Justice and Utu (12 page)

‘Then come on!' He pulled Mat into motion, as he hurried after Freeman.

Mat followed Wiri back inside, where the whole Treaty House was in an uproar. Soldiers were milling on the fringes, their officers at a loss. The civilians close to the governor's desk were backing away, their faces showing a range of emotions, from pity to contempt to hope. Only Freeman was with the governor, shouting for aid as he bent over the stricken Hobson.

‘Mat, do what you can,' Wiri said.

Mat swallowed. Jones had taught him first aid, including how to deal with people having seizures. Ironically, Jones had learnt it himself at a St John's workplace first-aid course, posing as an electrician. Those lessons filled Mat's memories as he knelt beside Freeman. ‘Sir, please, I can help.'

Freeman whirled protectively, his expression for once unguarded. Mat read him in an instant:
He relies on Hobson for his own status … and he even cares, too. He's terrified of losing him …
‘Please, sir, give me room,' Mat said, trying to sound confident. Evie joined him, which filled him with
gratitude and pride, but he had to concentrate on Hobson. The man's face was pasty and slack, his eyes unfocused, his breath laboured. ‘Captain? Can you hear me?'

The man continued to groan, his hand trembling spasmodically as it clawed his breast. ‘Evie, get his cravat off, help him breathe.'

She knelt opposite him, her hands wrenching open the governor's top buttons. Mat grabbed Hobson's hands. He was vaguely aware that all about him the men were staring. ‘Better the old fart dies and moves on,' someone murmured. As if he'd heard, Hobson went rigid, his back arching, his eyes full of dread and pain, and then he seemed to sag and deflate.

‘No! Captain!' Freeman grabbed Mat's shoulder. ‘You said you'd help!'

‘Get off me — this isn't over!' Mat shouted. ‘Damien!'

Damien shouldered forward, and pulled Freeman away, provoking a scuffle. Mat looked up at Evie. ‘Rescue breathing! Let's turn him.' Together they eased the limp governor onto his back, then Mat wrenched a handkerchief from Hobson's top pocket, put it by his head, and then knelt and began to pump at Hobson's chest. ‘One … two … three …' Fifteen compressions in rapid succession. Evie knelt by the governor's head and bent over his mouth, her ear touching his lips, seeking signs of life. She shook her head.

Shit!
Mat put the handkerchief over Hobson's mouth, sealed his mouth with his own, then blew through the cloth twice, hard. Then more compressions, while all about them people murmured. Freeman struggled in Damien's grasp, while Wiri kept the press of men at bay.

‘… fourteen, fifteen …' More breaths, more compressions.

Evie shook her head.

Damn, we need more …

He reached inside, ignited his little spiral of magical energy and extended his senses outwards. The clamour and confusion receded. Gently as he could, he let his awareness enter the glassy eyes of the dying man …

… and embraced the sea, blue-black waters, never-ending troughs and crests, the salty taste of spume and spray. Waves like mountains. Storms shrieking. Calm days of twinkling blue. Gulls wailing. Dolphins in the bow waves. A young man, thin with a straight back, staring out over the ocean, glad just to be alive …

‘Captain Hobson!'

Except he isn't a captain, yet. Just another young officer, serving his country at sea. The flash of the cannons are almost beautiful in their synchronized blooming, until the shots blast the timbers, tearing the illusion of beauty apart. Splinters fly like shrapnel, the ship convulsing. Screams and choked cries and spraying blood. Ropes and timbers falling. Canvas alight. A bloody forearm flopping to the deck. Shouts from above, orders flying. Life, never so precious as in its ending. The young man strides the sea-tossed deck, relaying commands, danger an abstract thing. Invulnerable, totally alive. In his element.

‘Will! Will Hobson!'

The young man half-hears, cocks his head, then goes on, his sabre waving like a conductor's baton. Then an older face, ruined by illness and doubt and ridicule, intrudes.

‘That boy is lost to me,' the dying man gasped. ‘He never came here. He stayed in the Caribbean. Let me die. It is all I want.'

‘Bring him here,' Mat whispered. ‘He is you.'

‘I can't. Give me peace.'

‘You are needed, sir.'

‘They don't need me. They laugh at me. They think me a fool. They want me dead.'

‘Prove them wrong, sir. Come back to us.'

For a long moment, Mat thought it might have worked. It seemed that the younger Will Hobson heard the older one, cocked his head, and reached out … but then nothing. The visions fell away.

Mat exhaled and opened his eyes. Evie was kneeling opposite him, and between them lay the prone, still body of Lieutenant-Governor William Hobson, at peace at last. Freeman gave a wailing cry, falling to his knees. Mat bowed his head, suddenly aware that he was exhausted. He felt a crushing sense of failure.

Evie reached across and took his hands in hers. ‘Don't cry,' she whispered. He blinked, and realized that he was indeed weeping. He brushed his face angrily on his sleeve, and nodded thanks to her, for being there.

I thought we'd saved him, for a moment …

He bowed his head.

Suddenly the whole room gasped. Mat opened his eyes to see Hobson's body fade into transparency, and then it was simply not there.

‘What have you done to him!' Freeman shrieked at him. ‘What have you done?'

Mat gaped, his eyes going from the empty space where the governor had lain, to Evie to Freeman to Wiri.

‘Sorcery! Sorcery! He slew the governor with sorcery!' Freeman's face was wild with grief and condemnation. ‘Kill him!'

Damien stepped in beside Mat protectively, and Wiri stood over him and Evie, measuring the space around them as the soldiers drew back, lifting their muskets. ‘Hold your fire!' shouted Sergeant Mackie. ‘Take them alive!'

Mat stared about him, trying to see a way he could get them out of this. ‘I'll take us out of Aotearoa,' he whispered. ‘Grab hold.'

‘They'll shoot the moment they see you try,' Wiri warned. ‘It takes too long.'

Mat groaned. ‘We've got to get out.'

‘Shoot at the first sign of trickery,' Mackie ordered his men, eyeing Mat with a mixture of fear and loathing. ‘Damned warlocks.'

Mat felt sick inside, as he reluctantly discarded hopes of escape for now. ‘I'm sorry,' he whispered. Slowly, they all raised their hands.

A shout echoed from outside. ‘Sergeant! Sergeant Mackie!'

The whole room went silent. The sergeant threw an impatient look sideways, in the direction of the caller. ‘What is it, damnit?'

‘There's a new ship in the harbour, sir.'

‘So?'

‘It's the
Rattlesnake!'

‘The
Rattlesnake
? But that's Hobson's old ship!'

‘Yes, sir! They're signalling, requesting permission to come ashore.'

Mackie looked at Freeman, then every head turned to Mat.

‘What have you done?' Freeman asked again, in a very different tone to before.

B
AY OF
I
SLANDS
, S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON

M
at held Evie's hand as they were herded down to Hobson's Bay. There was indeed a new ship standing off the coast, a mere two hundred yards away. The Union Jack fluttered from the flagstaff. The sails were being furled, and a small rowing boat was being lowered into the water. The shouting of the crewmen carried across the water.

‘Well, I'll be damned.' Mackie stared at Mat. ‘Did you do this, boy?'

I don't know …

They all watched as the rowboat was filled, the last man to board it an erect figure in a large plumed hat and a blue jacket. Someone with a telescope called out: ‘It's Hobson, alright!' A few cheered, but most looked on apprehensively.

Mat's eyes sought James Freeman. The secretary was wringing his hands, muttering beneath his breath in a paroxysm of nervous tension. Whether this was a new, younger Hobson or someone else entirely, the old, ill man
Freeman had served for more than a century was gone. Everything was about to change.

Mat glanced at Evie, whose face was awestruck. ‘You called him back,' she whispered.

Perhaps … let's see
. He peered anxiously forward.

The rowboat plied the waters swiftly, and in minutes was being hauled up onto the beach. The plumed officer leapt from the bow to the shingly beach with easy athleticism and strode forward. ‘Hello, good sirs! What on Earth is happening? We were off Jamaica two minutes ago sailing a sloop. Now I find myself and my crew aboard a frigate — a frigate, by George! — and I'll be damned if this isn't Waitangi! What the dickens is going on, eh?'

Freeman gave a sob, and fell to his knees before the newcomer. ‘Captain Hobson!'

The tall captain — he was surely in his early forties, but looked fit and lean — frowned politely. ‘I know you, don't I?' he asked, a little uncertainty creeping into his crisply enunciated English.

‘Sir, it's me! James Freeman, your secretary!'

‘Secretary, eh? Hmmm … I'm not sure I recall …' He looked about him, taking in the soldiers and the wary perimeter they still maintained about Mat, Wiri, Damien and Evie. ‘What's happening here? Who's in charge?'

Freeman glanced at Mackie, then back up at Hobson. ‘Er, you are, sir.'

The captain cocked his head in amused surprise. ‘I am?'

‘Yes, sir,' Freeman said quickly. ‘You are our governor, the first governor of Aotearoa, as appointed by the Queen. And I am your secretary and aide, sir,' he quickly added.

‘Queen Victoria?' Hobson enquired. ‘Does her word still have authority here?'

Freeman gave a small shrug. ‘We think so. Here in the colonies we're never quite sure who is currently ruling the mythlands of Mother England.'

‘That's no clearer to we who dwell in the Caribbean, Master Freeman. Last I heard, King Arthur had returned to the throne of Camelot and was claiming dominion over all England, but Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I were contesting his claim, and wooing Oliver Cromwell's New Model Army for the fray.'

‘Makes you glad we're in peaceful Aotearoa,' Wiri whispered to Mat ironically.

‘Here, you are governor of the North, from Reinga to Northern Akarana,' Freeman explained.

The names clearly meant something to Hobson. He stood, looking about the circle of faces, occasionally nodding to a semi-familiar face. Mat could only imagine what it was like for him — a ghost pulled from one mythland to another. His eyes strayed across the gathered men, and stopped on Mat with a start of recognition. ‘You, lad. Do I know you?' An uncomfortable silence descended over the gathering. ‘Well?' Hobson enquired, with a hint of steel in his voice. ‘Speak up, lad?'

‘He's the one what brought you here, Cap'n,' Mackie exclaimed.

Hobson blinked. ‘This boy? I thought I saw you just before we came here … Come here, lad, and explain.'

Up close, this William Hobson was recognizably the same man, but also very different. Younger, with an energy and
optimism about him that his older self had lost along the way. Where the older Hobson had been beaten down by illness and stress and failure, this man was unbowed. He had an air of command tempered by an amused eye. ‘Well, lad?' he asked, looking Mat up and down.

‘Sir, do you know anything of your life after the Caribbean?' Mat asked him.

Hobson pulled a reflective face. ‘At times I have these vague memories of my latter years. But my heart was always in the Indies, you know. Those were my best days — and what a place! A panoply of all that is good and bad in humanity. Sunshine, beautiful islands, wild women and remarkable men. Gold and treasure. Friends and enemies. What an adventure! Why would I want to be elsewhere?'

‘So you went there when you died?'

Hobson smiled. ‘Who wouldn't? Though it always seemed to me that some part of me remained in New Zealand, you know. It seems I was right. I must have left all my misery here.'

Well put
, Mat thought.
All my misery
…

‘So,' Hobson enquired, ‘who are you, lad? Are you one of the native people?'

‘My name is Matiu Douglas, sir. And my father
is
Maori, but my mother is Irish.'

‘And you are a native shaman?' Hobson enquired politely. ‘Don't worry, I've seen the like in the Indies. Both before and after passing over.' He glanced about, sensing the tension in the air. ‘What is going on here? One moment we're sailing my old sloop — the
Whim
, you understand, nice enough vessel, a little bit laggardly to windward — and now suddenly I'm in
a frigate! I had to check the name on the stern boards to find out which one!' He had the awestruck tones of a man whose Nissan had just morphed into a Ferrari. ‘The
Rattlesnake!
Now
that
was a ship!'

Mat quickly told him about the theft of the Treaty document, and the pursuit of Venn and Grieve. And about Donna Kyle. Hobson took it in quickly, as though he already subconsciously knew all this, courtesy of his older self. Eventually he lifted a finger, cutting Mat off. ‘Alright, young man. May I call you Mat? Good lad, Mat, I think I'm with you now.' He straightened, patted Mat's shoulder, then strode up the gentle slope, trailed by his naval aides. ‘Right then. Freeman, await me presently. Sergeant, these four are free to attend me immediately. Bring me this Kyle woman, right away! The rest of you, fall into rank. Inspection in ten minutes.' He clapped his hands, and smiled about him. ‘Clear the decks, lads. It's time for action.'

 

‘I am given to understand that you are a dangerous woman, Miss Kyle,' said Hobson, staring at Donna appraisingly. He was sitting at the desk in Busby's front room, legs crossed, alert even in repose. An utterly different being to his older self.

He knows nothing of what his other self did here after death
, Mat realized. He saw Donna come to the same realization, her eyes flashing at a perceived opportunity. Her bonnet was gone, leaving her looking anachronistic with her modern bobbed hairstyle and colonial dress. Her face was bruised from scuffling with her captors, and her skirts dirty, but she
tossed her head and looked at the governor as if she were a queen receiving a courtier. ‘I am very perilous, Governor,' she said, almost flirting. ‘But I'm not as dangerous as my father, and you need me to capture him.'

Hobson leant back, weighing her words and demeanour. He turned to Wiri. ‘So, Wiremu, let me check that I have this straight. This woman is a condemned witch, under sentence of death. She is pursuing her likewise-condemned father, and you and my young friend Mat here are helping her hunt said father?' Wiri nodded. Freeman went to say something, and so did Mackie, but Hobson waved them to silence. ‘This Asher Grieve is the greater villain, you say?'

‘Yes, sir,' Wiri agreed. ‘Miss Kyle has demonstrated repentance and hopes to win a pardon by returning her father to Crown custody.'

‘You must have had a severe falling out with your parent, Miss Kyle,' Hobson said, his eyes drawn to Donna again, as if he were a compass needle and she were North.

‘He sold me into slavery,' Donna told him. ‘I burn to bring him to justice.'

Hobson inclined his head. ‘Who can refuse a damsel in distress?' he asked rhetorically.

‘But, sir,' Mackie groaned, ‘she's a condemned witch! Governor Grey—'

Hobson slapped the table. ‘Your Governor Grey is not here! Time is passing, gentlemen, and we cannot await orders. We must act. Apparently I am in command, so I get to choose those actions.'

‘Yes, sir …' The soldiers looked at each other worriedly.

‘Excellent! Wiremu, you seem a capable fellow, and
experienced in the local environment. Where will our enemies be, and in what strength?'

‘Governor, we believe that they will be across the harbour in Kororareka. It's a trading post for the whaling and trading vessels.'

‘A den of thieves and harlots,' Hobson commented. ‘I recall it somewhat, with little fondness.'

‘Exactly so, Captain,' Wiri agreed, with a wry smile. ‘If there is anywhere that Venn and Grieve would have transport waiting, it would be there. The Crown has little control there, and neither do the Maori chiefs. It's the logical place to find them.'

‘If the Crown has no authority there, how should we approach it?'

Wiri glanced at Donna, then spoke up again. ‘I believe Venn will have agents there, who could arrange a ship south to his stronghold. If you simply sail across the bay, or blockade the harbour, they will all go to ground.'

‘My ship has been plucked from one conflict to another, Wiremu. We need to re-provision, especially powder and shot. And we'll need more crew — a frigate has need of more sailors than a sloop.' He still looked utterly chuffed at having a frigate at his command.

‘We can resupply you here in Waitangi,' Freeman put in, eager to demonstrate his value. ‘And there'll be plenty of fellows who want revenge for the attack earlier.'

‘We should send agents into Kororareka,' Donna said. ‘If Father and Venn are there, we can trap them in the port and deal with them. It is mid-afternoon already. We must act soon.'

Hobson took this in gravely, and nodded agreement. ‘Who would you recommend, Wiremu?'

‘Captain, I am known there, and so is Miss Kyle. So, too, Freeman and all the local soldiery. And the local whalers in port will recognize your own men as navy by their demeanour.'

‘That leaves me,' said Mat quickly.

‘And me,' Damien echoed.

‘I could—' Evie began.

‘Not the girl! Not in Kororareka,' Donna cut in, glaring at Evie. ‘You'll find yourself kidnapped and given a new job you won't like,' she told the girl firmly.

‘I believe Mat and Damien are capable of this mission,' Wiri said. ‘But I agree about the girl. We'll find ways for you to help, Everalda, but not this time.'

Hobson gave his assent. ‘What else, Wiremu? I can't believe you do not have a role reserved for yourself in this endeavour?'

Wiri grinned. ‘I do indeed, Captain.'

‘You'll need me if that's going to work,' Donna told Wiri, seemingly in the know on what he planned.

‘Then I'd better join you both, to ensure the Queen's interests are upheld,' Hobson told them firmly, his eyes dancing.

 

Wiri and Hobson rowed until they caught the breeze. Then the small sail of the little boat billowed, and they picked up speed. The hull thrummed as it broke the waves. Mat could see Evie staring after them. She cut a forlorn figure on the stony shoreline of Hobson's Beach.

This mission isn't that dangerous,
Mat told himself.
We'll be back by sunset.

The crossing of the bay took only half an hour, and sunset was still several hours away when they hauled the boat ashore, a couple of miles south of Kororareka. Mat and Damien each had a pistol in their belt and a scarf about their neck. Mat also had his taiaha, and Damien had managed to persuade Hobson to loan him a sword. The boys had a large sack of grain each, their pretext for coming into town being that they were delivering supplies to a whisky-brewer, Jeremiah Sload. ‘You'll do fine so long as you're cautious,' Wiri told them both. ‘Jeremiah will know if Venn is in Kororareka, if anyone does.'

They pulled the boat out of the water and hid it beneath a drooping willow. ‘See you here again around seven. It'll still be light enough to see,' Wiri said before they parted. ‘Be careful, keep your heads down, and go straight to Sload's house. No heroics.'

‘What are you going to do?' Mat asked.

Wiri winked. ‘We're going to get some help from an old acquaintance.'

Mat and Damien nodded curiously, and then watched Wiri, Donna and Hobson turn inland and vanish into the bush. A more oddly matched trio Mat could not imagine.

‘I reckon Hobson fancies Witchy-poo,' Damien commented. ‘She moves fast, doesn't she? What are they off to do anyway?'

Mat shrugged. ‘They wouldn't say.'

‘I hate it when grown-ups keep secrets,' Damien muttered. ‘So, which way do we go?'

It took more than an hour of tramping before they came into sight of the tiny settlement of Kororareka. By then they were dripping with sweat. The sacks were heavier than they'd seemed when they'd first hefted them, and Mat had to manage his taiaha, too, which was awkward. He had to wedge it behind his neck, held there by the sack. It was horribly uncomfortable. They were swarmed by a cloud of sandflies, and soon by a pair of fantails darting about them, snapping at the insects.

They struck the edge of the township at Matauwhi Bay, which was separated from Kororareka by a headland with a rough and poorly maintained pa atop. A thin dirt trail ran through dense bush a few yards from the shore. Standing off the town was a small flotilla of ships of all sizes and states of repair. Broken-down fishing boats and battered whalers mostly, although there was a low-slung three-master with cannons run out and men swarming over them.