Justice and Utu (11 page)

They packed away their modern clothes, then returned to the men. They, too, had changed into the colonial attire purchased in Paihia. The two groups had just rejoined each other when they heard a sudden shout. ‘You there! Stand still!'

A shot rang out. Evie clutched at her chest in sudden fright.

 

Mat spun and stared as a dozen colonial soldiers, clad in rough black breeches and coats and clutching bayoneted muskets, appeared all around them. One man held a smoking musket, having discharged the warning shot.

A sergeant came forward, confronting Wiri. ‘Who are you, sir? What are you doing here?' His voice was thoroughly English. Then his eyes flickered around the group, took in Donna Kyle's pale face with its distinctive moko on the chin,
and he went pale. ‘My God, lads, it's the White Witch!'

Every gun was suddenly trained on Donna, every face intent and fearful. She dropped the bonnet she held, and stared about her, her expression a blend of scorn and apprehension.

‘That isn't necessary, Sergeant,' Wiri put in. ‘She's my prisoner.'

‘Your prisoner, sir? How so? Why is she not in chains?'

‘No need. Her powers are bound. She is helpless.' Wiri walked before the ranks of muskets casually. ‘We found her just south of here.'

‘And you are?'

‘Wiremu.'

The sergeant gulped. ‘The Immortal?'

Wiri gave a small bow in acknowledgment. ‘She is my prisoner, sergeant. My bounty.'

‘Your bounty,' the sergeant agreed sourly. ‘Who are these others?'

‘Associates of mine. Friends to Aethlyn Jones.'

A mutter ran through the ranks, and the sergeant looked even more disgruntled. ‘The Adept Aethlyn Jones? I see.' He rubbed his whiskery chin. ‘Please come with me, sir. I must take you to Hobson.' His voice took on a resigned tone as he mentioned the lieutenant-governor.

‘Hobson is here?'

‘He took the over-night postal carriage, and got into Paihia just after the attack on the Treaty House.'

Wiri's eyebrows shot up. ‘There was an attack on the Treaty House?'

‘That's for the governor to relate, sir,' the sergeant replied. ‘Come along, please.'

They followed the soldiers through the woods, along an undulating path amidst thick native vegetation, before emerging at the rear of a wooden building. It was single-floored with two wings and a cream-painted timber exterior. A thin man with bristling sideburns greeted the sergeant, and Mat glimpsed a thin woman harbouring a cluster of tiny white children in her skirts. They all stared at Donna with wide eyes.

The group was led around the front of the house to where the huge lawn of the Treaty grounds spread. When Mat was much younger, he'd come here (in the modern world) with his parents. It had been a tranquil place, and the knowledge of what had occurred in the past had given it a serene, almost sacred atmosphere. Today, the tranquillity had been destroyed. The lawn was badly gouged, and a large marquee that had been erected in front of the house was torn and wrecked. There were soldiers everywhere, and Maori warriors, too. Both groups seemed equally outraged. When they saw Donna, that anger had a target. In seconds, a wall of faces, dark and pale, gathered about them shouting threats. Mat hovered protectively by Evie, wondering what to do if it got ugly.

The sergeant went inside, and the soldiers and warriors drew closer about, seemingly only constrained from violence by Wiri's presence. But then the sergeant re-emerged, and led them inside the house to a small room at the front right. The building looked worst from the front. Its windows were smashed and its outer walls were scratched, in some places broken, but it seemed structurally intact. Many of the onlookers tried to follow them, but the officers constrained
them. They pressed their faces to the broken glass, listening intently.

In the front room, a dozen men were gathered about a desk. Most were armed. Wiri nodded in greeting to the small man with sideburns they'd glimpsed earlier. ‘Mr Busby.' The man nodded back, his expression neutral.

The only man sitting was Captain Hobson. Mat saw him look up as they came, blearily trying to focus. He saw the way the soldiers looked at Hobson, too; the disdain at the slurring in his voice. ‘Who issh't, you shay?'

‘Wiremu the Immortal,' a thin man with lively eyes replied. ‘He has Donna Kyle.'

Hobson's eyes bulged. ‘Kyle? She's here?' His eyes fluttered about until they fixed upon the witch. ‘Why … why ish she not in chains?' He lurched to his feet.

Donna Kyle took a quick step forward, causing the lieutenant-governor to step back quickly, falling backwards over his chair and sprawling ridiculously. He scrambled to his feet awkwardly, in the hands of his advisers. Donna cocked a hip, her voice mocking. ‘Oh, my pardon, Captain. I was just going to offer my wrists for cuffing.'

A suppressed titter ran through the meeting house, particularly from the clumps of Maori to the rear of the lines of soldiers, but Hobson flushed angrily. ‘Then weeshh shall remedy that!' he exclaimed in a fluting voice, pushing unsteadily away from the grip of his aides.

‘Sir!' Wiri stepped in front of Donna, throwing her a warning look. ‘Might I have a word with you in private? Please!'

Hobson squinted at him. ‘Wiremu the Immortal. I've heard
enough from you at the trialsh in Akarana.' He looked at Mat. ‘And thish youth alsho, dammit!'

‘Sir, it is important!'

Hobson drew himself up. ‘In chainsh! Put the witch in chainsh!' He clutched at his chest, and Mat was worried that he would have some kind of turn — hadn't the real Hobson died of a stroke?

Donna grabbed Mat's wrist and hissed in his ear. ‘If Wiremu doesn't get us out of this, you must.' Then two soldiers stepped forward and seized her roughly. Whatever the men thought of Hobson, there was no hesitation in carrying out this particular order. She was pulled from the room, while Damien stood protectively over Evie, lest anyone take it into their head that she was Donna's apprentice.

Wiri turned back to Hobson. ‘Captain, I must—'

The thin, rakish gentleman closest to Hobson picked up the captain's chair, then dusted at his frock coat. ‘Governor, send this native wretch away. He was as close to Puarata as the witch was. Grey was wrong to pardon him. And we have much to discuss, after these awful events.'

‘Mr Freeman,' Wiri said, fixing on the man, ‘what I have to say is of great
value.
Might you at least hear what I have to say?'

Freeman's eyes flickered at the word ‘value'. He turned to Hobson and bowed obsequiously. ‘Governor, there may be some sense in this. Might I be spared a moment with this man?'

Hobson stared glassily at Freeman, and then waved his hand dismissively. He fell back into his seat, which Freeman had righted. ‘Very well, Freeman, but don't be long. I need
you. What to tell Grey, eh? What can I tell him?' He looked on the verge of tears.

Freeman beckoned to Wiri, who drew Mat with him, motioning for Damien to stay with Evie. They followed Freeman out the back into a small courtyard, which was empty.

Wiri whispered to Mat, ‘James Freeman is Hobson's secretary. I've done business with him before, when I was with Puarata. John Logan Campbell described him as “the most disgustingly immoral swindling scoundrel in town”.'

Mat looked at the little secretary with narrowed eyes. ‘I see.'

Wiri grinned. ‘Don't worry, Freeman's not that bad. Don't trust him, but hear him out. When it comes down to it, Logan Campbell was “in the club”; rich, politically well-connected, staunchly religious, and a hard man. Freeman was a pleasure-seeking, low-born atheistic opportunist married to a dancer, and most certainly not
in the club
. I've never liked men who criticize others in public. Freeman's dodgy, but not unreasonable.'

Freeman waved Wiri and Mat closer. His face had a feverishly hungry cast to it. ‘Well, Wiremu! Long time no see, eh?'

‘Nineteen-thirty-eight, wasn't it?' Wiri enquired. ‘Hobson seems worse than ever.'

‘Waitangi Day is always a trial for him. He's got barely fifty soldiers, little authority, and Grey treats him with contempt. Hone Heke is unchecked, Kororareka is still a hive of iniquity, and now this latest mess. He's feeling wretched, poor fellow.'

Wiri leant closer, surreptitiously pressing coins into
Freeman's hand. ‘What happened here?'

Freeman's eyes flickered around, then whispered hoarsely. ‘A taniwha attacked the Treaty House, with Asher Grieve on its back. It was slaughter! And Grieve has stolen the Treaty!'

Wiri seemed completely stunned. Mat had never seen his jaw drop as it did then.
‘He stole the Treaty?'

‘It happened mid-morning. The swine didn't even feel the need to conceal himself. I was in Paihia tending to Hobson, who'd just got in on the postal carriage. He's still exhausted from Waitangi Day. Your prime minister might think he's got it tough, but imagine what it's like for poor Hobson: the chiefs berate him for hours! Anyway, Sergeant Mackie was in charge here, but I can't blame him, idiot though he is. Asher Grieve on the back of a taniwha — who could stop that?'

‘Did many die?' Wiri asked in a flat voice.

‘Dozens. Regular soldiers and Maori both. The beast cut through us, and Grieve brought fire and lightning. How did he master a taniwha?'

Wiri glanced at Mat, then back at Freeman. ‘The taniwha must have been young and not bonded to a place, the way most are. Such beings can be enslaved by men with Grieve's knowledge and skills.'

Or seduced by Byron Kikitoa
, Mat thought bitterly.

Freeman winced. ‘I thought we would all die, I swear. And now the Treaty is stolen! I shudder to think what that will mean.'

Mat tentatively raised his voice. ‘Er … what will it mean, actually? I mean, no-one cares about the Treaty anymore.'

Freeman looked hurt. ‘Please, young man! It is our founding document! I myself had a hand in the drafting.'

‘But all it does is cause arguments. And there are copies all over the place. Isn't the original in Wellington anyway?'

‘This is Jones's protégé?' Freeman enquired of Wiri. ‘Listen, boy, it's not so simple. Imperfect though it is, the Treaty is the spiritual bond of the nation. War was brewing, you see. The chiefs were poised to turn on the settlers, and then there would have been a blood bath. It's ambiguous and imperfect, yes. But it forestalled conflict, deflected the French, and provided the beginnings of national unity. Here in Aotearoa, it has a spiritual resonance. The copy kept here is the purest copy, if you like. It is the real original, not the one in Wellington. Destroy it, and it is conceivable that all it achieved will unravel. Certainly in this world, perhaps even in yours.'

‘Really?' Mat glanced up at Wiri, who nodded gravely.

‘The original Treaty must be recovered,' Freeman insisted. ‘Though how we can do it with half our men dead I don't know.'

‘Where did Grieve go afterwards?'

‘Who knows? No-one saw. It was a misty morning here — no coincidence, I'm guessing. But I'd not be surprised if he was over the ways …' Freeman jerked his head in the direction of Kororareka. Then he nudged Wiri. ‘What are you doing with Kyle, eh? I'm not buying this story that you captured her for bounty, either, so don't try it on me.'

‘She broke out when Grieve did, but separately. You know her, James — she hates Asher more than the Devil hates God. She enlisted me privately to help hunt him down.'

‘Why would she not go to Grey? Ah, no, of course, Grey would lock her up without listening.' Freeman mused.
‘Wiremu the Immortal and Donna Kyle working together — who'd have thought! I knew she was sweet on you, but I thought you were immune to her.'

‘I am,' Wiri replied firmly. ‘But in this matter, she's right: if we don't hunt down Grieve, he'll get clean away.'

Freeman nibbled his lower lip, then whispered conspiratorially. ‘I presume you need Hobson to release her? He won't, you know. Recapturing Kyle is the one good thing he can parade before Grey in this whole mess. He'll not give her up.'

‘He must!' Wiri replied. ‘She's the only one with the insight to find Asher. She's not been released from her magical shackles, so she has no power. She's no threat, and for once she wants the same thing we do: Asher Grieve in chains.'

Freeman shook his head. ‘He still won't do it, old boy. Hobson's exhausted, ill, and not thinking straight. It's a shame — when he's lucid, you get glimpses of a better man. But his whole existence here in Aotearoa is one of ill health. He's had fifty-seven strokes that I've counted in the past century. Would've killed someone who wasn't already dead. On top of that you've got the constant belittling and downright abuse from all around him. Only I have stood by him,' he added, in a self-righteous voice.

‘Yeah, you're a saint, James,' Wiri remarked drily. ‘We need Kyle released. I'll stand parole for her. We can pay—'

‘Won't do, old boy,' Freeman shook his head. ‘No can do. anything but that.' He shook his head regretfully. ‘You'll be lucky not to face charges yourself. Many don't believe it was right of Grey to pardon you. They don't know, or don't want to know, the truth of your condition, of course, but
nevertheless …' He half-turned. ‘I must attend upon Hobson.'

Mat was looking hopelessly at Wiri when there was a sudden uproar from within the Treaty House. ‘Freeman!' someone yelled. ‘Hobson's having another stroke!'

‘Damnation!' Freeman swore, throwing a look at Wiri, and then running for the building. ‘This afterlife is too much for him!'

Wiri grabbed Mat's shoulder. ‘What has Jones taught you of healing, Mat?'

‘Um … a little,' Mat replied doubtfully.