Shadow of the Osprey (37 page)

The Irishman smiled at his caution and answered confidently. ‘From what I have heard of Christie Palmerston and what I know of John and Luke I think they are equal to an army of Chinese. Besides, the four of us on horseback can move further and faster than men on foot.’

Horace raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘It will be your plan that will ultimately determine how you get the girl out. But always keep her rescue in mind. Your dealings with Mort are your affair alone and I will deny any knowledge in that matter. I hope you understand.’

‘I understand,’ Michael replied grimly. ‘You get me Christie Palmerston and John Wong and I will do the rest. I promise you, on my mother’s grave, that the rescue of that Chinese girl will be my primary purpose in going down the track. What happens between Mort and myself will involve no-one else.’

‘I believe you Michael,’ the Englishman replied with a heavy sigh. ‘But be assured, I will put in place means to ensure that you stick to your primary mission.’

‘So who is it going to be? John or Mister Palmerston?’ Michael said with a cold smile. He knew the way the Horace Browns of the world worked. He was utterly ruthless, and one of the two men accompanying him would be under instructions to remove him, should he deviate from his contract. And ‘remove’ probably meant a bullet in the back of the head.

‘It could be both,’ Horace replied with an equally cold smile. ‘But you will never know unless you do not stick to the mission you have been given.’

Michael shrugged nonchalantly at the implied threat. ‘Well, if there is nothing else, then I think you and I should retire to the bar for a drink to seal the bargain.’

Michael heaved himself from the cane chair. His body ached in places he had not ached before. Although he was only thirty-two his battle wounds made him feel old.

As Horace followed Michael along the verandah his thoughts were on the Prussian baron. Although the German had been foiled in his first attempt to annex New Guinea for the Kaiser, he would certainly try again. Horace had learned that he had booked a passage to Sydney. The loss of Herr Straub in the sinking of the
Osprey
had been a personal blow to von Fellmann, more than just the loss of a colleague, as Horace had discovered in his discreet inquiries. He felt some sympathy for his opponent, but he also knew that they would inevitably find themselves pitted against each other in the years ahead. The little English agent hoped he would have the services of Michael Duffy in the next confrontation.

The forced march was gruelling in the oppressive heat of the day. Captain Mort pushed the Chinese pirates and his own European sailors mercilessly as they trekked south west. At their present rate he calculated that they would strike the main trail within hours.

‘We stop for a rest soon Cap’n?’ Sims said puffing as he struggled up to Mort striding at the head of the column. ‘Men all done in if’n we don’t.’

Mort slowed his pace. ‘Call a stop Mister Sims,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’ll use the time to take a bearing.’

Sims straggled back down the column strung out through the tall rainforest. He gestured to the men to take a rest. When he came to the sweating Cochinese girl she slumped to the ground and hardly looked up at him as he passed.

Hue felt her body ache in every joint from the almost continuous twenty-four-hour forced march. She took deep breaths and gazed at the surrounding thick forest. So this was the land of the barbarians, she thought. It was lacking in character compared to her own lush forests of Cochin China.

She pulled herself to a tree, and rested with her back against the great forest giant while one of the Chinese armed with an ancient flint lock musket, squatted a few feet away, staring at her with barely concealed lust. She was not afraid of him. The cruel European barbarian with the piercing blue eyes and hair like the dried grass had quickly established his authority over the pirate captain, and the Chinese who had been fetched from Cooktown to join them.

The barbarian captain’s name was Mort. In French it meant
death
. An apt name, she thought. He had so casually killed one of the Chinese escort who had attempted to fondle her when they had stopped early in the morning. He had walked up to the Chinese pirate and simply run his sword through the man’s chest as smoothly as he had drawn it from its sheath. With the man dead at his feet, he had turned to Hue and, just as casually, wiped the bloody sword across her shoulders. Although she did not understand the words he had muttered, she did feel the chill in the tone of his voice.

Captain Woo had been outraged by the slaying of one of his men without his permission and had moved to intercept Mort. But the barbarian had been backed by his European sailors, who had brought their rapid-firing Winchesters to cover him, and the matter of who was in command was quickly established by force of arms.

So now Hue knew she was safe from the unwanted attentions of all the men – except perhaps for Mort. As the leader would he have her for himself? She shuddered, remembering those pale blue eyes examining her just after he had so casually killed the Chinese sailor.

Hue tried not to think about the future. The little hope she had felt since her capture, had been swept away by the blast that had ripped apart the barbarian’s ship four days earlier. Up until then she had entertained a single ray of hope. When she had looked into the face of the big barbarian with the eye patch, she had almost felt safe.

But he was gone now, and so was any hope of her return to Cochin China and her family. All that lay ahead was a fate she knew would inevitably bring her to a French prison. What would happen before her captors handed her over to the French worried her more so.

Hue closed her mind to the future and any chance of salvation. All she could do for the moment was, with the stoic patience of her people, endure the nightmare of her captivity.

Mort slipped the small brass compass back into his pocket. Although he had lashed his column with scathing words for their tardy behaviour on the march, he was secretly pleased with their progress. All had gone to plan, from the very first moment he had formulated his scheme in the cabin of the
Osprey
.

He had set his ship on a course that had practically brought him into Cooktown. When he scuttled her he was able to run the lifeboat ashore with his small complement of crew and Chinese pirates. They had enough supplies to survive until one of Woo’s men was able to get a message through to Cooktown’s Chinese quarter.

Reinforcements had duly arrived, and the matter of command been settled, with the help of the Winchesters. All he had to do, was get the girl to the Tiger Tong stronghold just off the Palmer River goldfields, and there collect his ransom from the tong leader.

Mort did not fear a doublecross, as the rapid-firing rifles gave him a distinctive edge over the ancient muskets of the tong men. Once he had the ransom in his hands, it would only be a matter of returning to Cooktown, and taking a passage on a ship sailing for the Americas.

The thought of a ship brought a deep sadness to him. He had destroyed the only thing in his troubled life that had brought him close to happiness. And yet, he reflected, he had been forced to kill his own mother when she had betrayed him to her gin-sodden customers. Such was the way life was meant to be, he philosophised. One must sometimes destroy that which is loved in order to survive. His brooding thoughts caused him a melancholy that he knew could distract him from his present mission. He forced himself to concentrate, and gazed beyond the rainforest before him where he could see the vegetation thin to the drier eucalypts of the country below the Great Divide.

He turned and snarled to his mixed command to get to their feet. They did so reluctantly, although none dared show any aversion. The sword that hung at their leader’s waist was more than a symbol of his rank.

Only Captain Woo displayed any defiance. He shouted to his men that they would obey the blue-eyed barbarian only until the time they reached the Tiger Tong in the mountains of the land of gold. Then he, Captain Woo, would personally assist in slowly and agonisingly sending the barbarian to meet his ancestors. Woo was not afraid that his boast was heard by Mort and his European accomplices. He spoke in Chinese, which he knew they could not understand.

But Hue could understand and she shuddered involuntarily. She had personally witnessed the bestial cruelty of the Chinese pirates. Not even a demon deserved such a fate, she thought sympathetically. But Hue did not know Captain Morrison Mort as other young girls had in their last agonised moments of life. If she had, then she might not have wasted her sympathy.

T
he misshapen, dried sea creatures piled in heaps along the wooden plank counter always made John Wong shudder. Although he knew that they were delicacies highly prized by his Oriental relations, for most of his twenty years he had lived with the smell of corned beef and cabbage.

In Soo Yin’s store he felt uneasy for an unfathomable reason. Was it that the dreaded leader of the Cooktown-based tong had commanded his presence? Or was it simply his feelings of trepidation for the arduous and very dangerous mission that lay before them? Whatever it was, he was about to find out.

One of Soo Yin’s bodyguards, a thin, surly Chinese man around John’s age, beckoned him to follow him into the back room. John ducked his head as he passed through the tiny doorway built low to resist an onrush of would-be assassins, and entered a world divorced from the antiseptic scent of eucalyptus. The pungent but sweet aroma of the East wafted from burning incense sticks and opium pipes.

The bodyguard moved to a corner of the room and stared vacantly into thin air. John was not fooled by the man’s seeming indifference to his presence. He knew the man was one of the tong leader’s best killers, and could move with the speed of the deadly cobra if required to defend Soo Yin’s life.

Soo Yin reclined on a low bed in the dimly lit room, staring menacingly at the tall young Eurasian who he did not like for his mixed blood. He blamed John’s seeming arrogance on the fact that he had been denied the venerable teachings of Confucius in his youth. John did not cower in the face of the tong leader’s barely concealed hostility. To do so would be a loss of face.

A small hessian sack in the centre of the room attracted John’s curiosity. It seemed to have been placed there especially.

‘You are satisfied with the supplies,’ Soo Yin said rather than asked.

‘Yes,’ John answered in Soo Yin’s dialect. ‘I think Mister Brown will be satisfied with what you have supplied.’

‘You are now alone,’ Soo continued. ‘Brown has told me that this man of his, the Irishman, does not wish to take a contingent of the Lotus Tong with him. It will be up to you to bring the girl back to me at any cost.’ John nodded and Soo Yin’s deceptively soft voice continued. ‘The barbarians do not recognise you as one of them . . . they never will . . . so you must decide to whom you swear your loyalty.’

‘You employ me,’ John answered simply. ‘As my boss I recognise you alone.’

Soo did not acknowledge John’s reply, but gestured to the surly young bodyguard standing in the shadows. He stepped forward and picked up the small sack from the floor and with a twisted grin held it up to John. John felt the weight of the hessian bag and sensed the sticky slime of its contents. Every instinct told him what the bag contained and he fought the desire to let the bag fall from his grasp. He stared back at the tong leader and was careful to conceal any feelings of fear. ‘Dispose of that,’ Soo Yin said. ‘Now go and remember where your allegiance must always be.’

Turning on his heel, John left knowing, with a vicious triumph, that he had remained seemingly impassive to Soo Yin’s gesture.

The tong leader made a slight nod of his head to his bodyguard, who discreetly followed John from the Chinese quarter to the river. He would report back later to Soo Yin that the Eurasian had opened the bag to look inside, before hurling it into the crocodile-infested waters of the Endeavour River.

A faint smile creased the tong leader’s face. Then the Eurasian would have seen the hands, tongue, genitals and head of the coolie who had betrayed him, he thought with some satisfaction. Such a lesson was not easily forgotten. Fear would ensure that the young man did not deviate from his task, should the Irishman succeed against all the odds, and rescue the Cochinese girl. From the little that Soo Yin knew of Captain Mort’s reputation, he did not hold out much hope he would ever see the Eurasian again. But that was of no consequence as John Wong was, after all, a barbarian, as far as the Chinese tong leader was concerned.

Soo Yin sighed and beckoned to one of the beautiful doll-like girls who ministered to his every need. Head bowed, she shuffled forward from behind a silk curtain and knelt before her master, who reached out to fondle her naked flesh.

Horace’s meticulous preparations for the expedition gave Michael a chance to stand down and enjoy a night on the town. Having planned that his party would set out first thing in the morning, Michael went in search of a poker game. Win or lose at cards – it did not matter – when he knew he was faced with the daunting mission of going after the man he must kill. They would be in unfamiliar country, as hostile as the dreaded tribesmen who haunted the forests and hills west of Cooktown. Michael was in luck when he found John Wong and Luke Tracy at the Golden Nugget. But he was surprised to see Henry James sitting with them.

Although Henry sat at the card table, he declined to play poker as they were playing by the American rules of the game, and Henry was unfamiliar with that style. The hotel was crowded and the secretive conversation between the three men was ignored by the drunken miners, crushing the bar with shouts for drinks while arguments over the merits of the various means of taking gold from the Palmer raged around them.

‘I want in on any expedition Mister O’Flynn,’ Henry growled as he gripped his tumbler of rum. ‘Don’t let my gammy leg worry you, because I know you are going after Mort on horseback, and I can outride any man in the north.’

Michael scowled at Luke who shuffled the deck of cards ignoring his anger. ‘You can get your backer to include Henry on the payroll,’ Luke said quietly without looking up. ‘After all, you got me on your expedition to go north with von Fellmann.’

‘Different paymaster,’ Michael snapped tersely. He was not pleased that Henry James wanted to join them, even though he respected the man’s experience. He was secretly concerned that he might get him killed, and he understood from his conversations with Luke that the former trooper sergeant had a wife and son. He did not want the big Englishman’s death on his conscience.

But he also understood the importance of friendship between men. Mateship was a bond as strong as any, even as strong as that between men and women in marriage. He stared at the cards in his hand and chewed over the reasons why he should either include, or exclude, Henry James. When he glanced up at Henry, he could see a smouldering fire in his eyes, one that he recognised in himself. ‘What’s Captain Mort to you Mister James?’ he asked quietly.

Henry tossed back his rum and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘He killed a good friend of mine once,’ he growled. ‘A darkie trooper who was as good as any white man including present company. I let Mort get away with it. Maybe you could say that if I’d done my job back then and reported the murdering bastard, your men might still be alive today Mister O’Flynn. Is that good enough reason for you?’

He stared at Michael, daring him to rebut his reasons for inclusion. The Irishman stared right back into the smouldering eyes and understood the terrible torment within the man’s soul for revenge. ‘That’s good enough reason for me Mister James,’ Michael finally replied, and extended his hand to seal his inclusion in the small but growing force of bushmen. ‘Your shout on this round Mister James,’ Michael added with a slow grin, as Henry took the extended hand.

‘Sounds fair,’ Henry replied. ‘But my friends call me Henry.’

Michael nodded and Luke slapped him on the back. ‘Good decision partner,’ he said. ‘Henry knows the bush and he’s pretty handy around horses.’

Although Henry breathed a sigh of relief for being included in the expedition, he dreaded having to face Emma. He knew that she would take his leaving hard. How could he explain his reasons to her when they were not all that clear to himself? He knew that the bravest thing he could do was lie to his wife. He would tell her that he was going with Luke on a short trip to poke around some places he suspected might be likely places for gold. It was a thin story, but he hoped it would hold up.

‘You seen Kate O’Keefe since you got back?’ Michael asked Luke conversationally when Henry went to the bar to buy a round of drinks.

Luke winced and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not exactly,’ he replied. ‘Henry tells me that Kate told Emma that she never wanted to see me again, when she heard I’d survived the sinking of the
Osprey.
’

‘I wouldn’t take much notice of that if I were you,’ Michael replied as he glanced at the cards Luke had dealt him. It was not a good hand but he was still ahead.

‘Yeah, well you don’t know Kate,’ Luke replied, looking down at the hand he had dealt to himself. It was not a good hand either.

Michael smiled to himself. If only you knew . . .

It was Ben Rosenblum who inadvertently told Kate of the expedition, when she had gone to the paddock behind her house, to talk to him about purchasing a new yoke of bullocks for her wagons. And no sooner had he told her that Henry was with Luke Tracy and the American O’Flynn, than her eyes flashed with anger. He had cursed himself for not thinking. Now Henry would have to face Kate’s full wrath.

‘Why is Henry with them?’ she had asked in the quiet way that Ben had long come to recognise as a precursor to an explosion of anger.

‘I’m not sure Kate,’ he mumbled. ‘Just gone for a drink I suppose.’

She fixed him with her eyes and Ben wished he could tell her all that Henry had confided in him. But he had sworn to keep silent on the matter, and even regretted that he had not been able to go himself. It was rumoured that the American had paid well to the men he had recruited for the ill-fated expedition on the
Osprey
. No doubt he would pay well to those who went with him on this expedition too.

Kate sensed that she had stumbled onto something she was not supposed to know about. But any further questioning of Ben would force him to break the code of mateship. That she would not do, as she realised its sacred importance to men on the frontier. ‘I would like to see Henry,’ she said casually, still holding Ben’s gaze. ‘Where might I find him this time of day?’

‘He’s gone to the Golden Nugget,’ Ben answered. ‘But I didn’t tell you that Kate.’

‘You have my word on that,’ she answered with a grateful nod.

‘Stupid bastard,’ Ben muttered miserably to himself as she turned to leave him alone with the big beasts. He could tell from her purposeful strides that she was looking for trouble. Whoever it was with, he felt sorry for them.

Kate knew exactly who she would confront and why. That damned American O’Flynn! How dare he even consider recruiting Henry to one of his nefarious schemes. She did not stop to consider that it could be Henry who was making all the overtures for enlistment. All she knew was that whenever the man she had come to know as Mister Michael O’Flynn was around those she cherished, they were placed in jeopardy.

She slowed her pace and checked her emotions. Why was she so upset? Was she actually thinking about Luke’s welfare rather than Henry’s? Had she not vowed to forget Luke? A tiny voice told her she could not so easily forget him, and she quickened her pace, as if to walk away from the guilt. No, she thought with her chin set, Luke was well and truly out of her life forever. He would never come and go again, as he pleased. Her concern was for Henry and the danger involvement with the American mercenary posed to him. She had Emma and young Gordon to consider.

Kate reached the hotel just after dark. Already the sprawling frontier town was awakening to a night of riotous, sordid living. Rollicking and drunken miners who did not know Kate made lewd suggestions, whilst those who did know her tipped their hats respectfully. She ignored the former and acknowledged the latter with a forced smile.

Kate paused outside the hotel. She wanted to bring her anger under control before entering the bastion of men. She was about to enter when Henry appeared unexpectedly through the door.

‘Kate! What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I came to see you,’ she replied, stepping up to him. ‘And this Mister O’Flynn whom I have heard so much about.’

Henry took her by the elbow and steered her away from the front of the hotel. ‘Did Ben tell you?’ he asked as he walked with her in the direction of her store.

‘He didn’t mean to,’ Kate answered protectively of her trusted employee. ‘It kind of slipped out that you were here to see O’Flynn.’

‘I won’t lie to you Kate,’ Henry answered. ‘I came to see if I could get a job with Mister O’Flynn but I cannot tell you anymore than that I’m afraid so please don’t ask me.’

‘What are you going to tell Emma?’ Kate flared.

Henry did not answer immediately. ‘Well?’ Kate asked again. ‘Are you going to tell Emma what you are doing with that damned American soldier of fortune?’

‘No,’ Henry answered quietly. ‘I’m going to lie to her and I want your sworn promise that you will not tell her of my meeting with Mister O’Flynn either.’ He could see the determined set of her chin and sensed that the fiery Kate O’Keefe had a confrontation in mind with the American mercenary.

She stopped and turned to face him. ‘You are asking more than I should say yes to, Henry,’ she pleaded. ‘I suspect that you will be in great danger with that man, from all that I have heard of him. It seems he walks with death and I care too much for you and Emma to see you hurt.’

‘I have been riding with death for many years now Kate,’ he smiled sadly. ‘What I am about to do I must do, for reasons I do not fully understand myself. It’s not even the money, but something in my life that goes back a long time to when I was with the Native Mounted Police. That’s about all I can tell you. Please promise me you will not go back and attempt to change Mister O’Flynn’s mind.’

Kate frowned. She could see the deep torment in his eyes, and had no answer to what she saw. She turned away bitterly. Henry was a man of the frontier and physical danger a way of life for him, she thought with resignation. She would keep his secret. ‘I will respect your wishes. But half my mind tells me I should go back and confront this man so callous that he would possibly deprive a woman of her husband, a son of his father.’