Crow Country (9 page)

T
o everyone's amazement, Boort did defeat Birchip Watchem the next day. The big for- ward, Muz, kicked a goal after the final siren to snatch victory for the Magpies, and the black-and-white spectators round the Birchip oval erupted into cheers of delirious joy. Sadie clapped until her hands hurt. Ellie grabbed David in a wild hug.

‘It was the handballs – it's all about the handballs!' she shouted gleefully.

‘Well—' David ducked his head and grinned. ‘There's more to it than handballing.'

The players were spilling off the ground. Many of them paused to thump David on the back. Ellie whooped and applauded; Walter stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

‘Go, Magpies!' shouted Sadie.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a crow hop to the rim of an overflowing rubbish bin.
No offence
, she said hastily, silently, in its direction. It bowed gravely, fixed one gleaming eye on her, and winked.

‘Thanks for the help, mate.'

‘Good on ya, mate.'

‘No worries,' said David, shaking hands with one player after another.

Walter murmured to Sadie, ‘You'd think they'd won the final.'

‘Anything's possible!' roared Craig Mortlock behind them. ‘What a game, eh? If we keep playing like that, who knows?' He flung his arm round David. ‘Glad I caught you, mate. Something I want to ask your advice about.'

‘Yeah, what's that?' said David, distracted.

Craig leaned into David's face and lowered his voice. ‘Found something very interesting on my land. Aboriginal artefacts. Wondered if you could tell me what they'd be worth.'

Sadie's heart stood still. Walter hadn't heard. He touched Sadie's sleeve. ‘Is that Mr Harris from school over there?'

‘Ssh!' said Sadie frantically.

David was saying, ‘What kind of artefacts?'

‘Artwork, Aboriginal artwork.'

‘You mean rock paintings?'

‘Something like that.'

David frowned. ‘Well, I don't know much about that stuff. But if it's rock art, I don't see how you could sell it. If it's in a cave—'

‘Not in a cave.'

‘So where is it?'

‘On my land,' said Craig, clearly reluctant to give away any more details. He chewed his lip. ‘So you reckon it'd be worth checking out a museum, a university, somewhere like that? There are people who collect this stuff, right? Must be worth
something
. And I've got some other bits and pieces lying around, reckon I should dig them out too?'

Someone was trying to give David a can of beer; he waved it away. ‘Listen, mate, it's a difficult area. If it's a cultural site, it'll be protected. You can't just hack out bits of rock art and sell them off; it's against the law.'

‘Sacred site, you reckon? Everything's a bloody sacred site these days. Every time a farmer wants to cut down a tree or build a dam or make a bit of money, there's some bloody government official stand- ing in his way with a piece of paper saying no!'

‘Hardly,' said Ellie. ‘Be fair, Craig; that's not true.'

‘Whole bloody country's a sacred site, according to some of his lot,' growled Craig.

Ellie began to protest, but Walter cut in. ‘That's right. Whole country
is
sacred. Needs respect.'

Craig shot him a scornful look. ‘You want to watch what you say, son. Doesn't bother me if you shoot your mouth off, but I'm just telling you there are some people round here who don't appreciate that kind of talk—'

‘And there's plenty more who'd agree with him,' said David calmly. ‘We got to protect our heritage.'

‘No point protecting it if no one ever sees it, is there? Put it in the museum, everyone gets the benefit, right?'

‘You can't move stuff from where it belongs,' said Walter. ‘That's not right.'

Someone yelled from a car window, ‘See you at the pub, Morty? See you at the pub, Davo?'

Both men raised an arm in salute, and Ellie yelled back, ‘See you there!'

David turned back to Craig. ‘How about you let me look at whatever it is you've found, then we can talk about what to do next?'

Craig chortled. ‘Oh, no, no, no, mate, you're not getting me like that! No, this stays in the family; know what I mean?'

David shrugged. ‘Up to you, mate. Let me know if you change your mind.'

‘Will do, mate, will do. Great work with the boys; did I say that? See you at the pub, Ellie?' Craig winked at them all and barged off through the crowd.

‘What was all
that
about?' said Ellie.

But Sadie was already racing to the pavilion, bur- rowing between backs, hardly aware of Walter at her heels. Lachie was standing by his trail bike with the rest of the gang around him. Sadie stormed up.

‘You told your dad!'

‘What?' Lachie frowned down at her.

‘You know what I'm talking about!' Hot tears stung behind Sadie's eyes. ‘That was our secret!'

Jules drew back on a cigarette. ‘Bit young for you, isn't she, Lock?'

‘
Oo-ooh!
' sang Hammer. ‘Lachie's got a girl- friend!'

Lachie scowled. ‘Shut your face.'

‘You promised it would be our secret!'

Lachie put his face close to Sadie's. ‘How could it be a secret? It's on our land.'

‘But I found it!' said Sadie.

‘But it's not yours,' said Lachie.

‘It's not yours either.'

Lachie laughed, more puzzled than angry. ‘If it's not mine, I don't know whose it is. My family's owned that lake and the valley and all the land around it for a hundred and fifty years.'

‘But—'

‘But nothing. Now be a good kid and get lost, will you? You're making a goose of yourself.' He surveyed Sadie's hot, angry face, and gave her shoulder a little shake. ‘See you back at the pub, yeah? I'll give you a game of pool,' he said, not unkindly, then turned his back, dismissing her.

Walter touched Sadie's arm. ‘Come on. Your mum's calling.'

Sadie smudged the tears from her face before Ellie or David could see. Walter glanced at her as she stumbled toward the car, but he didn't say anything.

Behind the toilet block, Sadie stopped. ‘Why did you say that to Craig, about the whole country being sacred? That's not true, is it?'

‘Kind of. Like Auntie Lily says. The whole land is made by the ancestors, so it's all sacred. But some places are more special than others.'

He gave her a quick look, and for a moment Sadie was tempted to tell him everything. Didn't Walter deserve to know about the stones, more than Craig Mortlock did? But there wasn't time: Ellie was scanning the crowd, hands on hips, her face screwed up in exasperation.

A crow cried from the roof of the toilet block.
Waah . . . waah . . . Be careful, girl . . .

Sadie gave her eyes a final swipe. ‘Come on,' she said. ‘Let's go.'

'D
amn!' muttered Ellie, her head in the fridge. ‘I thought we had bacon. Sadie, could you run over to the supermarket? There's just time before it shuts.'

Reluctantly, because it was growing dark outside, Sadie shrugged on her parka and grabbed Ellie's wallet from the kitchen bench. ‘Just bacon?'

‘Pick up some milk while you're there – oh, and a potato . . . And if you feel like some chocolate after dinner . . .'

Sadie sighed heavily and turned back for a shopping bag.

‘Thank you!' called Ellie.

‘That's okay!' Sadie yelled from the door.
Wow
, she thought,
when did we start being so nice to each other?

The chilly twilight air slapped her awake. Clouds scudded across the sky as she hurried along the road. She had five minutes till the store closed.

The automatic doors slid open, and she darted inside. Behind the register, a pinch-faced woman with sandy hair glanced up from her magazine. She was Fox's mum, Sadie knew. Fox himself lounged across the checkout, waiting for his mother to finish work, picking at his fingernails. Mrs Fox nodded briefly at Sadie, then returned her attention to the celebrity gossip.

Sadie found milk, chocolate and bacon, but there were no potatoes in the vegetable section. She hesitated, but she knew that Ellie would say,
just ask!

Sadie stepped toward the checkout and cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me . . .'

Without warning, the supermarket whirled about her. Sadie clutched at the chip rack, and found herself grabbing at empty air. The checkouts dis- solved, the fridge and the shelves of tins faded to shadows. A long counter formed itself along one wall, shelves banked up behind it, barrels and boxes crowded around Sadie's legs. Instead of the sharp face of Mrs Fox, Sadie saw her mother, Jean – fore- head creased, lips moving silently as she counted out pennies from the till. The modern supermarket was gone; she as standing in the old shop across the road, the Hazzards' shop.

‘You can lock up now, love,' said her mother, sweeping the pennies into her hand, and Sadie flipped the sign on the door to closed and pulled down the blind. She had her hand on the bolt when the door was pushed violently open, almost knocking her down.

Mr Mortlock staggered in, panting, wild-eyed. He was covered in blood.

‘Jean!' he gasped. ‘Jean—'

The colour drained from her mother's face. ‘What's happened?' she cried.

Gerald Mortlock shook his head. ‘I'm not hurt – I—' He staggered forward and Sadie thought he would fall.

Her mother said fiercely, ‘Bolt the door, Sadie!'

Sadie sprang to shoot the bolt across. Blood dripped onto the worn floorboards, small bright splatters of crimson.

‘What have you done?' whispered Jean. ‘God help you, what have you done?'

Mr Mortlock reached out a hand to steady him- self, and Sadie recoiled as his blood-stained fingers touched the shelves.
We'll have to clean it; who's going to clean up all this mess?
she thought.

‘Clarry—' he began.

‘You've not hurt Clarry!' cried Jean, her eyes like holes burned in a white cloth. ‘Oh, dear God, no!'

‘No! Not Clarry,' said Mr Mortlock thickly. ‘But I need him – need his help – need . . .' He lurched and slid down the counter to the floor.

‘Sadie, fetch your dad,' said Jean. ‘Quickly!'

Sadie froze, and then she was stumbling behind the counter, through the door into the house, pushing the little ones aside. ‘Where's Mum? I hurt my finger,' whined Betty. Philip was howling somewhere.

‘Stay here!' hissed Sadie urgently. ‘And be quiet!'

Betty began a wail of protest.

‘Oh, shut up, do!' cried Sadie. ‘Go and find John – Where's Dad?'

Betty pointed outside, sobbing; and then, merci- fully, Clarry appeared in the doorway in his shirt- sleeves and braces, folding the newspaper with his square capable hands. Sadie threw herself at him.

‘Come quick!'

She dragged him through the house into the shop and slammed the connecting door in Betty's outraged face.

Mr Mortlock was slumped on the floor, a scarecrow without stuffing. Mum knelt beside him, holding a tin mug of water; but he batted it aside without looking. Mum scrambled up as Dad came in.

‘He won't tell me. Oh, Clarry—'

‘Get back to the kids,' said Dad. ‘Don't frighten them. I'll take care of this.'

Mum twisted her hands in her pinny, her eyes big with dread. ‘Clarry—'

‘It's all right, Jean. I'll take care of it,' said Dad firmly, and Mum edged back behind the counter and slipped into the house. Sadie started to follow, but Dad put out a hand to stop her. ‘Might need you, love.'

Sadie nodded dumbly, half-terrified, half-proud that Dad trusted her.

Dad crouched on the floor. ‘It's all right, mate,' he said quietly. ‘Whatever's happened—'

Mr Mortlock's hand shot out and twisted into Dad's shirt. ‘I've killed the bugger, Clarry. I've gone and killed him.'

‘Settle down, Gerry.' Dad's voice was firm and soothing, the same voice he used when Betty was fussing about a skinned knee. ‘You can bet your boots you haven't killed anybody.'

‘So help me God, Lofty,' said Mr Mortlock hoarsely. ‘I didn't mean it, but I've killed him.'

Sadie was frozen, terrified, her heart pumping a mile a minute.

Dad said, ‘Who, Gerry?'

‘Jimmy Raven!' It was an anguished howl.

Sadie sucked in her breath, and stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stifle a moan.

Dad straightened up sharply. ‘Where is he?'

‘Down by Cross Creek, round the back of the old graveyard. There's a ring of stones . . .'

‘I know the place,' said Dad.

‘You've got to help me, Lofty. It was an accident; I swear to God! Jesus—'

‘Not in front of my girl,' said Dad, and Mr Mortlock glanced at Sadie as if seeing her for the first time. His face was haggard. Sadie shrank away from him.

Dad barked, ‘Did anyone see you? Gerry, did any- one see you come here?'

Mr Mortlock licked his lips, then shook his head.

‘You stay here,' said Dad. ‘Don't move from this room. I'll lock the door. Sadie, you come with me.' He was a soldier again, rapping out orders. Dad was in charge; he'd make everything right.

Mr Mortlock lolled against the counter, his eyes closed. Dad motioned with his head, and Sadie followed him out of the shop, waiting while he turned the key. Dusk was falling.

‘Evening, Clarry,' called Mrs Prescott across the street. ‘Going to be a frost tonight, I should think.'

‘Evening, Ethel.' Dad's voice was clear and calm. He put his arm around Sadie's shoulder and steered her along the road, past the pub, down the hill, past the Laycocks' house, across the railway tracks and past the Williams' place. He was walking fast, swinging his bad leg.

Once they were clear of the town, he led her off the road and into the bush. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath their shoes. The birds were shrieking their twilight chorus. The mallee gums twisted their grey arms into the sky.

Sadie helped Dad to cross the creek in the shallow place. They skirted round the graveyard where the first Mortlocks had buried their dead. Dad was leaning hard on her shoulder now.

‘Do you want a rest, Dad?'

‘No,' he said shortly. ‘Almost there.'

She'd never seen the stones before. And yet, as they loomed out of the shadows, they chimed in her memory like something she already knew. They leaned from behind a tangle of trees, silent, watchful, solid clots of darkness in the shifting shadows.

Waaah!

A crow cried an abrupt warning, and a shudder ran through Sadie. For a fraction of a second, she knew that she was in the wrong time; she didn't belong here; she wanted to go home.

But then she heard a low groan, like no sound she'd ever heard, and all other thoughts fled.

‘Dad! Over here!'

They knelt beside Jimmy.

‘It's all right, mate, we're going to get help. You'll be all right,' said Dad.

‘Nah,' whispered Jimmy. ‘I'm done for.'

Sadie didn't know what to do. She reached out one shaking hand to Jimmy's head, and touched something wet and sticky, spongy, and a sharp edge of bone. She snatched her hand away.

Dad snapped, ‘Keep back, Sadie!'

Jimmy murmured, ‘You got your girl there? That Sadie there?'

Sadie swallowed. She whispered, ‘I'm here, Jimmy.'

‘I got something to tell your dad, Sadie.'

‘What is it, Bird?'

There was a rustling in the darkness, as Jimmy fumbled in his pocket. Sadie heard him murmur, ‘. . . take care of this for me . . . not allowed to see . . . hide it, Clarry. Hide it good.'

The world had shrunk to a pinprick. All that existed was Jimmy's voice, his breath, the touch of his cold hand in the darkness.

‘Bird?' whispered Dad. ‘Come on, Bird . . .'

‘You tell Netta . . . tell Netta . . .'

‘I'll tell her, mate. Don't you worry, I'll tell her.'

An owl called, far away. The mournful notes fell like stones dropping into a deep pool, the ripples washing over the three of them, their hunched fig- ures in the dark, small beneath the whispering trees.

Dad let out a breath. ‘He's gone.'

A sob tore from Sadie's throat. She heard Dad shift in the darkness, rearranging his bad leg.

‘Dad?' she whispered. ‘We've got to fetch the police.' Her mind was racing. Mr Mortlock was locked into the shop. Mum and the little ones were shut up with a murderer. Somehow they'd have to get him inside the little lock-up cell behind the court-house, keep him there till they could fetch Constable McHugh. Mr Ransome from the pub could help, and George Tick from the draper's . . .

‘No police!' Clarry's sergeant's bark rang out of the dark. Then he said, more gently, more like the Dad she knew, ‘Hold on, love. I need to think.'

‘Think about what?' Sadie heard her own shrill voice, the edge of panic. But there was no point panicking now; the worst had already happened. Jimmy was dead.

‘Hold on, love. Shut up a minute.'

Sadie sat beside the body of the dead man. She realised she was rocking back and forth.

At last, Dad spoke. His voice was slow and heavy. ‘Sadie, I've never asked you to do anything that's wrong, have I?'

‘No, Dad. Of course not.'

‘I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry. But I'm going to ask you now.'