Desert Flame

by Nicole R. Taylor

  The man’s shadow loomed over him. “Dirty scoundrel!” The bat hit Hardy in the head again. “Vagrant!”

  A commotion sounded outside, and Hardy lifted his arms to protect himself, but it did him no good. The next blow knocked him clean out.

  He’d been caught.

  The courtroom was freezing, and Hardy’s fingers numbed as he stood on the dock. The apothecary was describing the circumstances of the charges he was bringing against him in great detail, recounting every detail of the night’s escapades with grand embellishments that made Hardy out to be a hardened criminal.

  There was nothing he could do but lower his gaze and take whatever punishment was handed down. He was caught red-handed. Would the judge be sympathetic to his sister’s plight? So far, the man hadn’t bothered to hear his testimony.

  And why should he? One look at him and they all knew what kind of future he had. He was dirty, his clothes threadbare, and his shoes were coming apart at the seams. Society wouldn’t miss him if he were given the rope…but his family would. They’d starve without him, and Mary would suffer.

  “Look at me when I am speaking to you, boy,” the judge demanded.

  Hardy looked up, his heart sinking.

  The judge was staring down at him with cold, unsympathetic eyes. His white curled wig sat askew atop his bald, fat head, giving away that he’d already sat through a long day of hearings. It wasn’t even mid-morning, but this was London. Crime and punishment was a fine-tuned instrument.

  “Frederick Marmaduke Hardy,” the judge bellowed, his cheeks red, “for the crime of burglary—”

  Hardy pulled against his chains. “But my sister—”

  “Pardon me, sir,” the judge boomed, “but this is not up for discussion. The court has ruled, and the sentence will be carried out forthwith.” He picked up the gavel. “For the crime of burglary and damage of property, I sentence you to seven years transportation.”

  “Seven years?” Hardy shouted, panicking. Seven years? His sister… Without him, they’d suffer, and Tom… Tom was only thirteen.

  “You stole seven bottles of laudanum,” the apothecary said, glaring at him.

  “It’s a first offence,” he argued. “Surely—”

  “Seven bottles of a highly valuable and addictive drug,” the judge snapped. “A year will be served for each one. You will be sent on the next available ship to the colony at Van Diemen’s Land to serve the duration of your sentence.”

  Before Hardy could fully understand the gravity of his situation, the gavel slammed down with a bang and a policeman grabbed his arms, dragging his stunned body from the dock.

  Outside, a carriage was waiting to take him away.

  Two large, brown draft horses were harnessed to the front, tended to by two uniformed policemen. The carriage was large and black, made from iron and steel. It had no windows, save for the grate in the back door, which swung open as Hardy was dragged towards the rear.

  “It’s your lucky day, boy,” the policeman holding him said in a thick cockney accent. “There’s a putrid shite stain of a ship leaving at midday.”

  The door opened and dirty faces looked out at him from within. How many were in there? Five? Six? It didn’t matter. He was being sent to the other side of the world without a chance of seeing his brother and sisters before he left.

  When he didn’t move, the policeman shoved Hardy into the back of the carriage with the other men. He landed face-first on the floor and splayed out across what felt like a dozen pairs of tattered boots.

  “Bon voyage,” the policeman called. The door slammed closed, plunging the inside of the carriage into shadow, and metal clanked on metal as the lock was secured.

  Hardy looked up into the dirty faces of his new ‘friends’ and swallowed hard.

  “On yer feet, lad,” one man with rotten teeth rasped, his chains clattering.

  Hands grasped Hardy’s arms and hauled him up as the carriage began to rattle away from the courthouse.

  “What’d you do?” one of the men asked their new arrival. Perhaps they’d been taking stock as the carriage filled up.

  Hardy said nothing, still in shock over his situation.

  “Don’t worry,” another man said. “Young Walter there got himself transported for nicking a loaf of day-old bread.”

  “Don’t worry?” the rotten teeth man scoffed. “It’s a long way to the colonies. You want to know what I got done for?” He licked his teeth, the murky light doing nothing to improve his ugliness. “I killed a chap. Bloodied him good.”

  “Why?” Hardy rasped.

  “Cos I wanted to.” His grin widened. “Transportation’s better’n hangin’. Maybe I’ll stick you on the way.” He bit his teeth together, laughing as Hardy flinched.

  The carriage rattled down the road, bumping over cobblestones and inching closer to the port on the Thames where Hardy knew they’d be loaded onto one of the tall ships bound for Australia and the island to the south known as Van Diemen’s Land.

  In that moment he knew two things. He was going to the penal colony at Port Arthur where nothing but filth and misery awaited him, and he would never see his family again.

  Forgive me, Mary, he thought, closing his eyes. Forgive me.

  Chapter 8

  The sounds of AC/DC’s hit song, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, blasted through the pub as Blue wiped down the bar. There hadn’t been much through trade today, so he’d decided to take some of the stick off the top of all the surfaces in the place.

  He picked up one of the bar mats and shook it out, singing along with the music. “Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.”

  The Exiles would come in around teatime, but until then he had the run of the place. Unless a customer stopped by on the way through to Lightning Ridge or Longreach if they were going north. Blue never understood why people came up this way from the Ridge when Bourke was closer and on the highway. There weren’t that many corners to turn out here and all the roads were long. Anyway, the term ‘close’ was relative to need.

  He picked up the next bar mat. “Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.”

  It seemed like the perfect song after what Kyne had told him earlier. EarthBore was on the move with their drills and shovels, looking to dig up that patch of iron up on Walawala Station. There’d been way too much excitement in the last six months, and it looked like things were only going to keep getting busier. If it kept up like this, it’d affect his trade.

  Blue snorted and shook out the bar mat. He’d have to get a sign made for the door that said ‘Closed - Out saving the world’ or something like it.

  Just as he was chuckling to himself, the door opened and a customer breezed in. By the way they crossed the room and slipped onto a barstool in the span of a millisecond, he knew it was Hardy.

  “Beer?” he asked the vampire.

  Hardy shook his head. The bloke looked miserable. “Have you got anything stronger?”

  Blue knew a troubled soul when he saw one, so he knew what would help soothe his ailment in the short-term.

  “Sure have,” he replied. “Whisky, bourbon, scotch. Even got a bottle of vodka.” The standard drink out this way was beer, but not everyone liked it. Some people liked bourbon and Coke, or the scotch variant. Jim Beam and Johny Walker were popular blokes. “Got all the basics covered.”

  “Besides gin.”

  Blue chuckled. “Besides gin and a couple of others. Don’t get many blokes asking for cognac.”

  “What about the women?”

  “There isn’t any difference.” Blue turned and took down the whisky and scotch off the shelf. “People like it all the same, no matter who they are.”

  “What a diplomatic answer.” Hardy chose the whisky and poured a few fingers into the glass Blue offered him.

  The publican watched with a raised eyebrow as the vampire downed the entire lot in one gulp. He didn’t even cough as the liquor went down.

  “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you drink like this,”
he said as the vampire topped up the glass for a second round.

  “Did Kyne come and see you today?”

  Blue nodded. “He did.”

  “So you know about EarthBore.”

  “The basics, I’m assuming. I gathered we’d talk about it more tonight when we’re all here.” Blue sighed. “But that’s not why you’re here now, is it? I know things are tough with the seal and all the folks trying to crack it open like an egg, but I know a troubled bloke when I see one.”

  Hardy didn’t say anything; instead, he just drank some more.

  “Maybe I’ll never understand because I’m human, but I can try,” Blue went on. “In the very least, I can listen. Bartenders are good at that.” He leaned against the bar, his old bones creaking, and patted the wooden surface. “I’ve been behind one of these most of my life. Most people are all right with getting on the grog—know their limits and stick to ‘em. Then there’re others who can’t control themselves.” Blue snorted. “Happy drunks, sad drunks, angry drunks, violent drunks… Seen some blokes who were so tied to the bottle, they could never give it up. Some had sad stories that drove ‘em there, others just seemed to be predisposed to it.”

  “It’s not like that for a vampire,” Hardy murmured. “Not at all.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  “Alcohol helps soothe our hunger.” He waved at his throat.

  “Ahh,” Blue said, not taking his eyes off Hardy. “Blood is a vampire’s alcohol. I can see where there’d be conflict in that. You need it to survive, yet…”

  “It drives everything we do with disastrous consequences.”

  “Bloody oath.”

  Hardy snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Blue looked him over and knew something was bothering the man. It didn’t matter if he was vampire or human, he’d turned to alcohol to calm the angry beast inside him. Either there was something he wanted to forget, or something he was at odds with.

  Hardy looked up at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Just because you’re the only thing in this town older than I am, doesn’t mean you know more than I do.”

  “I know age is relative, old man.”

  “Stuff age. Blokes need to talk about their problems a little more,” Blue said. “Just because you’re strong on the outside, it has nothing to do with what’s on the inside. It ain’t going to shrivel your balls to talk through shit.” He nodded at Hardy. “That’s a general ‘you’ and ‘your,’ just so you know.”

  Hardy was quiet. Blue knew better than to prod a conflicted man, especially not a vampire, so he let the man be. He’d talk when he was ready and he’d say what he wanted. No more, no less.

  “I have a bad feeling about what’s coming,” Hardy muttered.

  “With EarthBore?”

  “EarthBore, and if we can protect the seal, beyond that.” He sighed the most mournful sigh Blue had ever heard come out of a man. “My mind is filled with memories of the past. Memories I’d rather forget.”

  This time Blue topped up the vampire’s glass. “What kind?”

  “People I left behind.” Hardy grimaced and lifted the glass to his lips. “People who are long dead.” He drank.

  “Strewth, well the dead are gone and they’re done talking.” He snorted. “Well, not unless you know a witch or a young woman who can bend the stuff the so-called universe is made of.”

  “I don’t think I can talk to them.”

  Blue hesitated, then sighed. ‘They’ meant several people, and from the look on the vampire’s face, he assumed ‘they’ were his family. His human family. “They weren’t supernatural?”

  Hardy shook his head. “I don’t know what happens to humans when they die, but I do know it isn’t the same as supernaturals. There’s a different place for us.”

  “Vampires, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  Blue was beginning to see what had Hardy so mixed up. He didn’t like being a vampire and was still tied to the things that’d happened in his human past. Perhaps it was his own anniversary, just like it’d been Vera’s.

  “Have you looked them up on Ancestry dot com?” he wondered.

  Hardy tensed. “Ancestry dot com?”

  “You’ve never heard of it?” Blue was surprised. He was an old fella and even he knew what it was. Being a boomer and computer literate weren’t mutually exclusive concepts.

  “I know what Ancestry dot com is,” Hardy drawled. “I’m a vampire, not an idiot.”

  “Then why don’t you look on that computer of yours and see if there’re any records?”

  “Of whom?”

  “You don’t have to play with me,” the publican told him. “I know you can do that mind trick on me, but you don’t have to. I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. Have a little faith in this old bugger, eh?”

  The vampire hesitated, his eyes glassy. “No, I…” His fingers tightened around the glass. “I don’t think it’d do any good to know.”

  “Closure is a damned thing,” Blue told him. “Good or bad, maybe the door needs to be closed either way. It might hurt, but it’ll be put to rest.” He nodded to the bottle of whisky. “Might save you some soothing.”

  Hardy took the whisky and topped up his glass again. “Can I hang out here?”

  He looked at the bottle. The vampire was avoiding his troubles, but Blue’d said his piece. The next bit was up to Hardy.

  “I won’t bother you or put a dent in the roaring trade,” the vampire added, waving at the empty pub.

  “Sure,” the publican said. “Stay as long as you like. But that whisky’s goin’ on your tab.”

  Kyne stood with Eloise at the bottom of the newly dug shaft out at Black Hole Mine and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “You want to press the tip into the wall at an angle,” he said. “Then push your weight into it…but not too hard.”

  She giggled and almost lost her grip on the jack. “That sounds dirty.”

  He rapped his knuckles on her hardhat. “Dirty when you ricochet the end off the wall and put it through your foot.”

  Her laughter faded. “Maybe you should be doing this part.”

  “Nah, you’ve got it.” He placed his hand over hers and felt the reverberation of the earth flow through her into him. “You can already sense the opal, all you’ve gotta do is focus.”

  Bloody oath, it felt good to be underground again, especially after the other night at the pub. Hardy’s bad news about EarthBore had all the Exiles long in the tooth. Even after a whole night discussing it, no one had any answers.

  Then the following day, when Kyne and Wally had gone into Lightning Ridge to return the Caldweld drill, it was like they were off to a funeral. In all the years he’d known the old werewolf, Kyne had never seen him so silent.

  Everyone was strung out, including Kyne. The only thing that was in his power was to head back out to Black Hole Mine and work on the drive in his newly sunk shaft. Life had to go on, and maybe old-fashioned hard work would grease the cogs in his brain into action.

  Bringing Eloise was just an added bonus. It gave her the perfect opportunity to practice using her powers on something other than cutting and polishing opal, and they got to spend some alone time together. Solace was a small town, but sometimes it felt more crowded than the city.

  “I’ve got spaghetti arms,” Eloise complained. “You really want me to jackhammer my way into you new mine after what I did to the last one?”

  “This is nothing like last time,” he told her. “You’re not going to collapse the drive over our heads.” He braced his body behind hers. “Use my strength to prop yourself up, then use your power to guide the jack.”

  “Won’t this take a million years to dig out? Look at this thing. It’s like bringing a butter knife to a sword fight.”

  It was Kyne’s turn to laugh. “We’re elementals, Eloise. Once we’re underground, the rock just melts away.”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

/>   “Of course, I’m sure. Make sure your safety gear is in place.” He tapped her hardhat, then her safety glasses. “Earphones on, too.” He fixed them in place over her ears. “Good?”

  “What?” she shouted. “I can’t hear you!”

  Kyne shook his head and tapped her hand, signalling for her to start up the jack.

  She pulled trigger and the machine burst to life, the recoil pushing her lithe frame back into his chest. He held her in place, helping her steady the jack, and then her power flared as she guided it into the wall.

  “Holy moly!” Eloise shouted as the hard rock began to fall away like soft butter. “Is it supposed to do that?”

  “Not usually, but it does for us.”

  “This is so easy!” He felt her excitement as she shouted over the noise of the jack as it bit into the wall.

  Easy as it was monotonous, he thought with a grin. But the back-breaking work was all worth it when the first trace of opal flashed in the wall. Shiny potch was a sign from the gods themselves—a trail of ancient silica that eventually led to the good stuff.

  The noise of the jack died as Eloise let go of the trigger. “How much longer do we have to do this?”

  “Until we get to the opal,” he replied.

  “How far is that?”

  He chuckled. “You tell me.”

  Eloise frowned and pressed her hand against the wall. “Shit,” she muttered. “Longer than I’ve got any patience for.”

  “Luckily rocks are my thing,” Kyne said. “Is it still worth ten percent?” That was the amount he’d offered for the work the first time he’d brought her out to his claim. The trip hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d hoped when the mine had collapsed on their heads, but that was another story.

  She laughed and wiped the back of her arm over her sweaty forehead, smearing dirt along the way. “Well, I was desperate for the cash.”

  “Not so much anymore, huh?”

  “No,” she said, picking up the jackhammer. “Not anymore.”

  “You want to keep going?”

  “Sure. How far do I go?”