Into the Mist
Page 7
“Hey.” His voice rasped from disuse. Bushmen like this existed in the forest. Some were loners who preferred the quiet company of the tōtara and rata trees, others were hiding from people or situations they couldn’t bear to face. They lived in the forest for months, even years at a time, but this was the first time Jules had ever come across one.
“You fellas better go back, eh,” the hunter said.
De Haas muscled his way through the group to face the hunter. “What did you say? Go back? Why?”
“This way’s no good.”
“No good? What do you mean no good?”
“Tūrehu. Patu-paiarehe.”
“What the devil is he on about?” de Haas snapped.
Jules frowned; the geologist had the manners of a gorilla. She extended a hand to the hunter. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “I’m Jules.”
“Ira Bidois.” Still grasping the pig, Ira was about to offer Jules his free hand, but seeing the blood and crud on it from his tussle with the pig, Ira obviously thought the better of it. Instead, he brought his hand down and wiped it on the back of his trousers, his fingers spread wide. It didn’t help, his trousers were just as grubby.
“Sorry.”
Jules grinned. “No worries. I can see you’ve got your hands full. You were saying something about us not being able to go this way?”
“It’s not safe.”
Jules felt an irrational leap of panic, her mind jumping to Sarah at the bottom of the landslip, but she stifled it quickly. That was a freak accident, she reminded herself sternly.
McKenna stepped forward. “Ira. Sergeant Taine McKenna. I heard you mention the patu-paiarehe?”
Ira nodded.
“The what?” said de Haas.
“Patu-paiarehe. They’re light-skinned people who live in the forest and hide themselves in the mist,” Kerei said. “They’re said to come out at dusk to make trouble.”
“Trouble,” Ira echoed.
“What do you mean they’re said to come out?” de Haas demanded.
“The patu-paiarehe are legendary. Like fairies. Or ghosts,” Kerei explained.
“Legendary?” de Haas spluttered. “We’re expected to turn around because this nutter says there are some legendary fairy people about?”
The hunter gave de Haas a derisive look. “Plenty of smart people believe in the patu-paiarehe, reckon they’ve seen them even.”
“Oh for goodness sake!” de Haas threw his hands in the air theatrically. “First you people try to scare us off with your taniwha, and now it’s bloody fairies. Any moment I expect we’ll see Tarzan swinging out of the trees on a supplejack vine. You deal with this, McKenna. I’ve got a job to do here and it doesn’t involve dealing with nutters.” He stomped off to the edge of the clearing.
Insulted by de Haas’ outburst, or just deciding he’d outstayed his welcome, the hunter turned to go, his dog tucked close to his heels.
“Wait,” McKenna said. “I apologise for Dr de Haas.”
Ira made no comment. Jules couldn’t blame him for being offended.
“I’m really sorry,” McKenna said, dropping his voice. “The man’s a scientist. A genius, or so they tell me. There’s a bit of a fine line, you know?”
Ira’s wide features relaxed into a grin. “Sure. I get it. Don’t worry about it. I got thick skin.”
“So, you know this area well, Ira?”
Ira widened his stance to support the weight of the pig before tilting his chin upwards in assent. “Lived round here most my life.”
“In the bush?”
“Some of it.”
“What about lately?”
“Yeah, I’ve been here...” The hunter appeared to calculate the time in his head. “Maybe five months.”
“And there’s been some trouble?”
“In the bush, you see plenty.”
“What about recently? In the past month?”
The hunter rolled his shoulders, shifting the weight of the pig across his back again. “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to tell you.” McKenna waited for him to elaborate. “There’s been some weird stuff.”
“Weird?”
“Mischief, you know.”
“What kind of mischief?”
The man’s eyes shifted to the edge of the forest. “Fairies…”
“You know, I think we’ll stop here for a bit,” McKenna announced. He looked across the clearing at de Haas as if daring him to say otherwise. “I reckon it’s been a while since Ira here has enjoyed a hot cuppa with company.” He gestured to one to the young privates. “Read,” he called.
Read jogged over. “Yes, sir?”
“You and Miller brew up, will you? Let’s show our guest a little hospitality.”
Read and Miller set to organising a tea party, while the rest of the Task Force fanned out about the clearing, dropping their packs, rolling their shoulders and stretching their backs. Jules watched Jugraj Singh lie flat on the grass, his head on his pack and his arms outstretched.
Ira leaned his gun against the trunk of a tree then dropped the pig on the ground where it landed with a heavy thud. The smell of blood and the proximity of the dead animal whipped the dog into a frenzy. It rushed over to worry at the dead animal. The bushman gave the mutt a swift kick and sent it yelping into the undergrowth. Jules winced.
“Shuddup, Tip!” The dog cowered under a fern where it watched warily. “Stupid dog. He’s been out of his head lately.”
McKenna took a seat on a stump alongside Ira, wisely downwind from both the pig and the man. Jules followed suit, settling on her pack alongside the two men. Close by, Coolie and Kerei remained standing, leaning against tree trunks.
“I’m grateful for your warning, Ira,” McKenna said.
Ira nodded.
“But the thing is, it would really save us a lot of time to continue this direction. Of course, I don’t want to do that if it means endangering the group. I’m responsible for their safety.”
“Yeah? What is this group?”
“It’s a civilian scientific team.”
“And you army guys?”
“Security detail.”
“Security? What kind of science are you doing? Radioactive testing?”
Kerei laughed, giving his leg a slap. “Radioactive testing! That’s a good one.”
“Nothing as exciting as that, I’m afraid,” McKenna replied. “Just some routine government monitoring.”
Jules caught the warning in the sergeant’s glance. “Sergeant McKenna is right, Ira. It’s very routine stuff, I’m afraid. I’m with Landsafe. I’ll be monitoring native species – frogs and birds mainly – to see how they’re faring.” Jules talked from behind her hand, pretending to share a secret with him. “These army guys are just here to put up the tents and make the tea. Very hard to get good help these days.”
Ira grunted.
Read interrupted, handing Ira a steaming mug of tea. “I stuck in three sugars. That okay?”
Ira wrapped his hands around the mug. “Yeah. Thanks, bro.”
Job done, the soldier moved off.
McKenna waited for Ira to take a sip of his tea, then said, “Do you think you could tell me exactly what we’re up against? That way, I can make an informed decision.”
Elbows on his knees and the cup cradled in his hands, Ira glanced nervously at Kerei. The guide nodded his encouragement, and Ira took a deep breath. “They’re always up to something,” he said. “You know, fairies, aye? It’s their personality.” He talked in staccato phrases.
“It’s well known the patu-paiarehe like to meddle,” Kerei agreed.
“But this is more serious, right?” McKenna said. He turned to the pig hunter. “You don’t strike me as the sort to tell us to turn around just because your billy went missing, or something got into your beef jerky.”
Ira took another swig of the steaming tea. “I seen some stuff, you know. Weird scratches on trees. Funny prints like little hooves in the ground. Bends in the trees.”
“Plenty of high misty ridges in here,” Jules said, in an attempt at light-heartedness.
“But, but…” Ira hesitated.
They waited while Ira found the words. “Their night music, the music of their flutes, has changed. It used to be soft, beautiful, eh. Now it’s deeper. And there’s this strange hissing. I don’t like it,” the bushman said finally. “And after that, I found a dead pig. A good one. Just left on the track. Gutted and left. Why would anyone leave a good pig like that and take off? Doesn’t make sense.” He shuddered.
“Could it have been an offering?” Kerei suggested.
Ira shrugged.
Kerei warmed to his idea. “You know, it could have been an offering. The patu-paiarehe have been known to talk, whispering in people’s ears, telling them the next crop or the next kill should be theirs.”
“But a whole pig?” Coolie said.
“It’s a sign of respect,” Kerei told him. “Before the People came, the land belonged to them.”
Coolie shook his head, and let out a low whistle. “That’s a whole heap of respect. In my family, offering someone a pig gets you a bride and all her extended family.”
Jules had to admit, the corporal had a point.
Ira lifted the cup to his lips, throwing his head back to get the last drops. “The forest is a big place,” he said when done. “I’ve been here five months. Youse are the first people I’ve seen for ages. That’s strange too, you know. Normally, there are other people.” Ira handed his cup off to Jules, the only woman in the vicinity.
“You haven’t seen any other army guys in here, then?” asked Coolie.
Jules’ ears pricked. What other army guys?
“Nup.” The hunter stood.
Sensing his master was on the move, the dog scuttled from its spot under the fern. McKenna leaned over and gave the dog a quick scratch behind its ears, making the mongrel’s tail wag. “Thanks for your help,” he said.
“Yeah, no worries.”
“But what about you, Ira?” said Jules, clutching the empty cup. “Aren’t you afraid for your own safety?”
“Think I’m gonna head on home,” he replied, on one knee now. He hoisted the pig onto his back with a grunt. After a few seconds, he stood up like a clean-and-jerk competitor. McKenna helped him shunt the animal’s weight evenly across his shoulders. “Been bugger-all pigs in here lately, anyway. Other than this one here, that dead one was the last one I’d seen in ages. Going to head off tomorrow, soon as I can get this fella packed up.” Bending slightly at the knees, he picked up his gun. “Thanks for the tea. C’mon Tip,” he called.
Then, giving Jules a gentlemanly farewell nod, he crossed the clearing, pig on his back, and disappeared into the forest.
“Interesting,” said Coolie.
Jules agreed. What was that comment Coolie made about there being other soldiers in the forest? She was about to ask when McKenna cut in, “Would you mind returning the cup to Read please, Dr Asher?”
* * *
When Jules was out of earshot, Taine pulled a topographical map from the inside pocket of his DPM smock. Safely waterproofed inside its plastic zip-lock bag, the map was already folded open at their approximate location.
“What do you advise, Nathan?” he said, holding the map out in front of him where the guide could see it.
Nathan examined the map a moment. “If we want to get to the site quickly for de Haas, then I like this route…” he replied, tracing a line on the plastic with his finger. “…particularly since this is a fairly able group. If we follow the park markers – the white slats nailed to the trees – it saves us a couple of kilometres over some dirty great hills. I expect we should get to your investigation site by mid-to-late afternoon.”
“And Ira’s warning?” Taine asked.
Nathan looked awkward. “Look, I’m not doubting what Ira says – our people have always co-existed with the patu-paiarehe – but in all the stories I’ve heard they tend to come out at night. And in twenty-odd years of guiding, I’ve never seen one. Anyway, we’ve been warned, haven’t we? We know to keep a look-out.”
“Coolie?” Taine said, turning the map for his corporal’s input.
“There are other explanations for the things Ira told us. Could be there’s another group operating in here,” Coolie said. “One that doesn’t want to be noticed. Our infamous separatists, for example. Or someone else. Unusual night sounds could be their night-time activities carrying on the wind. The scratchings, sure it could be fairies like Ira said, but it could be someone using gouges to mark the trail for their own purposes.”
“We shouldn’t forget the forest either,” Nathan observed. “You spend a lot of time in here, you start to dream stuff up. Go a bit crazy.”
“Then how do you explain the pig?” Taine said. “For a hunter to leave a valuable animal like that doesn’t make sense.”
“Could be there was no pig,” Nathan said. “Like I said, you’re in here too long, you can go a bit crazy.”
“Maybe Ira came across the pig’s hunters – our separatist group – as they were about to take it back to camp,” Coolie speculated. “They couldn’t take the pig without him being able to follow their trail, so they dumped it.”
“Well, if they wanted to stay hidden from Ira, a lone hunter, then they’ll want to stay hidden from us too. I don’t reckon we’ll have any bother,” Nathan said finally.
“Okay, we continue on this route,” said Taine, folding the plastic bag and putting the topo map back in his pocket. He approached de Haas. “We might need to carry on, sir. If we want to make the campsite in the daylight.”
De Haas got to his feet. “Yes, yes, I was just about to get everyone up.” Picking up his pack, he called, “Right, break’s over, everyone.”
As the group moved off, Taine pulled Coolie to him. “Tell the guys to keep their eyes peeled,” he said, under his breath. “Half a section has already gone missing in here. I’m not so sure a show of force will scare these guys off, even if they do turn out to be a bunch of fairies.”
Chapter 9
Wellington
Ken Chesterman, Director of Regulatory Policy for the Department of Conservation received the call in his lunch hour. This time, he wasn’t in the office, but out power-walking the capital’s waterfront pavement despite the biting southerly. Trying to avoid turning into a spineless overweight hypocrite, unlike some colleagues he could name.
Keeping his head down out of the wind, he answered, “Chesterman.”
“Kenneth, dear.” He recognised the voice – oilier than a Swedish massage – and his heart sank. He should’ve changed his cell number.
“So pleased the Task Force has gone ahead,” the voice said. Ken suspected its owner was middle-aged. He imagined her looking like Glenn Close, which was probably not far from the truth, since the bitch was a real bunny boiler. “Have you heard from them yet?” He decided her accent was Australian, narrowing her identity down to just a few million possibilities.
“Why should I hear from them? They don’t report to me.”
“That’s true. Though I suppose you’ll hear soon enough. It’s going to be quite a find.”
“Like the nugget you planted?” he guessed.
“You sound so sceptical, Kenneth,” the caller said, not giving anything away. “There is gold in there, you know.”
“Of course. Why else would you plant a nugget the size of a teacup?”
“You really are too cynical, Kenneth. But that’s not why I called. I need you to do something for me.”
He gritted his teeth. “I’ve already done something for you. As I recall we had a deal. I was to alert the minister to the find and recommend he establish the Task Force, including your man Fogarty, and you would send me certain incriminating photos. I did that. You returned the photos. That’s it. I have n
o intention of doing anything further.”
“Oh no, did you think that would be all? How deliciously naïve. Of course, I haven’t sent you all the photos. That would’ve been terribly short-sighted.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am. I am the person who is about to blow the lid on your liaison with a certain male student.”
“So? I’ll just go public myself. People won’t give a shit.”
“You’re right. People don’t care, although I expect your wife and daughter might, and your father-in-law, since you’ve been using his beach house for your trysts.”
Ken said nothing. Where was she getting this? Not for the first time, he wondered if his lover was feeding her information. Andrew had denied it, but then he had nothing to lose, did he?
“And another thing. It seems your lover might have lied about his age.”
His blood froze. “He’s twenty-two.”
“That’s funny, his passport says nineteen. Remind me how long you’ve been seeing one another?” the bitch said. “Nearly four years? Now that might not look so good with you being an elder in the church. By the way, have you always had that birthmark?”
Ken stopped. The cold southerly did not. “What do you want?”
“Really, there’s no need to be so hostile. It’s nothing illegal, Kenneth. When the Task Force evidence comes in, it will be significant. The data will be conveniently leaked and as a result, representatives of a multinational company will approach you to broker a deal with the government for extraction of the ore.”
“You want me to leak the data?” Ken said, his voice sounding as brittle as the wind in his face.
“Thank you, but no. I have someone else to do that. I want you to use your influence with the minister to push the resource consent through by Christmas.”
“Christmas!” Ken spluttered. “You give me too much credit.”
“Not at all.”
“No really. You don’t understand how these things work. It’s a complicated process. There’s the local tribe to consider, for example, and the public consultation process. All that can take years. I have no control over how long it takes.”