to swing through the air and connect with the jaw of the fat man in front of me. He too moves backwards, and I hit him again with my right hand, the bones in his nose smashing beneath my bare knuckles. The broken bottle drops from his hand and he starts to fall. His eyes roll to white as the back of his head hits the stone floor. ‘Get Maple and Syrup!’ Tommo calls out, and I turn.
It is at that moment that I feel a terrible pain in my own head and all goes black. We are back in our cell and I am manacled and shackled again. My head throbs mightily and my back, not fully healed, is wet with blood. I imagine it has torn open again, though I feel no real pain except for my head. Tommo too is much bruised about the face and has lost his blouse. His torso is black and blue and one eye a persimmon shiner, now completely closed. His lips are swollen so that he looks somewhat like a parrot fish. If he is any indication, the two of us must be a very sorry sight indeed.
‘How’s you feeling?’ asks Tommo.
‘Crook,’ I croak. ‘My head feels broken open.’
‘That’s because it is,’ Tommo says. ‘You’ve blood on yer back from yer head where they hit you with the chair, but it’s stopped bleeding now.’
I suddenly remember and grab at my pocket where I have put our winnings.
‘Don’t bother yerself,’ Tommo says bitterly. ‘Bastards took the lot!’
‘Nottingham? Where’s Nottingham?’
‘Buggered if I know. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of the sod since last night.’
‘What’s the time?’ I ask.
‘Past dawn, though not much, the birds ain’t been singing long.’
‘What happened, did you see?’
Tommo tries to grin through his bruised lips. ‘I never seen a better left and right thrown. Bam-bam! You pole-axed him!’
‘Did I? What happened after t
hat?’
Tommo tells me that when I turned around to hit Maple and Syrup, Nottingham picked up the broken chair and smashed it down on the back of my head so that it was dicky-birds and bursting stars as I joined Hori Hura on the floor.
‘Meanwhile there I is, trying to break the leg off me bleedin’ chair, same as what you done!’ Tommo attempts a cheeky grin and shrugs. ‘Mind, it must’ve been a much stronger chair ‘cause the bloody leg don’t budge. Then the two Parkhurst boys rush over and beats the living daylights out o’ me. When they’s given me face a good going over they topples the chair and puts the boot in while Nottingham just stands by and watches! One o’ the bastards kicks me on the side o’ the noggin and I’m history. Next thing I knows I wake up back in here behind bars.’
‘Did you see who it was who took our winnings?’
‘Nah, must have been after. I woke up and it were black as pitch in here. Me first thought were to find you. My ankles are tied though me hands are free and so I feels about and finds your head and me hand comes away full o’ blood. Jesus, I thinks, they’s killed you. But then you moans, so I knows you ain’t dead— yet! I were shitting meself until enough light come to see you was gunna live!’
‘Only just,’ I groan. I lift my manacled hands to touch my head and realise that I am swathed in a sort of turban. I sniff the sour smell of rum and realise it is Tommo’s blouse torn into strips. My brother has taken the shirt off his back to bandage my head.
The sun is well up and pushing through the little barred window high up in the wall of the cell. I think I shall die of thirst at any moment. Then there is a rattle of keys and the door swings open. The dark shape of Sergeant Nottingham stands there, the daylight streaming into the cell behind his fat silhouette. Beyond Nottingham is another man. As our eyes adjust, I see that he is a constable, who carries two tin mugs and half a loaf of bread before him on a small wooden tray. He puts this down at Nottingham’s feet and withdraws.
Tommo pulls himself over to the mugs using his arms. They have used handcuffs to manacle his ankles. He reaches out for the water but Nottingham’s broken boot comes down on his hand.
‘Not so fast, lad! Well, well, a touch thirsty then, is we?’
Tommo does not look up. ‘Yes,’ he sniffs.
‘Yes, Sergeant Nottingham, sir!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tommo says again.
Nottingham kicks at one of the mugs and it spills all of its water as it rolls across the cell floor to rest at my feet. ‘One to go, lad. We must have proper manners now, show respect for our betters! It’s not “Yes!” It’s “Yes, Sergeant Nottingham, sir!” ’
Tommo is silent a moment. Then he snaps, ‘You’re a mongrel bastard, Nottingham!’
Nottingham kicks the second mug over. ‘Oops!’ he says. ‘Excuse I!’
‘Where’s our money, Sergeant Nottingham?’ I ask.
‘Oho! The nigger speaks! Money? What money?’ He feigns confusion.
‘We struck a bargain— fifty pounds for our freedom.’
‘Money? Freedom? I’m sure I don’t know what on earth you’re on about, lad. Bribe, is it?’ He throws back his head and chuckles. ‘Oh, I see, a bribe, you’re offering me a bribe? Fancy that! Fifty pounds?’ Nottingham clucks his tongue several times. ‘Fraid I can’t give a known murderer freedom at the cost o’ fifty pounds or even a hundred. Matter o’ duty and respect to my vocation.’
‘Sir, I am not a murderer!’ I rasp. ‘Mr Nestbyte’s death was an accident which occurred while hunting the whale.’
‘Nestbyte?’ Nottingham frowns and touches the side of his bulbous nose with the tip of his forefinger. ‘Oh, yes! Yankee from the whaler, wasn’t it?’ The gaoler shakes his head slowly. ‘No, no, no, lad. Not him! This be another murder altogether. A second murder! I have arrested you for the murder of Hori Hura!’
He dusts his hands together and lifts his boot from Tommo’s hand, then kicks him in the ribs with the toe-cap. Tommo goes rolling over but manages to bite back the pain.
‘As for you, let’s call it accessory before the fact! Aiding and abetting to the crime o’ murder most foul.’ Nottingham smiles expansively. ‘The motive being attempted robbery, seventy-eight pounds took from five honourable gentlemen before you both were most bravely apprehended by yours truly with the help of Messrs Tate and Lyle. Attempted gaol-break valiantly prevented. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s a commendation in it for me, and a medal from the governor presented to them two, for courage in the face of extreme danger.’
Nottingham farts loudly then pats his belly and burps, highly pleased with himself. ‘This time the jury won’t even be put to the trouble o’ choosing between a heathen nigger and a Christian Quaker gentleman. This time there be five witnesses, all men of good repute, including a police officer.’ He waves his hand airily and chuckles. ‘The magistrate in Auckland will be delighted that he has been saved a long, tedious trial.’
I listen to Nottingham with growing consternation. The fat gaoler has tricked us out of our money and has me destined for the rope.
‘It was self-defence, an accident, Sergeant Nottingham!’ I cry. ‘He was coming at me with a broken bottle, you saw it yourself!’
‘Broken bottle? No sign of a broken bottle! No witnesses to a broken bottle! Nay, lad, that won’t wash, won’t wash at all!’
‘You’re a bastard, Nottingham!’ Tommo spits again. ‘I beat your scam and now you’s robbed us of what’s rightfully ours.’
Nottingham’s mood changes quickly and he points angrily to Tommo. ‘You’re a brash young lad, Solomon. I’d bite my tongue if I were you. Evidence is clear enough— you and the nigger escaped from your cell and come across the five of us playing a nice friendly game o’ cards in my charge office.’ He changes back to his laconic self. ‘No harm in a game o’ cards, now is there? Tried to rob us, you did, demands our money or else. Threatens us with a chair leg! Ripped right off, it were. Hori Hura bravely leaps to our defence and is knocked to the floor and killed before the rest of us manages to overpower the two of you.’ Nottingham pauses, shrugs and grins. ‘Except for Captain de Silva, who has sailed away to whaling on the mornin’ tide, there are four of us what will swear to the truth of this in front of the judge.’
I look at Nottingham, shaking my head. ‘Six into eighty pounds is only thirteen pounds and six shillings each. If you’d taken our side you would have earned yourself almost twice, twenty-five pounds, even after you redeemed your promissory notes. It makes no sense.’
‘Don’t you tell me what makes sense, nigger! What don’t make sense is that the likes of you should escape Jack Ketch! I shall take pleasure in watching you dangle from the beam.’
‘You never did intend to let us escape, did you?’ I say.
‘Ya tried to work a double scam!’ Tommo shouts. ‘A doublecross! It were the Portugee captain what was meant to take the night with a running flush!’
Nottingham doesn’t deny this, but sends a gob of spittle to the floor. ‘You’ll be going to Auckland tomorrow, took by boat, full manacles and shackles,’ he says, then he stoops and picks up the half-loaf of bread. ‘Maybe you’ll have better manners when you be a little more hungry and thirsty, eh lads?’ With this he clangs the heavy door shut, taking the bread with him.
We look at each other, waiting until the rattle of the keys dies away and we can hear Nottingham’s footsteps departing.
‘What on earth are we gunna do?’ groans Tommo.
‘We must try to get a message to Mary, have her call upon the governor so that he might intervene, talk to Governor Gore Browne over here.’
‘It’ll take too long for her to get here, we’ll be dead by then.’
‘You will not die, Tommo— only I perhaps,’ I hasten to comfort him.
Tommo swallows. ‘I wouldn’t want to go on without you, Hawk.’
‘Of course you would.’ I try to remain cheerful. ‘You could get drunk every day with nobody to nag you.’
Tommo falls silent for a
while then begins to talk. ‘More than once in the wilderness I wanted to give it away, toss it in, just walk out into the river and keep walking, but you were always there with me. I didn’t know what had become of you, maybe the same as me, but I knew you was not dead, felt it in me bones. Long as I felt that, I could hang on.’ He grins. ‘I admits, I done it with the help o’ Slit’s whisky still. Without that,’ he shrugs, ‘I dunno.’
Then he says slowly, ‘That were drinking with hope. The hope that one day we’d be together again. If the mongrels gets you now, strings you up, and leaves me here, that be drinking without hope. I’d sooner be dead, you and me together on the gallows, Tommo and Hawk together to the last breath.’
‘Come here, Tommo,’ I say.
Tommo crawls over to me.
‘I can’t hug you because I’m shackled, but you can hug me, little brother,’ I say to him.
Tommo grabs my arm in both his hands and, putting his head against my shoulder, begins to weep softly. ‘Oh God, I loves ya, Hawk!’ he sobs. I can feel that he weeps not because of our predicament, but for all the years in the wilderness, all the loneliness. He cries for all the love in him that has dried up and shouldn’t have.
‘I love you too, Tommo,’ I say. ‘More than ever I can say!’ And there we are, both of us bawling our eyes out.
It is Tommo who finally clears his throat to speak. ‘Ya know what gives me the screaming shits most of all?’
‘What?’ I sniff.
‘The fucking mongrels has won!’
‘Only when the trap-door opens under our feet. We aren’t dead yet,’ I say, but there is not a great deal of conviction in my voice.
Tommo and Hawk Page 20
