Pearls (25 page)

Wes rowed with his back towards the blood-red shore. Simeon sat facing him, his arm in a sling, whispering the story of Patrick Flynn's death.

After he had finished, Wes continued to row, same steady pace, saying nothing. The click of the oarlocks and the rippling of the water were the only sounds. Simeon did not want to think about death any more on such a still and beautiful morning but he knew that if he did not confess the ghost of the white boss Flynn would haunt him everywhere he went.

'I doan know, boy,' Wes said finally. He heaved on the oars again, his chest muscles rippling in time with each stroke. 'I doan know if I loves you or hates you reet now. You gonna save de skipper, but it was you put his head in de noose.'

'Didn't mean for him to get the blame.'

Wes paused for a moment to lift his right hand from the oar and touch the
ju-ju
at his neck. 'Well he did and dat is when you should have spoke up.'

'You do me one favour?'

'Mebbe.'

'Huey Fong. He gotta pay too.'

Wes shook his head. 'I doan know, boy, mebbe I bust his head when I get de chance, but Wes is a lover, not a killer.'

'Do it for me, Wes.'

'You got folk hyar in de town, boy. Let yo' kin do what has to be done.'

They beached the dinghy on the foreshore and Simeon waded into the ankle-deep water. Wes shook his head. Look at him all beat up and with that scared look on his face, he looked like a kid just out of school. Jay-sus!

But this was his day to die.

Simeon turned around. 'You take care now, Wes.'

Wes nodded. What was there to say? A man about to sign his own death warrant had no use for the good luck. He watched him pad bare-foot up the dunes towards the town. He stopped once to stare down at the Lacey camp, looking for a last glimpse of her. Then he disappeared over the rise and went to look for Sergeant Clarke.

Chapter 40

The
Centaur
, with its familiar black hull and blue funnel, was moored at the end of the long jetty. It was just in from Singapore and would be leaving within the hour to catch the tide. The day before it was to be Cameron's death boat; now he stood on the jetty a free man. After Simeon's confession, the Governor had immediately issued an official pardon.

Cameron searched the crowd milling around the gangway. Everyone was staring back at him - he was a celebrity now, of sorts. He ignored the shouts of congratulation with the same indifference as the cold stares of those still not convinced of his innocence. The crowd - government officials, clerks, veranda pearlers, one of them a member of the jury that had declared him a murderer - parted to let him through.

'Rosie.'

When she saw him she shouted his name and threw her arms around his neck.

He managed to untangle himself. He nodded at the trunk by her feet. 'I heard you were leaving, lass.'

'I can't stay here. I hate this place now.'

He wiped away her tears with the back of his hand. 'Bonnie faithful Rose,' he said.

'People are looking.'

'Let them look all they want.'

'I'm sorry. I let you down.'

'You dinnae let me down.'

'In court ... I tried ...'

'I dinnae understand, lass.'

'Understand?'

'Why I'm placed so highly in your affections. I dinnae think I deserve it.'

'Cam I ...'

'Stay here with me.'

'What?'

'Stay here, Rosie. Dinnae run away. Abide here and marry me.'

Her mouth fell open in surprise. She wanted desperately to say no to him. How could he love her? She had been his whore, he had left his money by her bed. There was only one reason for this sudden and unexpected declaration of love; they had just taken the death hood from his face and he wasn't thinking right. She knew he didn't really love her, at least, not the way he had loved the Niland woman. Perhaps he felt he owed her something.

'I love you, Cam. You know that. But I ...'

'Then marry me.'

She had to refuse. It was the only right thing for both of them. And yet, if he loved her, if only a little, it would be enough for her.

She nodded, hating herself for it.

He swept her up in his arms. You are so weak, Rosie Thompson, she thought. Weak, weak. She hoped she wouldn't regret it.

***

Kendo stared at the plates on the table with a look of reproach. They had hardly touched their fish, a barramundi caught fresh just that day. 'No good, missus?' he said to Kate.

'Thank you, Kendo, it was delicious, but I'm just not hungry.'

George nodded, indicating that he should remove the plates.

Kendo busied himself clearing the dinner table. Something wrong here. The missus had been off her food for weeks, and now the boss had lost his appetite, too. At this rate they wouldn't need a cook much longer.

Oh well, all the more for him and Liddy.

George waited until Kendo had left the room and then turned to his wife. 'You've heard the news?'

Kate nodded.

'I would have thought you would be celebrating.'

'Let's not go through all that again.'

George toyed with his moustache. He moved his dessert spoon to the side, then tapped it back into place again. 'It's intolerable that this ... nigger ... whoever it is ... should have kept quiet for so long. And I refuse to believe your father traded in snide pearls.'

'Everyone trades in snides, George.'

'I hope you don't include me among their number.'

'No, of course not.'

He drummed on the edge of the table with his fingers. 'Well at least we know what happened.'

'I don't care what happened. My father's dead. Nothing will change that.'

'I blame Clarke personally. If he'd done his job ...'

There was a commotion at the front door. Kate heard Liddy shouting and then the door banged open. They Kendo's voice added to the affray. Kate heard a man's voice, deep and very angry.

'Cameron,' Kate said.

George leaped to his feet and ran into his study. A moment later Cameron appeared in the doorway of the dining room, Liddy still tugging at his jacket, Kendo trying to block the way.

Kate got to her feet. 'It's all right,' she said. 'He may come in.'

Liddy fled. Kendo, who remembered Cameron as the white boss who had saved his life the night of the riots, immediately stood back, relieved. He bowed formally to Cameron and went back to the kitchen.

Cameron removed his hat. 'Hello, Kate.'

'What do you want, Cam?'

He looked none the worse for his ordeal over the last few months. A little pale, perhaps. 'I want to see your husband.'

'What do you want with him?'

Cameron ignored the question, cocking his head to one side. 'You look thin, lass. I hope you've nae been worried on my account.'

At that moment George reappeared holding a revolver.

'Why, hello George,' Cameron said.

'Get out of here.' It came out as a squeak.

'Would you really shoot me now, George. Would you?'

'Get out.'

'It's all right, I dinnae intend to stay long. I just wanted you to know that I found out about you and Huey Fong. You put him up to it, didn't you? To keep that Manilaman diver quiet.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Cameron leaned forward, so that the muzzle of the revolver touched his chest. 'What goes around, comes around.'

The gun shook in his George's hand and for one dreadful moment Kate imagined she saw her husband's finger tighten around the trigger. But then Cameron turned away and walked out, and moments later the front door slammed behind him.

Kate ran after him. 'More revenge, Cam?' she called from the veranda.

He stopped on the path and turned around. 'With good reason.'

'There's always a reason, isn't there? God forbid you should ever just walk away and get on with your life.'

'Why did you nae come?' he said.

She didn't answer him. He walked away, the shell grit crunching under his boots.

***

Laughter from the pearler's bungalows echoed across the foreshore and a fish broke the surface of the water with a loud
plop!
somewhere out in the bay. The white finger of the Ghost Light, the beacon on Buccaneer Rock, searched the dark sea for unwary captains.

Huey Fong made his way back through the dunes to Lacey's camp. He had quit Niland's fleet after the
Ilsa
and gone back to work for Lacey. One more season and he would go home to Manila; or maybe move on to Darwin and get a job on a lugger there. He had heard the pearls were not as plentiful but the shell was better.

Not as much chance of a knife in the ribs either.

He trudged towards the cluster of lamp-lit shacks, where another dark-skinned Adonis was strumming on a guitar. The plaintive chords made him think of Simeon. Poor Simeon. Put his head in a noose for some white boss. What a fool.

He stumbled. Too much arrack again. Well, it was his last chance for a while. Tomorrow he would be back out on the pearling grounds and a long time before the next big drunk. He would be glad when he was finished with this life.

He saw another man weaving down the dunes just ahead of him. He laughed. 'You drunk too much too, huh?'

The man lost his footing coming down the dune and sent them both sprawling into the sand. 'Hey, what are you-'

It was like his neck was caught in a vice. A hand clamped around his mouth to shut him up. What was happening? The man had him from behind, there was nothing he could do to break the grip.

Huey Fong groped for the knife on his belt, but the other man had anticipated him and strong fingers closed around his wrist, twisting, until he lost all the feeling in his arm and the blade that might have saved him dropped into the sand.

He kicked and bucked but it was no good. he knew it was no good. He couldn't get free and he couldn't get any air.

He did not hear the crack of spine that signalled it was all over. He had already passed out when his attacker gave his neck the final twist that ended the struggle.

***

Nosiro Tanaka got to his feet, breathing hard. The little Manilaman cockroach had been tougher than he thought. He brushed the beach sand from his clean linen suit and scrambled back up the dune. It was distasteful work, but it had to be done. Debts had been paid no, honour had been served. He had never believed that story about the shark.

His nephew's spirit could rest with his ancestors now.

Chapter 41

BROOME, 1926

Cameron lay on his bunk and gritted his teeth against the pain of the rheumatics. He knew it better from the medical name they had given it in the Navy -
caisson's disease
. It had got its name because it first affected men working in 'caissons', the watertight chambers used for excavating underwater during bridge construction.

When the diving suit was first introduced a few years before the Kaisers War it became a serious problem. Then some boffin discovered that the body absorbed more nitrogen at depth than it did on the surface, and that if a diver came up too quickly the gas did not have time to escape. It bubbled in the bloodstream like soda water, causing agonising pains in the joints, making elbows and knees spasm and bend - hence, the diver's name for it - the bends.

Cameron had seen Japanese divers on other boats bent double with agonising cramps after a long dive, screaming and thrashing on the deck while their crew mates tried to hold them down. One of those men had been crippled for life and had been sent back to Japan to finish his days as a beggar in the street; the other had been far luckier. He died.

The pain usually started in the shoulders, and was then followed by blinding headaches and chest pains. Cam described it as like having a toothache in his whole body. All of the divers suffered to some degree. It usually started for Cameron when he was in his bunk at night. The only real relief was to climb back into his wet diving suit and go below again. But he only did that if it was really bad. He usually tried to hang on until morning.

Wes rolled him a cigarette and handed it to him as he sat on the edge of his bunk, sweating and shivering. This time the pain was so bad he could hardly hold the cigarette to his lips. Wes splashed cadjeput oil on Cameron's shoulders and rubbed it in. It helped, but only a little.

'Mebbe time you give this up,' Wes growled. 'You bin thumbin' yo' nose at de sea fo' long 'nuff, skip.'