by David Hair
‘About time, boyo,’ said a gruff voice. Mat spotted Aethlyn Jones as the old man stood up; he’d been perched on a tree stump, smoking a pipe. The Welshman was clad in rough farming garb and a leather overcoat that reached his calves. He was a rangy man, with a lean weathered face and lank grey hair that fell past his jawline and looked in urgent need of combing. At his feet was a big pack, against which was propped a long-barrelled musket and a gnarled walking stick bound at the bottom with an iron ring. He wore a heavy basket-hilted sword at his waist. ‘You walk here?’
Mat just smiled. Jones didn’t really do cheery. The old Welshman had been Mat’s mentor for nearly two years. Along with the tohunga Ngatoro-i-rangi, Jones had taught Mat magic, old technology, old fighting skills, and more about Aotearoa than anyone else. Both were unofficial guardians of Aotearoa, in their very different ways. The responsibility of becoming another such guardian weighed heavily on Mat, but he knew he was in good hands.
‘Cassandra has her car waiting. We came as soon as we could.’
‘Hmpf. Well, she’s a capable enough lass, I’ll grant.’ Jones liked Cassandra. Indeed, Cassandra had saved him once, and Mat suspected the Welshman felt a debt to her. ‘Let’s get going, now. Time’s a-wasting.’
Jones took them back to the modern world, then they clambered out of the gully. Cassandra beamed at Jones and hugged him, though he pretended he didn’t want her to. Jones took over the passenger seat, while Mat found himself jammed into the small back seat of the Mazda, sitting sideways with his feet on the seat to accommodate Jones’s gun and pack on the floor. Jones put his pipe out, though his jacket still reeked of tobacco.
‘I’ve made some calls,’ Jones told them. ‘I know folk in the modern police force. They’re keeping a lid on this. The official story is that Riki had to leave the school trip early because of a death in his extended family. When found, he’ll be reprimanded for leaving without telling anyone, but that is all.’ Jones scowled. ‘That presumes we can find him intact.’ He tapped his fingers grimly. ‘He was a fool to go into Aotearoa at Parihaka. It’s far too dangerous.’
Mat could only agree, although he had no idea how Riki, with no magic, had done it.
They refuelled in Taupo. Jones and Mat stayed in the vehicle with the windows shut — Jones because he looked weirdly out-of-time, and Mat because he was scared that he’d be spotted by his mother or father, who were both in town at the moment. Taupo was where his mother had come to live when she and his father separated, and of course his dad was here for his court case. Cassandra filled up the tank, then parked on the main road and darted into a lunch bar to grab food for the journey. She took a little longer than expected, and when she returned there was an animated expression on her face. As soon as the car door was shut, she spun in her seat to face Mat. ‘Hey, guess what?’
‘I hate guessing games,’ Mat grumped. ‘What?’
‘I just saw your mother and father; that’s why I took so long. I was about to go into the lunch bar when I saw them through the window and had to go somewhere else. I don’t think they spotted me.’
Mat sat up, raising his eyebrows. ‘Mum and Dad? Together?’ He frowned. ‘Were they fighting?’
Cass laughed. ‘No, it looked quite civilized.’
‘Maybe they’re finalizing the divorce,’ Mat speculated gloomily. He retained little hope that his parents would get back together. His mother hated his father’s job — being a defence lawyer meant a lot of time defending guilty people, which she’d never really come to terms with. And they were both prickly people who didn’t work well together, or so it seemed to Mat. The last two years before they’d split up had been really unpleasant, though there had never been any real nastiness, thankfully.
Mat himself had also become part of the problem, in some ways. His adventures in Aotearoa had meant moments of very real danger, moments that had sometimes reached out to engulf Tama and Colleen too. Dad had mostly coped, but his mum was terrified of Aotearoa and what it would do to her son. It was just another thing they couldn’t agree on. There was no way he would give up on Aotearoa: indeed, no way he could, any more.
‘It looked pretty amicable,’ Cassandra said cheerily, but Mat blanked that train of thought. He didn’t want another disappointment.
‘At least they didn’t spot you,’ he replied. ‘If this takes too long, it’s going to be hard to pretend I’m still at home.’ He’d left a note to his father explaining, more or less, what was going on, secure in the knowledge that his father wasn’t due back in Napier until Saturday evening. That only gave him three days before all kinds of parental panic broke loose, but what else could he do?
While the Napier–Taupo road was familiar to Mat, the rest of the journey wasn’t: he’d never been to Taranaki. If the North Island of New Zealand really was the Great Fish of Maui, then that fish was swimming south, and Napier was on its belly, while the Taranaki district was the dorsal fin. The distance between the two was about 250 kilometres in a straight line but, due to the terrain in between, more than 400 kilometres by road. The trio left Taupo driving northwest, ignoring the thermal highway that led through Wairakei and eventually to Rotorua, taking instead the smaller road to Mangakino, through rugged bush and undulating farmlands. From there they took State Highway 30 west, eventually linking with State Highway 3, which wound inland of the coast on a southwest trajectory until it hit the coast north of Mokau. The Tasman Sea was broodingly rough and dark, whipped up by westerly winds and occasional bursts of heavy rain that slowed their speed right down. But Mat was with two of his very best friends so he enjoyed the journey, despite the underlying tension of what they might be driving into. What had happened to Damien was bad enough: to also lose Riki, potentially for good, gnawed at the two young people. At times Cassandra, for all her brave face, looked on the verge of tears. She’d once told Mat that to her, no relationship was going to be permanent until she was much older, but she didn’t seem emotionally detached at all now.
Just after seven, having stopped for a quick pie at a petrol station en route, they reached New Plymouth. The evening was windswept and rainy. The city, which was the hub for New Zealand’s small oil industry, faced north, and the westerlies were lashing the waves left to right, churning up white horses in the sea and driving them towards the shore.
Mat sat up, looking for street signs. ‘Damien said he’d be near Poet’s Bridge in Pukekura Park.’
‘I know the place,’ Jones said.
‘What’s New Plymouth like on the Aotearoa side?’ Cassandra asked.
‘It’s pretty much an armed camp, lass. Taranaki saw some of the fiercest fighting of the Maori Wars. On the Aotearoa side things are still pretty segregated. You won’t find many Maori in the town, just a few servants. And you won’t find many Europeans out of the town. Things change slower in Aotearoa, including people’s attitudes. As time passes, things improve, but there are many angry ghosts, on both sides. The most able colonial general, Duncan Cameron, resigned in protest against what he saw as naked aggression in Taranaki, so Governor Grey replaced him with men like Chute and McDonnell who were ruthless and took no prisoners.’ He paused. ‘I mean that literally. And the Pai Marire — the Hauhau movement — got involved on the Maori side. I think you know about them.’
Mat swallowed. He’d encountered fierce Hauhau warriors in Gisborne. Their faith was a blend of Christianity and old Maori beliefs. Some among them had believed in eating defeated enemies to gain their strength, and that they were invulnerable to musket fire if they made appropriate incantations. In Aotearoa, which was fuelled by such beliefs, it made them frightening and dangerous foes, very strong and very hard to kill. Mat had also met Governor Grey — and had not liked him at all.
With rain lashing, the streets of the city were desolate, the few cars churning through the rivulets of rainwater on the road, head lights blazing and wipers thrashing. Cassandra, guided by Jones’s directions, found the park, parked, then huddled into herself in the driving seat,
her eyes moist. ‘What now?’
Jones shook his head. ‘Mat and I will go and find Damien. In Aotearoa, the park’s gardens lie outside the military camp. They’re patrolled, but I know people here if we meet anyone. You wait here, lass. We’ll only be a few minutes.’
Mat joined Jones anxiously, hunching against the wind and rain. They scurried into the park, following paths until they came to a red-painted wooden bridge. They walked out onto it, to Mat’s slight surprise, then Jones placed a hand on his shoulder. The rain and wind faded briefly, only to be replaced by a gentler rain moments later as they completed the transition into Aotearoa. Mat looked about curiously. The bridge was still beneath him, exactly the same though perhaps newer-looking. Across the lake he could see the line of a wooden palisade where the central business district of New Plymouth was in modern times. Lamplights flickered from within its walls. The evening was as bleak here as in the real world. The gardens had become bush, sloping upwards towards a tree-lined ridge to the south. The moon was lost in dark rain clouds, the sun already departed, and gloom was deepening into full night. He thought he glimpsed saucer-like eyes off to his left, but they winked out. Goblins were commonplace in Aotearoa, little kehua usually, mostly harmless except when gathered in numbers.
Jones clicked his fingers and a tiny tongue of light appeared momentarily. It was answered by a hoarse whisper. ‘Mister Jones?’ It was Damien, at the far end of the bridge.
Mat’s skin prickled with apprehension. Damien had been killed in February, and though Damien’s own recklessness had been a factor, Mat still blamed himself for not saving him. But the tall shape that emerged from the shadows had no hesitation in hugging him. Damien’s voice cracked with emotion as he pounded Mat’s back. ‘Mat, thank god you’re here.’
‘I’m here, Dame,’ Mat whispered, hugging him back, then stepping away. Damien’s face was streaked with rain and tears. ‘Cass is here too. We’re going to find him, man. I know it,’ he added, wishing he did. Damien nodded. He reached an arm backward, and a small Chinese girl emerged from his shadow. Mat had met Shui briefly before, and offered her a hand in greeting. ‘Hi,’ he said, unsure what else to say.
‘You remember Mat?’ Damien asked her in English. She nodded, smiling hesitantly.
More men came out of the shadows, to Mat’s alarm. A burly man with thick whiskers stepped forward. ‘Master Jones? I’m Sergeant Bain,’ he said to Jones with wary deference. ‘Governor Grey sent us to investigate activity at Parihaka.’
Jones shook the sergeant’s hand. ‘What can you tell me?’ he asked, his voice conveying subtle authority. Bain looked like he knew all about Jones, because he was all obedience, as if attending upon a superior officer.
‘Parihaka is one of those places where the history repeats strongly, Master Jones. Usually it is derelict, but once a year, in November, the village reforms itself and the events of Bryce’s raid reoccur, including a march of the men to the coast and the shipping south. It all takes about a week.’ The man scowled unhappily. ‘But recently, it’s been happening more frequently and at odd times. Governor Grey sent us, and young Master Damien volunteered to accompany us as he is familiar with the modern world.’
‘Is John Bryce directly involved?’
‘Sometimes, master, but not always. We’ve encountered the odd stray prisoner they missed, who can tell us a little of what goes on inside there, but we’ve seen nothing ourselves.’
Jones turned to Damien, his face severe. ‘And you took young Riki into that?’ he said accusingly.
Damien hung his head. ‘I didn’t know he would be here. Then when he did appear, it all seemed safe.’ He looked wretched as he related the events of that night. How Riki had stumbled into them unexpectedly. How they’d seen lights in the village and investigated, only to be caught up in a raid by Bryce’s men. Mat could hear the agonized embarrassment in Damien’s voice and felt sympathy. It was difficult to be angry; he could tell that the lesson was well and truly learnt. The only important thing now was to get Riki back.
Sergeant Bain piped up again when Damien paused. ‘We’ve spotted a ship off the coast,’ he added. ‘We’ve identified it as the Leonora.’
Jones glanced sideways at Mat. ‘The Leonora is a ship belonging to Bully Hayes.’
Mat stiffened and his eyes went to Damien and Shui. The Chinese girl’s right hand went unconsciously to her throat, where a pale white scar ran across her jugular, startling against her brown skin. Hayes had been the man who had murdered her when she’d been a poor migrant to the new colony; he then sold her ghost into servitude in the Bay of Islands.
Damien’s hand went to his cutlass. ‘Hayes,’ he hissed, baring his teeth. ‘If he’s got Riki—’
‘We don’t know that,’ Jones put in. ‘We can’t confirm anything until we’ve gone to Parihaka ourselves and made enquiries.’ Bain nodded in agreement, while Damien swallowed a protest and pulled Shui against his side.
‘He’s right,’ Mat said to Damien. ‘We can’t race off until we know.’
Damien nodded unhappily. ‘I know. It’s just … I want to do something. I’ve got to make this right.’
‘We will,’ Jones said. ‘But first, we must go to Parihaka, and the car only has room for four.’
‘My men have berths on the Wallaby,’ Bain put in. ‘She’s a coastal trader, heading for Nelson tomorrow. If you can ascertain whether the young man you seek is on Hayes’s ship, we can at least pursue part of the way onboard the Wallaby.’
Jones nodded. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. If we decide upon that, I’ll let you know.’ He jabbed a finger at Damien. ‘You’ll stay with Sergeant Bain for now.’
Damien looked utterly bereft not to be included, but Jones wasted no time on sympathy. He made Damien describe the spot where they’d lost Riki once more, in detail. Then he plucked at Mat’s shoulder. ‘Come. We must do this as soon as possible. Minutes may count, Mat.’
Mat barely had time to wave at Damien and Shui before Jones made the transition again. He staggered slightly as they stepped into the modern world once more. The gardens were just as they’d left them, and Cassandra was waiting in the Mazda with a pale face and bloodless lips. Mat saw she’d been crying. When they got to the car he reached over and squeezed her shoulder, but couldn’t think what to say.
The drive to Parihaka took time, especially when the rain worsened as they left New Plymouth by the coastal road. Visibility was almost nil at times. Cass crawled along, peering over the car wheel with her thickest glasses on and the wipers going full-tilt. It was almost an hour before they found the Parihaka Road, which took them back inland. Jones told them that they were driving almost directly into the western slopes of Mount Taranaki, but that was meaningless to them on such a night. They found the old site courtesy of Cass’s GPS, and this time she refused to stay with the car. She and Mat pulled on thick overcoats and Mat grabbed his taiaha. The rain was so heavy he suspected muskets were out of the question, and indeed Jones only brought his heavy sword. He also brought a storm lantern, oil-fuelled, but didn’t light it yet. After a long moment of thought, he got out his thick-bladed hunting knife and handed it hilt first and still sheathed to Cass. She fitted it to her belt and loosened it in the sheath with experienced hands. Though not an Adept, Cass had a knack for the practical that belied her geeky looks.
‘Listen,’ the Welshman said, having to raise his voice against the storm. ‘I have no idea what we might encounter here tonight. Bain is right that normally this place is derelict, but what he reported earlier makes me wonder if Bryce is using his power over this site to bleed it dry. With the Treaty of Waitangi missing and war brewing, he is likely to be preparing for war. We need to be cautious and stick together.’
Once the two teens had nodded in assent, he laid a hand on Mat, who in turn gripped Cassandra’s hand. Together, they moved across into Aotearoa. The monument, a stone obelisk above a memorial stone, faded fast from view and the darkness deepened further. Then wooden fences formed, and r
ows of huts shrouded in misty rain. The wind was weaker here, as if the storm was slowly passing.
Jones lit the storm lantern with a gesture, lighting their faces with a yellowish glow, but little else. Cassandra squeezed Mat’s hand then let go. She had no tech gear with her and looked oddly naked without it. Mat gripped his taiaha with both hands, pirouetting slowly. But there was no-one here, no light visible but their own.
They made their way slowly onward, down the darkened aisle of sheds and huts, the darkness pressing about them. ‘I don’t like it here,’ Cassandra said softly. ‘My superpowers don’t work.’
‘What superpowers?’ Jones asked quizzically.
‘Instant access to all information and knowledge and how to deploy it,’ Cassandra replied immediately. ‘There’s no internet connection here. It’s like being in the seventies or worse.’
Jones snorted softly. ‘Must be hell for you, lass.’ He pointed left and right. ‘This way,’ he whispered, indicating the middle rank of huts. ‘Young Damien said they saw the light they followed towards the far end of this aisle.’ He lifted the lantern and swished his sword gently about him.
Mat took his right flank and Cass his left, as they worked their way down the row. Most of the huts were open to the elements, broken like a smashed diorama, roofs gone and doors off their hinges. Some were burnt out. The rain was lessening by the minute, the winds dropping, and overhead the dark clouds were shredding. But they were still cold and wet, shivering with tension and chill as they sloshed through the mud. At times Mat thought he glimpsed faces at windows, dark faces that vanished an instant later. ‘It’s as if there are crowds all around us, but I can’t see anyone.’
